Yuck, too forward. Why would I drive all the way to Cooma for a weekend with someone I’d never met?
I’ll share your lunch if you’ll share my bed. S
No. No. I didn’t even bother responding to the slimy S.
Sounds interesting but let’s chat first. K
A day after most other replies, K gave as much away as I did with his abstract profile picture, but at least he understood the need for conversation before a weekend away.
Let’s start with sports. League, Union, Soccer or AFL. As a rugby league tragic, I’d prefer we have that in common but if the mysterious K couldn’t talk broadly about sports, then he wouldn’t last five seconds at the Christmas table.
Why would I have to choose? St George, Brumbies, Sydney FC and Carlton. K
St George, Waratahs, Melbourne Victory and Brisbane Lions. M
Not that he’d be able to find me from my silhouette, but I’d prefer to use the initial of my last name instead of first. The internet world was full of creeps, and I’d already met more than my fair share.
The Rugby world didn’t change the rules because Waratahs were winning. Brumbies forever. K
Beg to differ. Don’t tell me you prefer Parliament House to the Sydney Opera House? M
Both have their place but watching the lights across Sydney Harbour beats watching Parliament any day. K
Agreed. M
See, it didn’t take long for us to find something in common. K
Tea, coffee or milo? M
I like to live on the wild side. Double shot coffee in the morning. K
And at night? M
Warm fire, melted chocolate with hot milk. K
From the safety of my Sydney unit, I found an old block of chocolate and melted half in the microwave. Adding frothed milk, I could almost imagine curling up with K in front of a fire. Or at the football.
Don’t tell me I scared you off with talk of chocolate? K
Do you froth your milk or microwave it? M
Are you a philistine? Froth is always best. K
But it’s more efficient to froth milk for two. K
Three hours passed before we stopped chatting. I liked the style of his banter, and the familiarity I hadn’t felt before in online dating. My fears of finding a fake date and not having enough in common to last through lunch were quickly put to rest. And the more I got to know K the less I cared what the reality behind his profile photo revealed.
This was a man I wouldn’t mind taking home for Christmas.
Kade
Fuck me now.
After my last dating disasters, I wouldn’t have logged online if I hadn’t been stuck in the middle of nowhere, on the work trip from hell. Alone in a cheap hotel where the sporadic Wi-Fi was still better than the television reception or channel selection. Three days on the road and I’d exhausted the options of playing darts or snooker with the locals, and none of the reports thoughtfully emailed through by my office threatened to keep me awake.
A long night, no mini-bar and with nothing better to do, I logged onto my old dating account. I half expected to close down my online profile as a lost cause but instead, started flicking to confirm my decision.
No. Swipe.
No. Swipe.
Really? Never. Swipe.
I don’t know how I attracted them, but most women in my feed needed more clothes and less lip filler. Which, in a way, justified deleting the profile, when I came across her. Perfect.
A strong silhouette, partially side on with enough tilt of her chin that captured my attention. Almost an up yours to the world. For the first time since trying to get back into the dating scene, I wanted to know more. Who was she, and why would a woman with a waist like that need a fake date for Christmas? A country Christmas. This could work.
Except, two could play at hiding our faces.
The question was, to update my current profile or create a new one?
Throwing caution to the wind, I deleted my account without thinking twice, and set up a new one. I had an old email address that could never be linked back to me if things went pear shaped. Hours of experimenting with creative photography between my laptop and phone, and by the next night, I’d managed to set up my own version of M’s silhouette profile. A day later than her original post, but at the very least, she’d given me a way of passing the time.
Not that I believed in signs, but if the internet linked us again, I’d take it as a—yes!
Third option!
Her profile hit me with an anticipation I hadn’t felt in years. Or perhaps it had been so long since a woman graced my side, I’d forgotten what it felt like to be at the start of something fun. I typed a response, retyped and edited again. A quick read through, my finger hesitated a moment, before hitting send. What sort of fool overthinks an online dating reply?
You overthink everything.
Like an eager schoolboy with his first crush, I kept checking for her reply trying to convince myself it didn’t matter if she ghosted me. At least I was finally doing something to find the elusive balance between work and love that had my parents worked into a tizzy. It had nothing to do with their email or Declan’s texts.
If M did respond, well it might be fun to sit back and enjoy the ride. A legitimate excuse to avoid my family on Christmas Day and depending on how we got on, she might be happy to be my fake date on Boxing Day. After all, one good turn deserved another.
I re-read her profile again, each time appreciating the careful way she used her words. A hint of humor and attitude. Prepared to be honest in her expectations and to manage mine. Not that she was mine, at least not yet. I kept coming back to her silhouette, wishing she had at least allowed me to see her eyes. Windows to the soul. Unrequited teenage love had been replaced with warm bodies over the years, but I still looked for the softest dark blue, almost black eyes of my first crush.
Fake fan or real? K
After a day of bantering backwards and forwards covering sports, music and hot chocolate of all things, I decided to up the ante. See if Miss M had as much spunk as her profile. Again, I studied her upturned chin. Nice.
