Our official first date is lawn seats at a music festival in Central Park.
Central Park in Boulder is almost exactly like the Central Park you’re thinking of, if you shrank it down to the size of a postage stamp and plopped a far less ostentatious bandshell in it.
It’s better than good as we sit on a blanket away from the crowd, eating dinner. Ryan packed a picnic in a cute wicker basket. Turkey and cheese sandwiches, chips, and oatmeal pies for dessert. I’m not even freaking about the potential wedding dinner, because this is the swooniest, sweetest date ever, and I don’t care at all that everyone who sold at the Fall Thing got tickets for free in their vendor bag to the festival.
Nor do I care that the sandwiches Ryan made are far closer to my own haphazard, rather frugal foodstuffs than the Dagwood beauties Austin makes. I’ve hardly even developed a taste for French Brie when I could have orange slices that come from little wrappers. And Little Debbie is just a classic. Most of all, I don’t care if he’s a virgin. And really, I’m thinking way too far ahead instead of enjoying the moment.
Frankly, it’s kind of nice to be with a guy who’s also on a budget. And understands my random art references. He sometimes beats me to the punch and might actually know more about art history than I do, but that’s fine. I don’t need to be the trivia star. Though if we ever do a bar trivia night together, we’re definitely going to need someone who can answer the sports questions because between me and Ryan, we’d be fucked.
Look how emotionally healthy I am—I didn’t even spare a second to acknowledge that Austin would both appreciate my art history knowledge and know who went to the Super Bowl last year. I am truly changing.
Hopefully.
“So. Tell me about your pottery,” Ryan says, unwrapping my oatmeal pie like the woo-er he is. “Is Mae your middle name?”
It’s so refreshing to have someone interested in what I do and not merely because they want me to paint their balls. Not once does he seem bored by what I’m saying about my job at It’s Clay Time or my Mae’d With Love side gig. And not once do I get bored admiring the way his beard looks against his black sweater.
“Should we do the obligatory twenty questions to get to know each other?” Ryan asks.
“Yes,” I nearly scream. I can throw in the virgin thing and it won’t be awkward. “You go first.”
I stretch out on my side and prop my head in my hand.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asks.
“Hm. Going right for the deep stuff, huh?”
He grins. “Yep.”
“Alizarin Crimson. Yours?”
“Prussian Blue.”
“Oh, interesting,” I say.
“Why? You don’t like blue?”
“No, I do. Once, in art school, we did a little personality quiz based on your favorite color. Blues tend to be more emotional. And artistic. Also, charming and in tune with the universe.” Must be nice to be in tune with the universe. Maybe he’ll put in a kind word for me if I play my paint chips right.
“I’ll accept that answer. What does red say about you?”
Heat warms my face. “That I’m passionate. Loving and friendly.”
“Ah,” he says. “Your face is now your favorite color.”
“Thank you for pointing that out,” I tease.
“It’s cute. Almost innocent.”
Well, I’m definitely not the innocent one on this blanket. Obviously, I don’t say that.
“What’s your favorite holiday?” he asks.
“Halloween.”
“Not Christmas?”
“Nope. I love the whole vibe of Halloween. The chilly air and crunchy leaves smell. The spookiness.”
“Same,” he says. “Plus, I live for scary movie marathons.”
Is it weird to follow that up with, “When is the last time you had sex?” because I do.
Unfazed by my lack of manners, he says, “Two years ago.”
My mouth falls open, because relief and surprise can co-exist. “Really?”
“Yeah. People at work call me the virgin because I’m picky. I call it selective.” He pops a chip in his mouth and battles Austin for the most interesting man I’ve ever met. “Not to seem cocky, but if I wanted pussy, I could get it. I’m aware of the appeal of the beard.” He winks. “But I don’t want just pussy. I want a muse. Someone who inspires me.”
A maelstrom of things is happening inside my stomach. Things that can’t be described as mere butterflies in my belly. And it’s not gas. Thank heavens. It’s more like a swarm of eagles flapping their majestic wings over a mountain stream. It’s like Bob Ross himself painted a Cadmium Yellow heart right around us.
“What a fantastic answer,” I whisper.
We continue on with our questions while local bluegrass artists serenade us in the background. And then we settle into a comfortable silence, staring at each other. It’s almost too perfect.
“You have a very expressive face,” Ryan says. “Are you troubled about something? Is it the fact I prefer mustard on a hot dog?”
I laugh and sit up to scoot next to him. “No. I was just thinking... I’m really glad they messed up our booths.”
To think, I almost passed this man by because of gossip and my stupid hang-up. But I didn’t. I should commend myself. Good job, Chloe.
“I’m glad too.”
Ryan holds my hand as the sun sets behind Sanitas, painting the sky orange and dropping the temperature enough that Ryan repacks the picnic and drapes the blanket around us instead. The feeling that this is too good to be true won’t go away. Am I that jaded?
“Do you climb mountains? Or compete in fitness contests?”
His thumb traces lazy circles on my palm. “No. Why?”
“Just checking.”
After the concert ends, we gather our things and wander back up Broadway until we find the garage I parked in.
Now that I know he’s no chaste monk, but rather a man of finely directed artistic passion, I’m looking forward to the end of this date just as much as I was enjoying being on it. His hand is steady and warm on my lower back as I wish I’d parked farther just a little farther away. Too soon, I spot my little Subaru. As I pop the lock, Ryan’s hand snakes around my neck. His smoky eyes blaze as he leans in and kisses me. Pillowy soft lips brush against mine and his tongue dips into my mouth for a delicious tease before withdrawing. My pulse speeds as the kiss slows. The beard heightens the sensation to levels I’ve never reached until now. I’m starry-eyed as he pulls away.
“I’ll call you,” he rasps.
Such an enigma.
Chaste enough for public, bold enough to kiss me at all.
Church tongue.
And it was absolutely perfect.
Four
Fall is really turning out to be my season. No wonder it’s forever been my favorite. If this works out with Ryan, I’ll have someone to hibernate with this winter. Not only that, I’ll have a date for Charlotte’s wedding. Please don’t screw this up for me, universe. It would be beyond cruel to dangle perfection and then yank it away.
So far, everything is going extremely well. Since our date, he’s been attentive by calling and texting. I feel wanted. Not just for my body, for my mind. For my art. He sends me pictures of his new designs, and I send back selfies in my Yes or No shirts accordingly. There’s got to be a catch. Austin thinks there’s one, but he does not know what it could be. Charlotte thinks I’m inadvertently trying to sabotage myself and stand in the way of happiness by searching for something that doesn’t exist. Maybe she’s right.