Page 14 of More Than a Good Friend

Before I can think of a response, he grabs my hand and slides the ring onto my finger.

I guess hunger turns mood rings black.

He cocks his head and props his fists on his hips. The beads on the fringe of his suede vest jangle as he shakes his head. “That one must be broken or something.”

“Once I eat, it might change.”

“Right. Food.” He closes his eyes and spins in a circle three times. “This way.” Arm extended like he’s leading a charge, he heads off in a direction we’ve already been. Twice.

I follow, limiting my grumbles to thoughts.

His profile made him seem normal. It lied.

He’s nowhere near that. And there’s nothing really wrong with that. I guess. I went into this love quest open to all possibilities. That’s going to change. I’ll be swiping left a lot more often.

It seems pretty clear to me that our vibes don’t jive. Plus, he’s the oldest thirty-two-year-old I’ve ever met. I’m not a spring chicken, so I’m trying to keep an open mind, but this guy is old.

Why lie and claim to be three years younger than me? Something close to the truth would make for a better first-date experience.

Of course, my profile says nothing about how I’ve spent the last twenty years hopelessly in love with my best friend. Unrequited love would make me sound desperate. Dating at thirty-five is hard enough.

He disappears through a set of double doors, and I hurry my steps. This is the second place we stopped. An hour ago.

I fully expect to open the door and have him bump into me on his way back out.

But no. He’s standing near the hostess station, looking impatient. “There you are. What took you so long? I’m hungry.”

My mood ring is probably going to catch fire.

The hostess smiles. “Right this way.” She makes it two steps to the left, and Louie grabs her arm.

“The right side of the room feels friendlier.” He cranes his neck, then grins. “And I see an empty table.”

The hostess glances at me, and I shrug. I’ll sit wherever I can get food.

When we arrive at the table, she asks, “Friendly enough for you?”

Louie nods. “Yep. This has a warm and happy feeling. Just what we need for our first date.”

Is it too late to change my mind about dinner and just grab fast food on the way back to the ranch? But if I get home early, Dag will ask a hundred questions. And I don’t want him to know that my date went poorly.

As Louie tries out the four chairs, checking which feels best, the hostess mouths “I’m sorry.”

I give a slight nod.

She sets menus on the table, not waiting to see where he’ll end up. Then, once he’s chosen, I drop into a seat.

“Mmm. So many yummy options. I can’t wait to order.” He taps the table as he looks over the menu.

The waitress walks up, and based on the look she’s giving me, she’s heard that this is a first date. And a disaster. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

“Water for me.” I wait for Louie to answer. The faster we can get these orders in, the sooner I can put food in my tummy and hopefully not resort to violence.

“I’ll have a glass of water with lemon but no ice. And a mango margarita, half sugar and half salt on the rim.” He hands over the menu. “And we’ll start with the ceviche tostada as an appetizer.”

Not sure what he means by we because I don’t eat ceviche. It’s a texture thing. I can’t handle it.

It’s awkwardly quiet for several minutes, and I’m trying to think of conversational questions. This is probably why I don’t date much. I’m no good at it.

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