by Lea Coll
“Sure.”
He poured a white wine into the glass and handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine sending a shiver down my spine. Maybe we should have met at the campus library or at a coffee shop, anywhere but his home. This felt an awful lot like a date. I took a long sip of the wine.
“Want to sit outside?” he asked, gesturing out the French doors from his kitchen to the backyard. “The garlic bread is still in the oven, so we have a few minutes.”
“Sure.”
He opened the French door for me and I walked past his outstretched arm. My shoulder rubbed along his chest, and my breath caught. I stepped down to a gray paving stone patio where a dark teak rectangle table sat with a long bench and chairs. The patio was flush with the yard, grass continuing beyond his property to the brick buildings of campus. “It’s beautiful here, Sawyer.”
“I’m renting it from the school since it’s convenient.” He pulled a chair out for me to sit on, facing the school. The tall brick buildings never failed to impress me. Again I felt lucky to live in this small historic town. It was beautiful with the cherry blossoms floating to the ground on the wind.
“Thanks.”
He waited for me to sit before he went back inside.
I chewed my lip. This was a bad idea. This dinner was intimate. He was sweet. Every time we touched, I felt it through my whole body, but he wasn’t my type and I was pretty sure I wasn’t his.
He came back out through the doors with the large bowl of pasta and a dish of sliced garlic bread.
I jumped up. “I can help.” I grabbed the plate of bread from him, placing it in the center of the table. He set the linguine next to it.
“I’ll get the dishes and silverware.”
I followed him in to see if I could help with anything when he stopped and I bumped into his hard back. “Oh sorry.”
He turned slowly, and my eyes traveled up his polo shirt, to his eyes, warm and amused on mine.
“We have to stop bumping into each other,” Sawyer said.
“Do we?”
His hands went to my shoulders, rubbing a little up and down, warming me. The wine, which had already hit my empty stomach, was causing a light buzzing in my head.
I shook my head to clear it of the stupor I’d gotten into with his proximity and touch. “I need your help with my course.” That’s why we’re here, not to touch, not to feel anything. That’s what my online dating app was for—to meet someone serious about meeting a potential wife. I was not supposed to be flirting with the local sexy professor who rode a motorcycle.
“Right.” He dropped his hands from my shoulders and turned to grab the shallow soup bowls and the spoons.
Even though I told myself I shouldn’t want his touch—I did. “Can I help?”
He pointed over his shoulder. “You can grab the napkins.”
“Okay.” I clutched the napkins as I followed him back out to the patio, folding a napkin for each of us, placing the fork and knife on them. “All set I think.”
Sawyer walked around the perimeter of the patio to light the black iron tiki torches. “It’s still early for mosquitoes, but it’s getting dark already.”
“It is.” It was dusk, and the small outdoor lights strung from poles around his yard had started to glow. When he sat down, dishing the linguine first to my plate then to his, I said, “So, do you bring a lot of women here?”
He cleared his throat. “No. I don’t date often. And I don’t invite dates here for dinner.”
“Really?” Was I here only because I wasn’t someone he was interested in?
“I told you. I’m not great with women. In college, I dated women I tutored. I was forced to talk to them. I wasn’t great at approaching women otherwise.”
“Oh, that’s why you need my help.” I took a bite of the still-warm linguine. As soon as I took a bite, the taste of garlic and shrimp filled my mouth. “This is so good. I can’t say I’ve ever had a man make me dinner before.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“The guys I date usually don’t cook.” I kept my eyes on the garlic bread.
“You’re dating the wrong men then,” he said without any hesitation.
That’s what everyone was saying these days. Was Sawyer the type I should be dating? “Yeah, Ashley and Emma suggested searching for a man who is the opposite of my usual type on the dating app.”
He paused his fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re still doing that?”
“Online dating?” I opened the napkin over my lap to avoid his steady gaze.
“Yeah.”
He took a bite of his pasta and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. Even that was sexy.
“I filled out a profile on one of the more serious sites.”
“What do you mean by ‘more serious site?’”
“It’s a paid site, so supposedly only people looking for serious relationships are on there.”
“Is that what you’re looking for—a serious relationship?”
“Well, yeah, I’m getting older and I want to get married and have children.”
“You do?” His brow raised, he took a bite of the pasta from his fork.
“Yeah, why do you seem so surprised?” I placed my fork next to my dish and folded my hands under my chin.
“I don’t know. I’ve always thought of you as—not someone who wanted to settle down, I guess.”
A little upset he’d assumed I wouldn’t want to settle down, I said, “Well, you’re wrong. I love kids and I want to get married before it’s too late for me to have them.”
His hand covered mine which was fisted on the table. I watched as his thumb rubbed over mine, soothing me, sending a tingle up my arm.
The touch was intimate and the warmth that radiated from his hand and his eyes made it difficult to breathe.
“I’m sorry. It was just an assumption I made. I was wrong, obviously.”