Pick a topic and hit me. M
Too easy for you to search the answers online. K
So, you have trust issues? Mummy issues too? M
Right now, you could be a little old man in a nursing home having fun. K
Actually, I’m petite. Only the interns at work think I’m old and I live alone unless you count the huntsman who lives in the corner of my bedroom. M
You have a spider living in your bedroom? K
Don’t you? M
Most girls kill a spider on sight. K
Not country girls. Tougher than we look. M
I like your style. K
I would have said more but didn’t want to come across as too forward. Although, knowing her real name would be a start. How on earth could I know she preferred soft poached eggs on wilted English spinach, but not her name? That after lunch she switched from coffee to peppermint tea before returning to coffee after six, but not the country town where she was taking me to for Christmas lunch.
A hundred small towns between Sydney and Canberra, I knew most and still had family in some.
A girl unafraid of spiders would fit in anywhere I wanted to go.
Three days of playful banter and gentle questioning and I’d had enough. About to go back to my city office and to the overflowing inbox that I’d successfully ignored while being on the road, it was time for Miss M to become real, or for me to delete another dating profile.
You have a deal. I’ll do Christmas if you’ll return the favor on Boxing Day. K
Where? M
Similar to you, halfway between Sydney and Canberra. K
That doesn’t narrow things down. M
I’ll make it easy on you. Coffee shop next to the bank in Goulburn. Saturday. K
Which bank? M
Funny girl, the slogan had been an advertising gem for years.
Yep. That’s the one. 1
0am K
How will I know you? M
Nervous smile and a plate of poached eggs. K
I only need two plus toast. M
Who said the eggs are for you? K
Before Miss M had a chance to reply, I added, Triangles or soldiers? K
Triangles, are you a monster? M
Only if you’re high maintenance. K
Shit, what if she didn’t have my sense of humor?
Even if I am, I’m worth it. M
CU Saturday. K
Pia
“Abs, I think I have something to tell you.” Until the day before meeting K for brunch, I hadn’t wanted to jinx my good fortune in front of my luckless friends.
Abbie’s squeal not only caused permanent brain damage when I didn’t remove my phone quickly enough, but also reassured me that I needn’t have worried.
“Who is he? The gym owner?”
“Will you stop it. Sam is hot but I don’t want any permanent complications.”
“He could complicate my sheets any time he wanted.”
“Yeah, right. This from the girl who won’t even go out and get smashed to celebrate a break-up. When was the last time you hooked up with a random?” Of all of us, Abbie was little Miss Perfect. The first to volunteer to be the designated driver, the first to drag us off a sleazy random and the last girl to ever give up on the idea of romance. “You’d offer to wash his sheets and leave the bed fully made up for his next fling.”
To her credit, Abbie laughed, “Okay, less about me and more about your date. Who is he and when can I meet him?”
“Don’t you mean, does he have a brother?”
“Well, does he?”
“I don’t know.” Something we hadn’t got around to discussing.
“What about his family, where is he from?”
“I don’t know, but I think it must be country NSW because he’s invited me home for Boxing Day.”
“Planning a second date already. I like your style. When can I meet him?”
“I’ll let you know after this weekend. Look, I’m meeting him in Goulburn for brunch on Saturday. I’ll text you all the details and a link to his online profile, just in case.”
“You worried?”
“Not at all.” And I really wasn’t. K might still be an enigma, but he felt comfortable. Like an old pair of jeans that I never wanted to throw out. “We’ve been chatting online for hours for almost a week.”
“What’s he like.”
“Familiar.” I said without thinking. “I could talk to him all night and I don’t even care what he looks like.”
“What about his profile?”
“It was a silhouette. Nothing to see there.” At first it seemed creepy, but then I realized he only matched me for the lack of information and only giving away his initial. “In a way, it’s given us a chance to get to know each other without all the distraction.”
“Since when has a gorgeous guy been a distraction?”
“I don’t know if he’s gorgeous on the outside—but he might be the most genuine guy I’ve met in years.” It was true. The more we talked, the more I wanted to know K.
“What if he’s fake?” Abbie voiced my niggling concern.
“Isn’t that what I’m looking for?” I forced a nervous giggle, knowing that if it all turned to custard, at least Abbie would be there smiling for me. “A fake date for Christmas.”
Kade
A white cotton work shirt and jeans seemed the right blend of casual without taking the breakfast for granted. But as soon as I drove into Goulburn, I regretted my fashion choice made at four in the morning. I should have come down last night, stayed at my cottage down the back of my parents’ property.
At the early hour, it was easier than I expected to avoid anyone who recognized me at the fashion store, and the young sales assistant was too young to have been at high school when I was still there.
“Can I go back and get changed? I need to get out of these things” I asked after paying for a pale blue t-shirt dressy enough to correct my mistake and paired it with a pair of baggy canvas shorts.
“Sure, whatever.” Seriously, it seemed no one under the age of twenty could use real sentences.
The clothes were a little too country for my wardrobe, but I hoped they would scream Casual with a hint of style rather than the City meets country which my three-hundred-dollar designer shirt couldn’t hide. I wanted to impress but not intimidate M. Whoever she was.
