Page 7 of The Situation
I take a long drink, giving my heart a chance to stop pounding against my ribs.
“Think about it,” he says. “You’re in your romance era. I’m in my bored era. We’re both just people looking for happy endings.”
“Yourbored era?” I snort-laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I’m bored. Dating has lost its luster. It’s the same routine over and over, and I’m tired of it. I’m ready for something real.”
My heart swells at his response even though I’m not entirely convinced it’s an honest answer. Maybe I’m cynical, but it’s hard to believe that a man like him wants to settle down. He’s gorgeous, young, and undoubtedly has his pick of women. He can’t make me believe he’s looking to settle down. I call bullshit.
I narrow my eyes skeptically.
“My friends are all married and having kids,” he says. “I’m quickly becoming the fun uncle who shows up on birthdays and holidays with loud, messy presents.”
I laugh. “I feel your pain on that one. My friends are having children now, and I’m the fun auntie.”
“Do you want kids?”
Do I want kids?Startled, I take another drink. That question is very personal and not fully straightforward. I’m not willing to discuss it with a random man on a plane.
“I’ll just say that I spent more time at home working on my cozy-girl persona than I do trying to pick up a man to make babies with,” I say.
“Like you have a hard time picking up men. Come on.”
I pull my sweater onto my shoulders before snuggling into the seat. “Picking up a man and picking up a man I’d have children with are two very different things.”
He nods as he processes that. “Fair. Now, what’s a cozy-girl persona?”
“Why are you asking so many questions?”
“How else do I get to know you?”
“You don’t.”
“Why not?”
I laugh, amused. “Because it doesn’t matter. We’re going to land in a bit, and you’ll never see me again, so why bother trying to get to know the nuts and bolts of my life?”
“Women typically love to tell me all about themselves,” he says curiously. “I’m not sure what the problem is here.”
I lean against the console separating us, holding his gaze. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that most of the women you’re referring to are about your age.”
He shrugs noncommittally.
“And that would be the problem,” I say.
“I don’t understand.”
I smile. “The women you typically engage with are at one stage of life, and I am at another. They’re in their twenties and have energy to toss around. On the other hand, I’m just looking forward to getting to my hotel and having dinner at this cute little restaurant called Ruma inside the hotel, if I can get in, before going to my room, lighting a candle, and taking a hot bath.” I shrug. “We aren’t the same.”
“But you still want to have dinner with me tonight, right?”
I laugh, sitting back again as the pilot’s voice crackles through the speakers. He welcomes us to Columbus and gives us the time and temperature. The flight attendant walks by, ensuring we’re buckled, and takes our drinks and napkins.
“You didn’t answer me,” he says.
My stomach swirls, and I make a concerted effort to breathe smoothly. His question—so direct and pointed—catches me off guard.Does he really want to see me tonight?
He watches me closely, making it clear that he’s dead serious. There’s no laugh, no smirk. He doesn’t flinch. He simply waits for my response.
