Page 11 of Run to Me

4

JENSEN

Jake

Are you helping me install floors tomorrow?

Me

Yep. I’ll be there at 2:00.

Jake

Bring beer.

Me

I set my phone on the table at the Noon Moon Café, where I’m having breakfast with my buddy, Trevor. He works from home but likes to relocate his workspace to the library, the coffee shop, or the café. Because my cooking skills begin and end with cereal and spaghetti, I join him for meals when I can.

“Gina has a friend,” he says without glancing up from his laptop. His job has something to do with software, which sounds boring as hell.

“I don’t want to meet Gina’s friend,” I say between bites of scrambled eggs. His grey eyes drift upward to meet mine, and I shrug. “I’m not interested in dating.”

Trevor and his wife, Gina, have been setting me up on dates for years. I indulged them for a while, but put my foot down after one woman proposed marriage on the first date.

He adjusts the ball cap covering his brown hair and leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “How long has it been? A year?”

I offer him a blank stare instead of an answer.

Despite his expression of disbelief, his voice lacks intonation. “Longer than a year?” He shakes his head. “You’re not getting any younger, man. And I know you want the wife, the kids, and the dog. You can’t have that life if you don’t get out there and date.”

“Maybe that life isn’t in the cards for me. I’m too busy for dating or relationships. I have the bar,” I lie.

The last and only relationship I had ended because my ex-girlfriend complained about me working nights. She knew going in that I owned a bar. After seven months of her subtle digs at my choice of career, I ended things between us. Partners should build each other up and support one another, not take cheap shots to destroy each other’s foundations.

As a witness to my parents’ loving and supportive marriage, I set the relationship bar pretty high for myself at a young age. Yes, I want the wife and the kids and the dog, but my standards are damn near perfection. An unattainable goal for any woman, save one. Gina can throw all the available women in Texas at me, and it won’t make a difference. I met my damn near perfect years ago, and she’s perfect for me.

Trevor studies me with narrowed eyes, but I don’t falter under his scrutiny. It takes someone far more threatening than a brainiac who wears practical sweaters and sneakers with his jeans to ruffle my feathers.

“Who is she?” he asks.

Like me, Trevor isn’t a big talker, so silence is a comfortable third wheel when we hang out together. That is, until he catches the smallest hint of deception, at which point he becomes relentless in his pursuit of the truth. The man is too smart for his own good.

“There’s no one.” I pluck a napkin from the moon-shaped holder and wipe a drop of ketchup off the table.

The café has an astrological theme, with dark blue and gold decor and a mural of the moon phases painted on the wall. Despite the name, the owners only serve breakfast and lunch.

“Then go on a date with Gina’s friend,” he says. “One date.”

“Nope. I don’t have the time.” Because I’m too busy chasing Maisy.

“You’re a terrible liar, Jenny. Who’s the girl? I need her name, age, and occupation.” He rests a finger on the touchpad of his laptop, poised to conduct an internet search.

“Don’t call me Jenny. And there’s no woman. If I ever find one, you’ll be the last person to know.”

Sighing, he returns his focus to his beloved keyboard, clacking the keys at a ridiculous speed and ending our morning chat. I finish my last strip of bacon, wash it down with a second glass of orange juice, and throw some cash on the table. Trevor and I tip our chins at each other, and I leave him to his boring computer job.