Despite my fashion faux pas, I still managed to turn up at the coffee shop holding a bunch of native flowers with enough time to order a pre-breakfast date coffee to calm my nerves. The flowers had been a last-minute idea, although a block of melting chocolate for her evening drink would have been appropriate given our conversations, but I didn’t want to come across as some creep who was planning drinks before bed. Same with roses which seemed optimistic for a first date. Hopefully M would appreciate the kangaroo paw I asked to be added to the red and bright orange bottle brush.
Stop over thinking.
Or, perhaps I hadn’t thought this through enough. The décor hadn’t been upgraded in ten or fifteen years. The old juke box had taken my pocket money as the price for hanging around Declan and his friends. A price worth paying for the chance to bathe in the gaze of—
“Kade? Kade Reiss, is that you? Look at you with your long hair and have you forgotten how to shave!”
Oh, no! On this of all days, why did Pia Morgan have to turn up when I’m about to meet some random, online hook up! Shit, damn and more damn.
“Aren’t you just surprised I could shave if I wanted to!” Our banter as natural as the blush hiding behind my three-day stubble. Now, I wished I had gotten a haircut instead of pulling my thick black hair into a man bun. Pia had been my style queen in high school and if she hated it—well it’d be gone by morning. As her eyes slowly worked their way over my cheap t-shirt, I wanted to call for a time out and change back into my first choice of white shirt that screamed successful, expensive and city. Not the country bumpkin Pia probably remembered.
“Pia, I almost didn’t recognize you.” A lie. I’d stolen my brother’s high school class photo just to sleep with Pia Morgan under my pillow. Standing in front of me in a tiny yellow sundress that barely covered her thighs with straps that could fall off her shoulders. A perfect contrast to her golden skin and long hair. Darker than I remembered, with less makeup than my eighteen-year-old crush. “How are you?”
“Um, fine. What are you doing here?”
I didn’t need to look at my watch to know I only had twenty minutes to get Pia’s number, cancel my breakfast date and get the courage to ask Pia out. On a real date, between old friends. Unless, of course, she had come to town to catch up with Declan? Surely, Dec hadn’t decided to pull out his A game to win over mum and dad for Christmas?
“Meeting someone, but please, have a coffee with me.” I didn’t even try to sound nonchalant. Pia Morgan was the reason for every one of my wet dreams during high school, and most of my morning woods since. I could text my apologies to M under the table.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.” To my embarrassment, Pia studied the stupid bunch of natives that refused to fade into the red laminated café table. “Lovely flowers. I assume she’s someone special?”
“Enough about me, what brings you to town.” I hurriedly tried a redirect wishing I’d gone with the block of chocolate instead of the flowers that couldn’t be hidden behind the menu. “Last I heard you were in Sydney?”
Pia nodded, “Stayed there after uni.”
“Come, sit, have coffee and catch me up.”
Holding the back of the chair, Pia looked around with a hesitation I couldn’t place. Surely, she couldn’t be embarrassed to be seen talking to me—the whole age difference was only a big deal in high school. Even then, one year didn’t mean much, at least not to me.
“Thought I’d come back and do some recon before Christmas.” Her fidgeting got worse and she jumped each
time the front door opened.
My heart slumped and I benched the idea of cancelling my online date. I’d always known Pia meant more to me than I did to her but seeing firsthand her discomfort in my presence knocked me down in flames. If only she’d gotten fat or turned into a bitch. Instead, she still had the inner glow of goodness, and her dark features only made her seem an exotic orchid in a sea of white baby’s breath.
Face it, she is the reason you are still single. Declan needn’t worry about you beating him down the aisle. You chose Pia years ago and some things never change.
“That’s right. One week to go. You comin’ back home to see your folks?” I occasionally ran into them around town. Years ago, I’d volunteered at the men’s shed Pia’s father was the head of, just to get into the good graces of the man I hoped to someday call dad. Stupid kid fantasies.
“Um, look thanks for the offer of coffee, but I really need to keep going.” Pia didn’t even give me the courtesy of a goodbye smile, instead playing with her bloody phone. One way. Our relationship had only ever been one way.
Just like that, my perfect woman scurried out of the café and my life.
Bloody Declan, I thought about the power of my parents’ email.
No, impossible. Yes, Declan had dated the eligible female population before he hit twenty, but with one exception. Declan never dated, kissed or even held hands with Pia Morgan. Not for the want of trying, but Pia had always been too smart to fall for Declan’s charms.
Could she have come home for a pre-Christmas engagement party or wedding? It wasn’t uncommon for our friends to combine multiple celebrations into one home visit. Making it easier and cheaper for their guests to make one trip.
No, mum would have told me. Despite the email, mum had been the keeper of my secrets since Declan’s football trophy fell from the mantle and the plaque somehow dislodged from the marble base. Mum had taken responsibility for the breakage if I admitted the truth, for her ears alone.
“Yes, alright, stop hassling me.” I’d cried knowing no one else could hear. “It was because of a girl.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter?”
Her Christmas Romance Surprise Page 3
