Page 15 of Stacked
None of them ever drew that spark inside me, that pull I wanted and had only felt once. That was a long time ago, though. I wasn’t sure my heart would beat again after losing her.
While I didn’t know Anya Post well, and I hardly remembered her from school, her social media hinted that she might feel the same way I did...that no one has lit the right spark.Of course, I doubted I’d be the person to do it or that I’d even want to.
But we were kindred spirits. A few weeks of living in New Burlington had made one thing clear. This wasn’t a great town for singles. It was the kind of place people moved to once they were married and had kids. Want good schools at a reasonable price? Move to New Burlington. Want to retire somewhere cheap? Step right on up.
Want to find someone to spend the rest of your life with?
Don’t come here.
I turned off the water in my shower, took the towel from the nearby rack, dried my body off, and stepped out onto the cool white tile. It was just after five, and I had plenty of time before meeting Anya at Wave. It wouldn’t take me long to get ready, but I wanted to make sure I arrived at the restaurant before she did.
And she’d chosen one almost a half hour away.
She hadn’t said it, but I figured she didn’t want to be seen with me in town. I understood that too. There was no need to send all those tongues wagging, even if I’d long ago decided I didn’t care what people thought about the way I lived my life.
I slid into my SUV around a quarter to six and took off, navigating county roads and a state highway before arriving at the on-ramp to the interstate and the outer Cincinnati city limits. A Spotify playlist of ’80s alternative hits crooned in the background as I picked up speed, pushing against what remained of rush-hour traffic. It was an easy, picturesque drive, and once I got on the bridge to downtown, I opened the moonroof so I could feel the breeze on this warm but comfortable night. New York City had nothing on nights like this. And I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.Open roads, no pollution-clogged air, wide-open space.
Wave had a decent-sized crowd, and I was thankful I made reservations after Anya accepted my invitation. If I hadn’t, we’d have spent most of our night engaged in awkward conversation around whatever sliver of space we could carve out at the bar. As it was, I had a table in the back beneath a large, abstract watercolor painting splashed in hues of blue and green.
She walked in seconds after six thirty, her brown hair pulled up in a messy bun that even I could see wasn’t casual at all, a black silk dress, and a pair of gold sandals that framed what appeared to be freshly painted blue toenails. I saw a hint of light pink lipstick on her lips. She was trying. Hard.
And she looks beautiful.
I stood when she got close to our table. “Hey there. Great place.”
“I know. It’s better than I thought it would be. Really cozy.” Anya hung her tan purse on the back of her chair before slipping onto it. “Their Instagram doesn’t do this place justice.”
“Usually, Instagram oversells things.”
She laughed and picked up one of the menus on the table between us. “Have you had a chance to look?”
“I haven’t. Wanted to see what you might be in the mood for.”
Anya focused on the selections, running her index finger up and down the page as she read the list of wines by the glass, wines by the bottle, specialty cocktails, and craft beers. “Don’t they have food too?”
“On this one.” I handed her a small menu with a few pages of appetizers, entrées, and shareable plates the restaurant advertised as their specialty. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted that or not.”
Wasn’t sure what you wanted at all.
“I’m starving,” she admitted. “Worked through lunch, so all I’ve had today was some overnight oats I scarfed down before the store opened.”
“What kind?”
“Mixed with peanut butter, raspberries, and blueberries.” She closed the drink menu. “I think I’m in the mood for rosé.”
“Good choice.”
I signaled the waitress. Within a few moments, we placed a quick order—charcuterie plate, pork potstickers, a glass of rosé, and a draft ale for me. The server tried to tell us the evening specials, but I waved her away. I wanted the interaction over quickly because talking to Anya was my priority.
“How was work?” I hoped that would be an easy and simple way to open the conversation. “Busy?”
“Busy,” she echoed. “And you?”
“We’re almost ready to put in the shelving at the store, so we’re moving right along.”
“That’s great.”
But I could tell by the way she replied that she didn’t think it was at all. But that was all I needed.
