CHAPTER 5 – CONFIDING IN A FRIEND
Eliza
It’s not even noon and I’ve already changed outfits three times—technically four, if you count the ten-minute period where I convinced myself “ironic soccer shorts” was a power move for Monet Bistro.
Ultimately, I go with a soft blue dress that hugs my curves, paired with a short cardigan and ballet flats.
After all, I’m meeting Tara for coffee, so it’s no big deal.
My friend’s not going to care if I arrive wearing a garbage bag - all she wants are the juicy deets.
Downtown St. Cloud is brisk today, that dry northern wind that turns every walk into a time trial.
I spot Monet Bistro from a block away, sun blazing off the huge windows.
The place looks like it was designed by a Pinterest board on Adderall—exposed concrete floors, live-edge tables, pendant lights that dangle like over-caffeinated fruit.
There’s a wall of succulents and a chalkboard menu so aggressively cute that I want to lick it just to ruin the aesthetic.
I’m five minutes early, but Tara’s already staked out a corner table by the window, her phone cradled in one hand and her other arm draped over the back of her chair.
Her look is a calculated “devil-may-care” that actually screams “I spent an hour on my brows.” But she looks good.
Her long blonde hair is tied in a loose braid, and she’s wearing a flannel shirt that somehow looks hip and not “country farmer.” My bud spots me, does the signature Tara double eyebrow-raise, and gestures me over.
There are already two iced teas sweating on the table, and I can see she’s ordered the kale caesar with extra chicken—her usual.
I drop into the seat opposite and take a sip of my tea, which is perfect: icy, sweet, and just slightly lemony.
“You look like someone who just had sex dreams,” Tara says by way of greeting.
I almost snort out my lemonade. “Plot twist: you’re right.”
She grins, but her eyes are sharp, scanning my face for clues. “You look hot,” she concedes, “and I love the hair. If you were going for Catholic schoolgirl, you missed by about a decade, but ten out of ten for effort.”
“I’m trying to class it up,” I protest, smoothing my skirt with a nervous hand. “I have an important meeting later.”
Tara sips her tea, watching me over the rim like a shark considering whether to breach. “Is this a code for ‘I have a date with a war criminal’ or ‘I have a date with my dad’s hot friend’?”
I blink. “You make it sound so—”
“—so accurate?” she cuts in. “Eliza, just tell me: are you seeing the pilot again?”
I smile, flushing bright red. “Yes. Tonight,” I say in a soft voice. “And I can’t wait.”
Tara giggles and leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping a notch. “Tell me everything. Start at the beginning and don’t leave out the depraved parts because those are the best bits.”
I launch in, picking at the mint leaves in my tea as I recap the whole bizarre evolution from “my dad’s friend whom I was only tangentially aware of” to “my dad’s friend is actively making me reconsider everything about my life.
” I leave nothing out, but also emphasize the romantic parts, like the way Jack looks at me like he’s trying to memorize my face for later, and how much it feels like he needs me, in some way, shape, or form.
Tara listens, face unreadable except for the way her blinks when I mention the age gap. “You realize he’s, like, what, forty-five?” she asks, brow furrowing in concern. “You’re barely legal, honey.”
“Twenty-one,” I say, a little defensively. “And he’s forty-five, not sixty. He’s barely double my age.”
Tara’s lips twitch. “That’s not the flex you think it is.”
I hold my hands up. “Look, he’s mature, he’s got his shit together, and I don’t have to explain memes to him. That’s good, right? I mean, the guys our age are still using acne medication while trying to find their first jobs.”
Tara levels me with a look. “Yes, but you know you, girlfriend. You get obsessed, and then you get hurt, and then I have to buy you emergency ice cream and clean up your DMs for three weeks.”
I shrug, determined to keep the mood light. “You’re not even letting me have fun! Jack’s different. I know it. He makes me feel like an actual person, not a prop.”
Tara nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. “And Gerald? You think your dad’s going to roll out the red carpet for this? Or do you plan to elope with ‘Uncle Jack’ and live in exile?”
I sigh, stabbing at my salad with my fork. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far. It’s not like we’re engaged. Heck, we’ve only been on one date.”
Tara’s smile softens a bit as she fiddles with her salad. “And it was a wonderful date, but I’m just saying: I don’t want to see you in a Lifetime movie about a college girl who gets groomed by a military alpha.”
I laugh, grateful for the reprieve. “It’s not like that, I promise, although I don’t know if I’d mind being that because he’s so hot. But seriously, Jack’s not some creep. If anything, he spends half the time warning me off.”
