Page 6 of Dating Goals
Autumn is my favorite time of year, when the air gets that special crispness that makes everything feel more alive.
My playlist shifts into Blondie’s “One Way Or Another,” and I find myself with the urge to belt it out, badly and gleefully, right into the vast fall wilderness. A vast fall wilderness that now has the distinct and unsettling sensation of being one big public restroom with not an actual public restroom in sight.
“Scheisse,” I mutter, doing a little dance on the spot.
The situation progresses from you-might-want-to-think-about-a-bathroom to I MUST PEE NOW!
Either I find a bathroom fast, or I’ll need new jeans before I open the bar.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, I think as I change course, speed-walking to Walter Egger’s cabin.
Walter has known my family forever, and his cabin is just around the bend, thank goodness. It’s been vacant for ages while Walter’s off pretending he’s Indiana Jones.
He left for South America several months ago, planning a trip around the world. But he met a lady in Buenos Aires and kind of just stayed in Argentina indefinitely.
He told me I could use his spare key if I needed it. I’ve only gone in a few times to dust and air it out, but right now, that key is my salvation.
I round the bend where Walter’s cabin sits nestled among the pines, my bladder screaming in protest.
“Do not think about waterfalls,” I mutter while fishing behind the loose stone near the foundation. “I’m gonna get ya, get ya, get ya…” I belt out as I snatch the key, doing what can only be described as an urgent potty dance. My bladder has exactly zero patience right now.
The lock clicks open, and I burst inside with a happy sigh because I can see the bathroom door just off the entryway and I know I’m not a minute too soon.
I sing-sing-sing along to Blondie as I make my break, flinging the bathroom door open, flipping up the toilet seat, and yanking my jeans down.
Sweet relief floods through me as I finally get to pee, my heart rate slowing from red alert toAaaaah. Victory is mine.
I take a moment to be grateful for indoor plumbing. And to regain my dignity. Mostly the plumbing.
Sighing, I grin at Walter’s tacky fish-themed shower curtain and the ancient orange shag rug that belongs in a 70s time capsule. The man loves his fish…and orange paired with the color avocado green.
I sing with even more gusto. With the echo-y acoustics of a cabin bathroom and a carefree willingness to overlook the fact that I’m tone deaf. Singing in bathrooms is my jam. It doesn’t matter if my neighbors for five miles in any direction think I’m crazy.
After washing my hands, I throw open the bathroom door, belting out, “I’m gonna trick ya, I’m gonna—HEILIGE SCHEISSE!”
I freeze. There’s a man. A very tall, very muscular man, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
He’s wearing sweatpants, a worn T-shirt, and a bemused expression. The T-shirt says TITANS HOCKEY, and the man wearing it is built exactly like you might expect a hockey team to be built.
The fabric stretches across his shoulders, which have the nerve to bulge enticingly. Then, my gaze makes its way up to his face and…Boom! Dimples. He has the boyish good looks of someone with everything in the world going for him, and he’s using them against me right now.
His wavy brown hair catches the morning light streaming through the window, and…Wait. Why is this ridiculously handsome intruder in Walter’s cabin?
“Interesting choice for a morning serenade,” he says, grinning.
Heart hammering against my ribs, my brain kicks into survival mode. I look around wildly, hoping for an improvised weapon and find Walter’s decorative fish mounted on the wall.
Maybe I have a prayer if I swing hard. Maybe. I’ve fought off handsy drunks with less.
“I have a fish, and I am not afraid to use it!” I warn in my native Swiss German.
Did this guy follow me from the village? Has he been stalking me on my morning runs?
His eyebrows shoot up, his dimples getting even dimplier. Then he puts his hands in the air like the most adorable surrender of all time. “Whoa there, Debbie Harry. I come in peace.”
His accent is American, maybe. Whatever it is, it means I should switch to English, and if I switch to English, he can’t even suspect how panicked I am.
“How long have you been following me?” I grip the fish tighter. “And don’t move! I will whack you with this trout faster than you can say ‘schweizer käse!’”
