Page 27 of From Rivals to I Do

later. However, as I put my phone down, my phone begins to ping over and over again.

Worried that it was Sparrow or little Joe, I pick up my phone, only to see the notifications are from the app. “Eh, I’ll just read these in

the morning,” I say to myself, yawning as I turn down the TV and lay my head against the pillow.

A few minutes later, my phone is more alive than it ever has been, and I sit up and put my glasses back on. Curiosity getting the best

of me, I pick up my phone once again, and I’m shocked to see all the notifications are from all different people—male and female—

filling up my Love and Company inbox.

Sheesh, that was fast! I think to myself as I poke the app button and start scrolling through the messages. One is from a slightly

younger woman, Sheila, who had also been cheated on and wants to get to know me. It honestly sounded lovely; I really do need

friends. There’s another email from a guy named Butch, who is asking for my picture, and I tell him I’m tired and I’ll put one up

tomorrow. But he persists, so I put his chat on ‘ignore’. Too pushy.

I then open the next one, only to gasp, shocked and wanting to soak my eyes in bleach as I’m greeted with a picture of some man’s. . .

well. . . ding-a-ling. I surely didn’t want to see that.

“Friggin’ animals,” I say as I block the phallic phantom, nearly putting the phone down as my stomach lurches in disgust.

But then there’s a message that comes through from a man, his handle says ‘TheRanchman’, and it piques my interest. A rancher, huh?

I think to myself as I click on his profile first, wary of just opening his message.

There's no picture, which is a bit disappointing, but I can’t really be too upset about that. I mean, I don’t have one up either.

He’s fifty-four, and he runs a ranch just outside of San Antonio, not far from me. As I read, the way he talks about his love for animals

and life on the ranch pulls me in, reminding me of the love I’d had for Laney and the rest of my animals. . . an obvious common

interest. He likes country music and some classic rock.

Check.

He loves gardening and cooking. Check and check.

The more I go through and read his questions, the more I realize how alike we really are. . . and the app agrees, surprising me with a

ninety-two percent compatibility rating.

Still a bit wary that I’ll be blasted in the eyes with another dirty photo, I cautiously open his message, only to find that there’s none to

be found.

Good evening. The message begins. Well, morning, I suppose. My apologies for the late message. I couldn’t sleep, and then it suggested you as a friend. So, I figured, why not?

Well, he sounds just as nervous as I am, I think to myself. But he sounds like a gentleman so far.

Hello! I reply back. It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep either.

Dang, what was that one thing Sparrow told me to use when I wanted to express laughing or something? Oh, right! An emoji!

So, I search through the little pictures under the smiling face and pick out one that’s laughing.

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