HOLDEN
The restaurant glows like a jewel box dropped into the middle of downtown San Diego, with warm lights and elegant architecture. The sign by the door is minimalist and sleek, all brushed metal and clean lines. Soft acoustic music flows from a speaker above, soothing my nerves.
My steps slow as I take it in. Pale light spills through wide windows, where paper screens etched with cranes and cherry blossoms create privacy between the tables, and red lanterns seem to float above as if by magic.
Tall wire trees arch over the walkway, bejeweled with pink rhinestone blossoms, and a small water fountain bubbles near the front desk.
Everything about the place is beautiful—and not at all what I expected.
I had no idea this place even existed.
I am suddenly hyperaware of how low I set the bar for tonight. Korie’s comment about dooming the date before it started echoes somewhere in my mind, and I can’t help but think maybe they’re right. Maybe I really hadn’t taken this seriously enough.
Smoothing a hand down my shirt, I take a deep breath and go inside. Right away, I’m hit with the rich scents of soy and ginger. My mouth waters.
The hostess greets me with a small bow. After giving her my name, I’m directed to a table to the left, where a man is already sitting in front of a gentle-flowing waterfall. His perfectly sculpted face is illuminated by candlelight as he studies a menu.
I can’t help but gulp. Gage looks almost nothing like he did a few nights ago, when he had been wearing an apron with a white linen shirt.
He looks like he belongs here instead of the other place.
His dark hair is neatly styled, and he’s wearing a crisp red button-down tucked into tailored slacks.
His leather shoes look like they cost more than my monthly grocery bill.
Shit.
I clearly should’ve gone home to change instead of pulling a clean shirt from my gym bag. Every wrinkle feels like a mark against me. But at least I wore my good pair of black jeans, right? That has to count for something.
I tug nervously at the long sleeves, my fingers brushing the thin leather bracelet Korie gave me a few years ago—the one they said looks “effortlessly cool.” Right now, it just feels effortlessly ridiculous. I’d pocket it if I could remove it easily.
Why didn’t I try harder? I usually put effort into my appearance, but tonight… I don’t know. Tonight, it had felt like work.
I guess having a dozen bad dates kinda killed my motivation—and my confidence.
Gage looks up as I approach, as if sensing me. He stands immediately, revealing perfectly straight white teeth behind his grin. “Hi.”
I lean in to shake his hand. Shit, the guy even smells amazing—sandalwood and cypress. “Hey.”
He gestures to the empty wooden chair. “All yours.”
Lights reflect on the polished table, which is already set with small ceramic plates and chopsticks resting on little stone holders shaped like foxes. I love everything about it, even the cat-shaped salt and pepper shakers. So niche.
I need to tell Korie about this place. They’d get a kick out of it.
The restaurant is busy but not loud, which is nice after the day I’ve had. I need some quiet.
“This place is great,” I say, looking around. A huge step up from the burger joint I went to on my last date.
Gage seems pleased. “Thanks. It’s a favorite of mine. Everything on the menu is good.”
We order drinks—saké for him, iced green tea for me—and make the usual small talk.
Being this close, I can see faint freckles on his nose and hear a soft whistle when he says certain words.
The strange part is how animated Gage is with his hands.
Still, he gets points for not having his phone out.
There is nothing worse than a phone on a table when I’m on a date.
“So, how long have you worked at Calypso?”
Gage shrugs. “Six months, give or take.”
“Do you like it?”
Another shrug. “It pays the bills until I can get my license.”
I tilt my head. “License?”
“CPA license. I want to open my own firm.”
I freeze, expecting him to say he’s kidding, but his expression is completely serious. “Accounting, huh? That’s… interesting.”
Boring is the word that really comes to mind.
He laughs quietly, rolling a chopstick between his fingers. “It’s not exciting, I know, but after seeing how much money my parents made growing up, it was kind of a no-brainer. Easy stability, you know? I’ll be able to get my own house within a few years.”
He says this like it’s something I should strive for. But owning a house is certainly not on my list of priorities. I’d rather climb a mountain than mow a yard, thanks.
“How about you?” Gage says. “What do you do?”
Still reeling from the insanely opposite career paths, I’m a little hesitant to tell him the truth. “I’m a rock-climbing instructor at a local gym.”
Gage’s shocked reaction is immediate and unfiltered—which isn’t unusual. Most people get nervous when they hear I make a living scaling steep walls. But instead of awe or curiosity, Gage’s face tightens in horror.
I force a smile. “Not a fan, I take it?”
“Oh, God, no. I could never.” He flattens a hand to his chest and lets out an abrupt laugh. “I’m terrified of heights.”
“You’d be surprised how many people say that when they come in, but they usually end up enjoying it.”
“No, I mean it. I could never do that. Just thinking about it makes my palms sweat.” He flexes his hands as if to prove a point. “I wouldn’t be able to get more than a few feet off the ground.”
There it is—the first awkward this-was-definitely-a-mistake stomach twist of the night.
It shouldn’t matter that Gage doesn’t climb—plenty of people don’t. And I don’t need someone who lives and breathes it the way I do. But if there’s anything I’ve learned through my string of bad dates, it’s that ultimately, I want someone who’s at least willing to try.
I mean, it would be nice to be with someone who doesn’t look at my job like it’s a personal nightmare.
“Well, maybe you can rent an office in a high-rise and learn to enjoy it,” I say cautiously. I would never downplay his fear, but I want to know if there’s any chance of him trying something new.
He still shakes his head. “Second floor, tops. That’s as high as I’ll go and still look out a window.”
