Page 17 of Swiped
“Great. Me too!” He started to feel an ember of something warm and glowing, himself. “I have some new outfits for him. Want a sneak preview?”
She pulled out her other earbud, set them both on the table, and scooched closer to him. She smelled like cinnamon gum and strawberries. She smiled at him, and he noticed that she had alittle gap in her front teeth. And he was a goner, his mind already sporting flannels and listening to bands that played the banjo as he drove their #vanlife camper out into Yosemite.
“I’d love that,” she said.
* * *
That evening, Nat stood in her room in front of a huge pile of clothes as Sara watched and sipped wine on the bed. Finding a potential date outfit for happy hour with Mr. Downtown, as they were calling him in a crooner’s singsong, was proving to be a long and surprisingly sweaty task.
“How about this?”
Sara glanced up from the glow of Nat’s laptop. “Maybe?” She squinted and frowned. “Not with that skirt, though.”
Nat pulled off the shirt and fanned her armpits. “OK, but we can’t alter too many variables at once.” She tossed the shirt into the pile that was nearly to her knees. “It’s inefficient.”
“If you keep throwing clothes in that pile, it might gain sentience and murder us in our sleep,” said Sara.
Nat dug through the heap. “I can’t wear anything that I wore on a date before because that’s just bad luck. And all of my new clothes have a vibe that’s more . . .”
“‘Fun’ youth group counselor?” Sara offered.
“No,” said Nat, tossing aside a chunky brown turtleneck.
“Time-traveling Puritan?”
“Stop.”
“1950s accountant with a bad rash?”
“Nuanced!” Nat cried, pulling on an oversized Breton shirt with blessedly minimal wrinkles. “They’re nuanced.”
Sara handed her the wine. “Drink that.” As Nat took a large swig, Sara turned the laptop around to face her. “And look! You’ve got a new match already.”
“Oh, yes!” Nat took a second swig as she examined the man smiling out at her from the screen. “Oh no,” she said.
Sara frowned. “Really? I thought he was cute!”
“No, I know him,” said Nat. “Actually, I know his wife.”
“Ouch.” Sara refilled the wine.
“Should I say something to her?” asked Nat.
“Hell, no!” said Sara, taking back the computer. “You adopt that policy and you will be setting a truly exhausting precedent, trust me.” She shook her halo of glossy curls in emphasis. “Anyway, you’ve got like ten other new messages.”
Nat’s eyes widened with a realization. “Wait, are lots of guys on here actually secretly married?”
Sara scoffed. “Ask Santa the next time you see him.” She clicked around the messages as Nat stayed frozen in thought. “Um, hello, this guy’s hot as fuck!” She leaned in closer to the screen as if inspecting an ancient scroll. “Why haven’t I matched with him yet?”
Now, Nat shook her head for emphasis. “But if the user input data is inaccurate, then my algorithm can’t—”
Sara turned the laptop and tapped her navy, coffin-shaped fingernail loudly on the man’s picture on the screen. Long dark hair, hazel eyes with just the right amount of crinkle at the corners, a gleaming smile that was somehow both sweet and seductive, and a shadow of stubble across a chiseled jawline.
Nat melted inside while her body practically leapt to the computer. “Hello,” she half-whispered. “Open his message.”
Sara clicked.
Nat read it aloud. “‘There she is.’” Nat smoothed her hair and felt a blush warm into her cheeks.
