Page 10 of Text Appeal

“Ava. We texted. I tried to tell her I didn’t know you, but she wouldn’t believe me. The woman has trust issues.” I step back from the door and try to smooth down my out-of-control hair with a hand. “Come inside. Let’s not wake the neighbors.”

He moves cautiously through my entryway like this might be some sort of single-girl trap. The idiot. But guys like him don’t go for girls like me. Which means I don’t have to worry about trying to impress or please. Thank goodness, since I’m no good at such things. My second-date ratio says it all. Any relationship skills I have are strictly fictional and for the page.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get my car in the morning.” I grab my cell off the kitchen counter. “Of course, I don’t know who any of these are from. But your texts from over the weekend are as follows. It kicked off with the whole Ava wanting to talk to you and not believing me thing.”

Nothing from him.

“Second: Any news on the mustang? Third: You were right the bronco is dead as a doornail. Fourth: Can you pick up some beer if you’re coming over to watch the game? And fifth was aselfie from Ava, along with her best wishes for the weekend. Sweet of her.”

More nothing from him.

“Sixth: Any idea about the number of people invited to this party? Will the back room be big enough or should we have it in the bar? Seventh: Are we still on for Seattle? We can talk price on the mustang. Eighth was a request for you to call. And, last but not least, number nine was an invitation to dinner for you and Ava.”

Another furrow is added to his forehead with each mention of her name. These messages do not make him happy.

“Do you want to check to see who they’re from?” I ask, offering him my phone.

“No,” is all he says. I wait in silence, and he finally adds, “I sent out my new number this morning. If it’s important they’ll contact me again.”

“Okay. Wait. I forgot,” I say. “Your mom also left a message. She was very excited about Ava coming home and asked what she should bake for the party.”

This time he goes so far as to flinch. Whatever went down between him and his ex is intense. Way beyond your usual relationship drama. Though having over a decade of dating history will do that.

“So, you work with horses?” I ask.

“No. Cars.”

“Cars?”

“Yes,” he says, his gaze bemused.

“Huh,” I say. “I didn’t even think of that, but it does make sense. Ford Mustangs and Broncos and the Dodge Colt, of course.”

An awkward silence follows. He stands there, taking up all the space. While I refuse to break and make polite conversation. I want to see what he does. After a moment, he looks around the room, clears his throat, and asks, “Have you blocked her?”

“You mean Ava?”

There’s the flinch again. “Yeah.”

“No. She actually helped me find Martha today.”

“Thank you for that. For picking her up.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t work. It’s as if the parameters for happiness have not been met and thus the expression is just a shallow attempt at meeting social norms. The ladies said he tended to be quiet. But he doesn’t seem to have too much trouble talking to me. Not once he gets going, at least.

“No problem.” I shut my mouth again and prepare to wait him out. Which is when I remember, “Oh. Yumi called Sunday night as well. She seems nice.”

The man freezes.

“Breathe, Connor. I didn’t tell your grandma about your sex friend. You’re safe.”

“But you did tell her about your chats with my ex.” His mouth is in a flat, unfriendly line as he strangles his ballcap with those big hands. It seems he is experiencing equally big feelings.

“Firstly, I didn’t mean to tell Martha about it,” I say. “But those cookies Joyce’s daughter makes are strong.”

A grunt from him.

“Secondly, Connor, all I wanted was a new number, not an introduction to your life. It was your ex, not me, who spread this bullshit about us dating all over town. Something I most definitely could have lived without. Your grandma heard about it and wanted to know the truth. And I, ever so slightly underthe influence, told her what happened as it pertained to me, which is my right. The end.”

He scowls down at me, and I scowl up at him and…shit. I blink first. His lips curl slightly at the edges in victory and he says, “Your eyes are still a little red.”

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