His nauseated tone tells me I definitely shouldn’t tell him about my recent trip to Devil’s Tower, Wyoming. He wouldn’t understand. That trip had been a significant turning point in my career. I mastered some advanced skills and became a better teacher, earning some recognition among peers.
“Well, the second floor is still something,” I say.
We change topics. Gage tells me about the college classes he just finished and where he’s hoping to get an internship next summer.
I hadn’t realized how much younger he is, to still be in college.
I graduated with a secondary education degree four years ago, but ultimately followed my true love of rock climbing.
As Gage turns the conversation back to me, I tell him about my recent trip to Joshua Tree National Park and how fascinating it had been to see the Milky Way at night.
It’s not something we can do here in San Diego, with all the light pollution.
But Gage can’t seem to get past my description of the dry scenery, even cringing when I described the thirty-foot yucca I stood by. It grates on my nerves.
As Gage cycles back to his hopes of owning a house, I catch myself scanning for the exits. Is this what Korie meant when they said they didn’t enjoy dating? How taxing it is to put ourselves in awkward situations just to see if we fit? If so, I get it.
It is definitely getting old.
“You aren’t feeling this, are you?” Gage says.
I blink in surprise and sit up a little straighter, thinking my posture must have given me away or something.
He has a sad, knowing expression. “You haven’t smiled as much since our food was served. So either you hate the food, or I’m boring you.”
I wipe my mouth before replying. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t think I am. The food was delicious, but I just don’t think we fit.”
He nods slowly. “It’s okay. I was thinking the same thing. We’re a bit like oil and water, you and me.”
I nod, relieved. “Yeah, I think so too.”
He leans in. “We could still have some fun, though, if you’re up for it. I don’t live far from here.”
His meaning is clear, yet sex with him sounds even worse than suffering through dinner.
I really am so tired of this—of attraction being reduced to convenience and dates turning into negotiations. That’s assuming I can even get a date.
I wanted tonight to be different, since Gage was the one who approached me for a change. But no. Once again, it’s all a means to a meaningless end.
I sit back. At least the food was good. Really good, actually. Korie would melt over the tonkatsu.
“Thanks, but I think it’s better if we just part ways.”
Gage shrugs, unfazed. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
I wave the waiter down to pay for the meal before this can get any more awkward, then box up my leftovers and get to my feet. “Nice to meet you, Gage. See you around.”
He waves me off.
As I step back out into the warm night air, my heart feels heavier than when I arrived. Will I ever find a decent partner? Maybe I need to try dating women again. I’ve always leaned more strongly toward men, but clearly, it’s not working out for me.
Frustrated, I get in my car and drive in the direction of Korie’s apartment instead of going home. No sense in wasting the good food. Besides, I want to vent about the pathetic night.
Korie’s light is on when I get there, and they answer immediately when I knock on their door. “What are you—oh no.” Their smile fades. “Did it go that bad?”
I step through the door. “He called us oil and water.”
Korie grimaces. “Yikes.”
“In his defense, he wasn’t wrong.” I hold the box out for them.
Korie hesitates. “What is this?”
“Leftovers.”
They snag it before I can say more, rushing to the kitchen for a fork.
Loosening my shirt, I follow them, taking a seat at the tiny dining table. It’s covered in blots of old nail polish.
“Oh. My. God,” Korie exclaims through a mouthful of food. “This is divine. Where did you take him?”
“Fujiyama.”
They narrow their eyes. “Never heard of it.”
“I hadn’t either, but he suggested it.”
Korie pauses. “Wait. He chose the restaurant?”
I frown. “Is that a problem?”
Korie sputters a laugh. “Oh, Holden. Yes, it’s a problem.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked him out, not the other way around.” When I still seem confused, they add, “You took initiative, and then failed to follow through.”
Failed to follow through? Is that why Gage was so confused when I asked where he wanted to go?
I don’t reply.
Korie’s gaze drifts down my body. “Is that what you wore to dinner?”
I look down, palming the front of my shirt. “Yeah. Why?”
“Oh, you sweet man,” they say, sweeping a hand across their forehead. “No wonder you’re struggling.”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what? You’re kind of a mess, Holden.”
I tug at the shirt. “It’s not that bad.”
Korie scoffs. “Are you serious? Oh my god. You’re serious. No, hon. It’s bad. That shirt is wrinkled and too big for you.”
I blink. I knew it was wrinkled, but too big? “I like this shirt.”
Korie shakes their head. “It doesn’t fit you. It’s baggy in the shoulders. And like I said, wrinkled. Did you take it to work with you or something?”
I don’t answer.
Korie snorts, making a very clear I-see face.
Annoyed, I turn to see his bird snoozing on a nearby bookshelf, beak tucked under one wing. She’s actually kind of cute when she’s not trying to nip my fingers off.
“Well, whatever, okay? I guess I wasn’t really into him, anyway.”
“Liar. I saw the way you looked at him.”
I snag the last piece of sushi and shove it in my mouth.
“Hey!”
“That’s what you get for being mean,” I say around the food.
“It’s called tough love, my friend. Take it or leave it.”
I lick my fingers. “I need to take you there sometime. You’d love it.”
Korie gets up to throw the container away, then washes the fork and returns it to the drawer.
“Well, do you want to hang out? I was just going to put a movie on and paint my toenails.”
I rub my neck. I really shouldn’t. I need to go in early tomorrow to prepare for another class. Our summer schedule is jam-packed now that the kids are out of school. But the thought of going home to my empty apartment is even more depressing than another failed date. I really don’t want to.
“Do you care if I just stay over?”
Korie grins immediately. “No. When have I ever cared?”