I nodded, swallowing hard, as he removed his hand from mine and picked up his fork to continue eating. My now trembling hands smoothed the napkin on my lap. “I get it. People think I’m this fun party girl.”
Taking another bite, he said, “I want to get to know you.” Chewing for a minute, he added, “You know, since you’ll be my date to the scholarship dinner.”
“Right.” For a minute there, I thought he meant something different. That he truly wanted to get to know me. I swallowed down the disappointment I didn’t even understand. When I was with him, I forgot he wasn’t my type, he wasn’t for me, that he didn’t even like me. I needed that reminder. I was his date for the one night and he was helping me develop a course. That was it.
We finished our meal and I helped him clear the table. I loved the sounds of the night, but it was cooler now.
“It’s getting cold.” He closed the French doors. “Want to work in my study?”
“Sure.” I grabbed my bag and followed him to the office I had seen when I came in.
He gestured to the overstuffed leather sofa along the back wall. “Have a seat.”
I sank into the soft leather, opening my bag to pull out a notebook. “I’ve never done this before. I don’t even know where to start.”
Sawyer picked up a stack of papers from his desk, handing them to me. “I printed out some sample outlines for the courses I’ve developed and syllabi to give you an idea.”
Looking through the pages, I couldn’t believe he’d gone through all of this effort for me. “This is great, Sawyer. Thank you.”
He sat down next to me, the length of his leg rubbing against mine. “You’re welcome. I’m happy to help. I’d start jotting down everything you’re doing at the paper, research online media, and find a textbook to base the course on. Reading the textbook will help you prepare the outline for the course. Your personal experience is really important too. You want to emphasize the fact that you’re a practitioner and what you could bring to the course.”
I scribbled his ideas down as he talked. “This is great.”
But I was overwhelmed already. I hadn’t even thought about a textbook or the fact that I’d need to read one. I was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia after seeking help in college. My parents didn’t believe in learning disabilities and refused to have me tested. When my grades improved in college I let them believe it was because I tried harder.
“I did a quick search and found some places to start: the emergence of online journalism, the different mediums available, and trends. One thing I think you could add is the struggles a small town paper has and the importance of the online component to keep the paper in business. Isn’t that what you’re trying to do at your job?”
I was impressed that Sawyer knew my job and the challenges I faced. “It is, and Bob, my boss, is reluctant to get on board.” Small town papers struggled with declining readership and advertisers. I wanted to ensure that Kent County News would thrive. The way to do that was younger readers and an online presence.
“Perfect. That’s what makes your input unique. You’re trying to implement online media. So, you can discuss what you’ve done, what has worked and what hasn’t. Why your boss is reluctant. These kids may not understand that. Online media is so integral to their lives, but your boss didn’t grow up with the internet. He’s still holding onto print.”
My mind raced with everything I could add to the course based on my experience at the Kent County News. The only thing that worried me was how to navigate picking a textbook, actually reading the text, and the other more traditional parts of the course like teaching the history of online media and the trends. I liked to do in-person interviews when I reported on events, and I dictated all of my articles.
I placed my hand on his thigh squeezing for a second. “I can’t thank you enough, Sawyer. I wouldn’t even have thought about some of these things.”
When his eyes drifted down to where my hand still rested on his muscled thigh, I pulled it back like I’d been burned. My face heated. What was I thinking? I jumped up and packed my notebook and pen. “I think I have enough to get started.”
He stood while I made my way to his door. “Are you sure? I’m happy to help.”
I stopped when I reached the front door. “Yeah, I can text you with any questions.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks for dinner. It was really good.” I opened his door. “I’ll see you around.” When I turned to give him a wave, I snuck a look at his face. He looked a little confused by my abrupt departure, but being with him tonight had been too comfortable. That’s why I’d touched his thigh. No other reason. He was becoming a friend and I was a touchy-feely person. That’s all it was. Or that’s what I told myself.
When I got into my car I looked back at his house. He stood on his front porch watching me. I gave him another wave and a smile before I pulled away. There was no way a man like Sawyer would want me—someone who had difficulty focusing and couldn’t even read all of those books that lined his office.
There was no way I could tell Sawyer that even the thought of reading a textbook was terrifying. I’d need to do my own research into a textbook with an audio option. My parents were clearly ashamed of me and I didn’t want Sawyer to know that part of me. Not when I wanted to earn his respect—for him to see me as an equal.
And I still couldn’t reconcile his words at Logan and Ashley’s party with how he’d offered to help me develop the course. And the way he’d asked me to be his date at an important dinner at the college. Shouldn’t he be worried I’d embarrass him at this dinner? Or had we gotten to know each other better and he didn’t think those things anymore? Constantly wondering what Sawyer thought was giving me a headache. I wished I’d never overheard him. Then I wouldn’t be second-guessing myself around him all of the time.
Honestly, if he’d never said those things, I would be interested in him right now. The dinner we shared at his home had been intimate, and so was the way my body reacted when he touched me. There was definitely something between us, but we were opposites in every way.
