Page 152 of Cross Check

We settle in with a drink and a bread basket. A glimmer of hope sparks in me when he nudges the butter my way and insists I have the first slice. No comment about carbs. No comment about how I might like a salad instead. He dips his chin and politely asks the server to bring us more when we finish the first basket.

This man might be a unicorn, and I’m suspicious.

“I have a habit of filling up before my entree gets here,” I admit. “I love to eat. Carbs in particular, and I don’t care if that means I can’t finish my pasta.”

“My kryptonite is ice cream. I try not to eat a bowl every night, but sometimes, I can’t help it.”

“We all have our vices.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “How do you like being an engineer?”

“I apologize for how nerdy this is going to sound, but I love it. I’ve always loved figuring out how to put things together. Remember Tinkertoys and Lincoln Logs?” he asks.

“I loved Tinkertoys!”

“Same.” He laughs, and it shows off a dimple on both cheeks. “Math has always been my strong suit, and I followed that passion through college. Now I’m responsible for working on plans for a lot of city projects, including the new baseball stadium Denver proposed. It’s cheesy to say I’m living out my dreams, but I am.”

“I like that. The world is too hard on us as it is. Doing something you’re passionate about is a blessing.” I reach for another piece of bread. “Is that what brought you to Denver?”

“No. My last relationship did. We had a lot of love for each other, but we knew it wouldn’t work out long-term. I had planted roots in the city, so I didn’t bother leaving. It helps that we’re friendly enough that on the off chance we do run into each other somewhere, we can get through the encounter without making anyone around us uncomfortable.” Bryson pauses to take a sip of his wine. “What about you? Any breakups or bitter exes in the picture?”

“None. I haven’t dated much in the last five years. It’s hard with my job,” I admit. “Everyone has an opinion, and it’s not often they’re encouraging. My job keeps me busy, and I don’t mind being alone all that much.”

We talk through dinner, and the conversation is decent. I’m having more fun than I thought I would, and when the check comes and Bryson pays for it, I agree to grab some ice cream with him from the spot around the corner.

“The chocolate chip cookie dough is the best in the city,” he tells me, and there’s a whisper in my ear about how cookies and cream is better.

I keep the thought to myself.

We find a spot on a bench where our knees almost touch. When his hand accidentally grazes mine, I wait for butterflies. I wait for fireworks or a sign that I could be attracted to him, but nothing comes.

All I see when I close my eyes is the man with dark hair and a new tattoo, courtesy of me. I can hear his laughter, and I remember the heavy weight of his hand on my thigh when we were tangled in the blankets on my couch.

I try. I try so fucking hard to be present in the moment because Bryson is a surprisingly nice guy. He’s funny and smart and exceedingly kind. On paper, he’s perfect. Exactly who I would go for if asked the type of man I’d want to spend an evening with, but the longer I sit beside him and nod along to his story about an injury he sustained in a wiffle ball game, the more glaringly obvious it becomes that this will never work.

He isn’t Grant, and that’s his biggest flaw.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Bryson asks. “Or a nightcap?”

“I think it’s best if I call an Uber and head home,” I say.

“Ah. Gotcha. We’re not clicking,” he says, and I decide he’s definitely another exception to my anti-patriarchy stance. There’s no arguing or trying to convince me I’m wrong. It’s simple acceptance, and it’s a breath of fresh air. “I appreciate you being honest with me.”

“I really did have fun tonight. It went better than I thought it would.”

“I get it. You never know what you’re going to get from someone on the apps. Guys especially.” Bryson chuckles. “Thanks for the good conversation, Amelia.”

“Thank you for dinner and the ice cream.” I toss my empty cup in the trash can. The cookie dough flavor was pretty good. It just wasn’t perfect. “Good luck with everything.”

“You too. We might not have worked out, but I’m still going to cheer for the Goldminers.”

“Appreciate that.” I smile. “Good night, Bryson.”

I delete the dating app from my phone in the backseat of an Uber. I watch the city pass through the window, stuck between the first signs of lovesickness and wondering if I should say fuck it and give in to what I want once and for all.

FORTY-EIGHT

GE

I love the playoffs!!