Page 18 of Things We Tell Ourselves

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“No, I’m serious. It was an app on her phone. It was like she wanted to date me because our ‘kids’ looked semi-normal. And it was an app you have to pay for, not a free one. I looked it up that night after the date. I think it was like four dollars or something.”

“Oh wow. I wonder if I can get it.”

“I’ll tell you if you show me your feet.”

They both break out into laughter. Wade regains control first, picking up his glass of water. “But seriously, you had to have one guy who lasted beyond the first date,” he says, taking a sip.

Camille takes the last slice of cantaloupe, setting it on her plate next to the remainder of her omelet. “There was one guy who made it through the first date without scaring me off.”

“Do tell.”

“He was kind, soft-spoken, and I could tell by the way he carried himself that he wasn’t afraid to go after what he wanted. When he called me the next afternoon for a second date, I accepted. We went on four dates, spent one night together, and then…Valentine’s Day happened.”

Wade sits back, lifting his arms to tuck his hands behind his head, resting against them. “Uh-oh. What happened on Valentine’s Day?”

“I happened. He did nothing wrong. I received chocolate-covered strawberries at work from him that morning with a card asking me to dinner. We had such a good time on all of our previous dates that I thought he understood me. When we talked, I felt heard. On our last date before Valentine’s Day, I talked about my parents. About how I loved the idea of a man sending me flowers at work. I shared with him that during the last year of my mother’s life, my father filled their bedroom with bouquets of pink roses. They were my mother’s favorite flowers. I told him what a special memory that was and how I wanted that too, but then on Valentine’s Day, all I got were chocolate-covered strawberries. No flowers.” The way the corner of Wade’s mouth twitches, she feels silly for bringing the whole thing up. “I know it’s a stupid reason,” she admits, “but I knew as soon as I saw those strawberries—”

“That he wasn’t the one,” Wade finishes.

“Exactly,” she sighs, relieved. When she told Evelyn about the strawberries, she told her that she should have given him another chance, but she’d already called it off by that point.

Wade is still smiling. “That’s why I stick with giving women diamonds instead of strawberries.”

She rolls her eyes, causing him to chuckle. “If you’re out there handing out diamonds, why are you still single?”

“Welp,” his chin wrinkles, sitting up straight. “There lies the conundrum.” He runs a hand down the front of his shirt, straightening it. “I’m a complete catch. There’s nothing not to like.”

She ignores his pecs bouncing under his shirt. “Come on,” she pries. “I gave you an honest answer.”

Wade’s chest deflates under her gaze.

“I work too much, and when I’m not working, I’m following up on my side projects and making sure my mom is taking care of herself. My dad moved on before they even filed divorce papers, but Mom shows no interest in finding someone new. If it wasn’t for her best friend, Nan, I’d be flying here or to the house in Connecticut every other weekend. I’ve had a few decent girlfriends over the years, but I’ve decided to take a break from the dating scene for a while. The last chick I went on a date with turned out to be neurotic.”

Camille leans forward, pushing her plate out of the way to place her elbows on the table. “What do you mean by neurotic?”

Wade pauses, drawing out her suspense. “Twenty text messages over the course of a weekend after our first and only dinner date, neurotic.”

Camille sits back in her chair. “Impressive.” She grabs her fork, using it to stab the cantaloupe. “I will give you this last piece of cantaloupe if you let me see the texts.” She holds it up between the two of them, trying to entice him. To her surprise, he leans back in his chair and reaches into his front pocket.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.”

Her eyes widen in anticipation when he pulls his phone out. She lowers the forked cantaloupe as he opens his phone, swiping over the screen.

“I didn’t even share them with the friend of mine from college who thought I’d love to go on a blind date with this nutcase.” Before he hands her the phone, he pauses. “Now, keep in mind we went on one blind date that lasted less than two hours, and I dropped her off at her place by ten.”

“Got it.”

She raises her hand to take the phone from him, but he keeps ahold of it, staring into her eyes.

“You signed the non-disclosure agreement when you got here, right?”

“I already promised that I wouldn’t tell,” she says, pulling it free from his hand, “but yes, I did sign one.” She looks down at the phone to see a screenshot of the text messages from a “V. Quinn.”

I had such a great time!!! Thanks for an amazing start to a quiet weekend at home!

Camille internally cringes at the use of multiple exclamations points in the first line. One is fine if you’re talking to someone you know, but four in one text to someone you just met … that’s a huge red flag. The messages following were spaced mere minutes apart.

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