When I arrived home, I scrolled through the list of possible matches that had popped up, determined to find someone more suited to me than Sawyer. My shoulders slumped as I continued to search. I’d asked for men who wanted kids someday, who wanted to get married. I thought I’d get serious guys, but these guys didn’t even put any effort into their profile pics. I’d seen better profile pics on social media than this. Didn’t they realize how important presenting yourself in the best light was?
Finally, I found one guy who looked well-groomed in his picture, long blond hair, striking blue eyes, so I searched his profile closer. He looked athletic and he had a confident smile, which was definitely my type. His name was Nate and he lived in Salisbury, a little far away for a relationship, but it might be good if it didn’t work out. He was a definite possibility, as he was active. He liked watching sports, camping, fishing, music, and travel. I sent him a quick message to see if he’d respond, asking him if he’d traveled anywhere exciting or if he had a list of places he wanted to go.
I searched for articles about people who’d found their significant others online. I needed to know this would work. I found one article talking about how women used sites for free meals. I scheduled a post for the next morning which included an online survey on the paper’s media pages asking people to weigh in on whether a first meet-up with an online date should be dutch or if the man should pay. I needed to keep engagement high on the various sites, to prove to Bob that we could gain traction with young people online and it was worthy of my time. Plus, my work online now served the dual purpose of being research for my course.
I went to bed that night thinking of the warmth of Sawyer’s hand on mine, how he’d soothed me, and how I’d felt bereft when he’d moved away. Would I find someone more suited to me online that made me feel the way Sawyer did?
I WALKED TO SPRING STREET where the Kent County News office was located in a historic home next to the post office. I sat in my stuffed cubicle, the walls lined with pictures of my friends, my grandmother, and Post-its with lists of things I needed to do. I couldn’t live without notes everywhere. My main to-do list was attached to my laptop, so when I opened it I was reminded of what was important. Today, I needed to interview the women at the Chestertown Garden Association about their plans for spring. They usually hosted a garden tour in town for the residents and tourists and set up a booth at the farmers’ market on Sundays.
After checking my email and taking a few phone calls, I realized I was running late to meet with Ms. Gladys, the President of the Chestertown Garden Association, and my grandmother’s best friend.
I walked quickly over to her house since she was only a few streets from my office. As soon as I turned down her street, I saw her rocking in a chair on her porch. “Ms. Gladys!” I called out and waved.
“Stella, you’re always late,” she said as I stepped onto the first riser of her porch. Each stair was lined with pots of overflowing brightly colored flowers, which made me feel happy. Rectangle pots attached to the porch railing were full of flowers and hanging vines. I remembered helping her plant the flowers with my grandmother and Lindsey when I was a child.
Smiling, because I knew she wasn’t mad, I said, “I am. I’m sorry. Your flowers are beautiful.” I sat down in the rocking chair next to hers. A small table was in between the chairs and held a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a plate of muffins.
“Thank you, dear, and I understand. I know you young people are busy these days.”
I took a sip of the lemonade. “Your lemonade reminds me of you and Grandma sitting here on this porch telling stories of growing up here. That’s why I wanted to be a reporter. I love hearing people’s stories.”
“I sure do miss her.”
“I do too.” When I was only thirteen my grandmother found a lump on her leg but waited too long to go to the doctor. By then it was too late to treat the cancer. I put my lemonade down, laid my head back onto the rocking chair back, and closed my eyes. Things had been
easier when she was alive. I had someone to talk to about my home life and my mother wasn’t as depressed back then. She still had weeks and months where she was a normal mom, cooking dinner, cleaning the house. But after my grandmother died, things progressively got worse until I felt like I was the caretaker. I inherited the money I used to purchase my home—it was as if she knew I’d need her help one day. “I miss her so much.”
She patted my leg. “I hope you know you can come and talk to me about anything.” She never said as much, but I suspected she knew about my mother. My mom stopped participating in town events years ago and refused any visitors at her house, so no one had seen her in years. Plus, my grandmother might have confided in Ms. Gladys, I supposed.
“I do. Thank you.”
“Have you met a man yet?” she asked, studying my face.
I tensed. “I’m trying. I signed up for online dating.” Then I laughed at myself. “I’m not getting any younger.”
But when I looked into her face, it was serious. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Why can’t you meet someone in person?”
“That hasn’t worked out for me in the past.”
“I can still remember meeting my Joseph in high school for the first time. I was a freshman and he was a senior. Our eyes met across the room and that was it for me. I never looked at another man.”
“Ah, Ms. Gladys. What an amazing story.” This was what I loved about my job. I was working but also building relationships with people in the town at the same time. Sometimes I brought meals or bakery items to some of the residents who couldn’t get out. And I loved to socialize with them—to hear stories about their youth and the town. “That’s what I’m looking for.”
“And you will find it.” She squeezed my leg then picked up the tray of muffins. “Would you like one? I made them with Luke’s blueberries. He stocks my freezer every year. Such a sweet boy.”
