Page 11 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

Susan had been so forward, practically spelling out her intentions, while Gary wanted nothing less. He didn’t kiss on the first date, he barely even dated, and he’d spent the whole evening thinking about a particular brunette—Krista, not Susan. Did Krista even realize what kind of disaster she’d set him up with? He felt like Hansel, shoved into the Witch’s oven, narrowly avoiding getting swallowed whole.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Krista, too rattled to settle for texting. No way was he ready for date number two, let alone three, if she actually had more of these setups lined up for him this week. One was enough to haunt his dreams for weeks.

“Hello?” came her soft voice, but something about her tone made him pause. It wasn’t the same lively, energized Krista he’d spoken to yesterday. She usually had a spark that set him on edge in the best way, or a softness that turned his spine to jelly. But tonight, she sounded fragile, almost defeated.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing,” she replied with a forced brightness.

“I can hear it in your voice.”

“I was watching a sad show.”

“What show?”

“A Charlie Brown Christmas.”

“That’s not exactly sad… are you crying?” he asked, shocked, as he heard her sniffle through the phone.

“Don’t be silly. I never cry.”

“Krista, what’s really going on?”

“Oh, you know,” she said with a mock sigh, launching into an absurd list. “I stubbed my toe. Got a paper cut. Dented my car.Ran over a beaver. My pet orangutan escaped. Godzilla stole my lunch money. My dog ate my homework…”

He chuckled, despite himself. “So… none of my business?”

“Right. No orangutans in Sweet Bloom – and no beavers.”

“Gotcha. Fresh out of Godzilla’s too?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, though. For whatever it really is.”

She was quiet a moment before asking stiffly, “So… how was your date?”

The unexpected question threw him off. Did she care about the answer? The thought of Krista feeling down—someone so full of life—unsettled him deeply. If anyone should always be smiling, it was her.

“About that…” he began cautiously, not wanting to pile onto whatever she was dealing with. “It was… fine,” he said, mentally kicking himself. “She was nice enough, but, uh, not my type.”

“Oh?” Her voice softened, curious. “Do you even have a type?”

Oh yeah, he thought, instantly picturing her: brunette with a light that shines from within, green eyes warm as the sun, a smile so radiant it could launch ships, and curls he could lose his hands in.

“Nope,” he lied, nervous. “But she’s definitely not it.”

“Really?” she pressed. “How do you know?”

Because she nearly impaled me with her shoe, and I wanted to scream for backup at three separate points. The sentence, ‘I need an adult!’ was almost yelped just to see if someone would come to my aid… but I was afraid it would be Susan who did – so I stayed quiet,he thought. Out loud, he dodged, “I could just tell.”

“Oh. Well… that’s why I set up three dates, remember? Three chances for true love.”

“Krista, you really don’t have to?—”

“You don’t want to go?” she cut in, sounding hurt.

He backpedaled, fast. “I didn’t say that! I just think… maybe after tomorrow’s date, we could talk. You know, face to face. About all this.”

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