Dream On: A Rom Com

Dude Guy

LUCY

"So glad you could make it," the latest guy says as I shift into the seat across from him. "I've been hoping you'd come join me." Marcus, according to his nametag.

My mouth opens and closes like a horse chomping a carrot, and an unladylike snort sneaks out. No clever retorts. But I sit up, my back straight, and suck in my stomach.

Marcus is that hot.

"Wait." I'm not letting him get away with teasing me, not without a fight. "Didn't you wink at me across a crowded room?

"Why yes, yes I did." His smile is easy, dragging me in, relaxing me.

He's blond, with a pinkish complexion and wide shoulders, the only man here wearing jeans and a fitted, T-shirt. Black.

To grab control of the conversation, I read his nametag out loud. "Outdoor guy, love dogs, books. Seriously looking," and I let loose a sly, teasing grin. "Seriously looking? You can't be serious. You were winking at me like a pickup artist."

At this, he reaches across the table and takes my hand in both of his, as if he's warming it, then releases it.

"Now my turn to read. Okay?"

"Sure."

"Lucy, baby," he purrs, working the whole playful thing while reading my tag. "Love working with big kids, Insta stories, baking. Kindness." He eases back in the chair, crosses a leg. "You bake, I'll eat."

"Deal. I'm known to feed my friends."

"Known? What's your specialty?"

"Healthy desserts packed with fiber. Fiber is our friend," and as soon as it's out of my mouth, I wince.

He laughs, an unexpected chortle that turns his expression from cute to irresistible when a dimple appears on his left cheek. "Insta stories?" He leans closer, invading my space. "What's that?"

"Instagram. I bake and take pictures. Tell stories."

"Never paid much attention. Show me?"

"Sure," and I whip out my phone. In four seconds he's scrolling down my Insta feed, nodding and smiling, but I can tell he doesn't get it, the magic isn't there for him.

He hands me back the phone. "Impressive, but I'm here to talk to you." His elbows on the table, he's so close again I breathe in his scent, a mixture of aftershave and soap. "Here's a thought. If I draw a heart next to your name, you know, when I turn in my paper, you think they'll give me your name and number?"

"They might," I blurt. His lashes are thick and dark. I'm jealous.

"What would you like to do on our first date?"

I hesitate. One long second, but it's definitely hesitation because I'm so bad at this sort of aggressive flirtation. The flip banter isn't the problem, it's more the direct approach that floors me. After all, we're in the middle of a free-for-all flirt fest.

He's waiting, a little wary now. A quick check around the room assures me this ice cream socializing can't last much longer.

"A walk on the beach," I offer.

Deon is a few tables away, chatting with a woman wearing pink strappy sandals tied at the ankles with bows. His arms are folded, meaning he's not interested. Not interested, another of our jokes. Stolen from an old movie the three of us watched one rainy Sunday afternoon at Phoebe's.

"Perfect. The classic walk on the beach," Marcus smiles in agreement. "Corny but simple."

"Corny?" Pretending I'm offended.

The bell rings.

"When we're done here," says Marcus, "let's catch a drink."

"Catch?" Is this his way of inviting me for a drink without paying?

"Have a glass of wine with me. Here or somewhere."

"Sounds good." I draw a heart next to Marcus's name, stand, and take a side-glance in Deon's direction.

He's staring at me and he smiles when I catch him. I half-smile back, transition to the next table.

For a nano-second, I imagine where Deon and I would be if everything had worked out for us back last winter when we tried. If Deon had the guts to quell the panic in his head, give us a chance. If...

We'd be five months into our relationship, still getting to know each other's quirks. Comfortable enough to wear our grungiest home clothes, spend weekends baking Blondies, the cocoanut macaroons Deon loves, and generally giving in to our foodie selves. Styling photos together because Deon has a lot more patience than I do, strange as it sounds. We'd cruise Goodwill and Savers for scarves and baskets and the occasional vase.

Right now? We'd be down at the little beach in those low-riding chairs you can slide in the water. Sipping Deon's special mango margaritas, speed dating never entering our minds.