Tara’s voice drops even lower. “So who’s chasing whom here?”
I flush a little. “Honestly? It’s kind of mutual. But if you want the truth—me, mostly. I can’t help it. He’s just so different from any of the boys I know.”
Tara cocks her head, studying me like a rare bird. “Are you in love with him?”
I blink, not expecting the question. “No! How could I be? It’s so soon! Well, maybe. I don’t know because I’ve never been in love before. It’s just that when he talks, I want to listen, and when he touches me, I feel alive.”
My friend holds my gaze for a long time, then smiles. “Okay. But if he hurts you, I’ll run him over with my car.”
“Noted,” I say, relief making me giddy. “But you don’t have to worry. I promise.”
Tara shifts, resting her chin on her hand. “Just be careful, okay girlfriend? He’s a hardened veteran with years of service under his belt. He’s a mature, older man, and he knows what he’s doing. That’s all I’m saying.”
I reach across the table and squeeze her fingers. “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry about me.”
She nods, biting her lip. “Good, because you know I love you, Eliza, and I don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor again.”
I squeeze her fingers, and sit like that for a while, the silence warm and easy. Outside, people hurry by, faces blurred by the glass, while inside, everything feels calm, full of possibility.
I think about the night ahead, and my heart thuds with anticipation. I wonder what it will be like, being alone with Jack—really alone, with no danger of being interrupted by either passerby or my parents. I hope it works out okay.
But for now, I’m spending time with my buddy, and I like being with Tara.
We’ve known each other since forever, and it’s amazing how a good salad and a bad pun can reset the universe.
Halfway through my meal, I realize Tara’s skepticism is already on a slow burn to something more dangerous: genuine excitement.
It’s in the way her questions change from “are you sure you’re not being manipulated” to “so how big is his dick, like, in practical terms.”
I giggle as my buddy wipes her mouth with a napkin, then leans across the table, eyes sparkling. “I lied before, girlfriend. I am worried about you, but I also want the details. You’re living the dream, babe. Every girl wants to bag a DILF at least once.”
I giggle. “Jack’s not a DILF because he doesn’t have kids. He’s a—what’s the male version of a cougar? Is there a word?”
She considers. “A silver fox. A daddy. A zaddy. Or a grandzaddy in your case.” She grins wickedly. “Anyway, it’s hot. But tell me more.”
I laugh helplessly. “Jack’s not just hot. He’s … I don’t know. He makes me feel like I’m worth something.”
Tara fixes me with a look that’s one part incredulous, one part pure affection. “Eliza, you are worth something. You’re worth so much, girlfriend! Why do you doubt yourself? You don’t need a man to build your self-confidence.”
“I know,” I say softly. “But Jack’s not like other guys. He doesn’t ghost, he doesn’t play games. He just says what he wants, and I find that refreshing.”
Tara’s smile shifts into something more thoughtful. “Honestly? I think that’s what you need. Someone who can handle your crazy.”
I pick at my salad. “You think I’m crazy?”
My pretty friend shrugs. “No more than any other woman in St. Cloud. But Eliza, you want things, and you go after them. You don’t hold back, and it can be intimidating sometimes. Most men don’t know what to do with that.”
There’s a lull as the waitress drops off our check and two more waters. I wait until she’s gone.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I always have been a little headstrong.”
My friend laughs, eyebrows raised.
“A little? A lot.”
“Okay, a lot,” i concede. “But it can be good!”
Tara nods in agreement. “Absolutely, and May December relationships can work too, so it’s not like this is so off the wall. You remember my cousin Marcie, right?”
I nod. Marcie is a family legend—moved to California, married a guy twice her age, lives in a yurt or maybe a Tesla, nobody can keep track.
“She married her professor,” Tara says. “He was sixty. She was, like, twenty-four. My aunt had a full-on breakdown. But you know what? They’re still together. They have two kids, and she looks happier than any of us.”
I blink. “Are you serious?”
She grins, pulling out her phone. “Look. Christmas card, two years ago.” She swipes to a photo: Marcie in a red dress, hair in wild curls, grinning at the camera while her husband stands beside her, one hand on her waist and the other cradling a toddler.
He looks older because the man must be almost seventy now.
But he also looks kind, and totally besotted with his wife.
“See?” Tara says. “Love doesn’t care about math.”
I stare at the photo, not quite able to process it. “So you’re saying I should marry Jack and have his babies?”