Val44: And we would just chat online for the next week? Not meet in person?
Donovan620: If that’s what you want, yes.
I knew I had to eventually dip my toe back in the water. Why not take a baby step and chat online? Practice. Since it wouldn’t lead to anything at the end of the week, how could it hurt to agree?
Val44: Okay. A week.
***
“You didn’t tell me you were turning your Memorial Day barbeque into a bash.” I handed Eve a glass cake dish filled with my homemade tiramisu. It was her favorite.
“Just a few extra.”
The backyard was visible from the kitchen through a double set of French doors. There had to be fifty people outside, and inside there were a few milling around, too. Normally, the Monroe Memorial Day barbeque capped at twenty.
“A few? Who are all those people? I would have made two desserts.”
Eve waved off my comment with her hand, then dug into the utensil drawer. She pulled out a huge serving spoon and, before I could stop her, scooped a heaping spoonful from the delectable dessert I’d just handed her.
“That took me hours to make!”
“I wasn’t going to share it anyway. Haven’t you ever noticed that every year I hide it in the back of the fridge and accidentally forget to put it out?”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It had been doing that a lot lately. Donovan and I had spent hours messaging back and forth the last four days. We’d even progressed from chatting within the dating app to texting—probably not the smartest move, but at least now I got a text notification when he messaged and didn’t have to open the app every five minutes to see if I’d missed something.
Donovan: Did you leave any of that tiramisu at home?
Valentina: I can’t leave any at home, or I’ll eat it. That stuff is my weakness. I might as well glue some ladyfingers to my ass with the calories in there.
Donovan: Now those sound like delicious ladyfingers…
I felt a little tingle reading that last sentence. He’d been polite in our exchanges, for the most part. But sometimes he’d throw in sexy one-liners like that, and I really sort of liked it.
“Who are you texting?” Eve asked.
“No one.”
She squinted. “No one, huh?”
Tom Monroe saved me from further interrogation. Walking inside from the yard, he wrapped one arm around his wife’s waist from behind, pulled her flush against him, and stole the serving spoon out of her hand. He shoveled a heaping bite of my beautiful tiramisu between his lips and spoke with a full mouth.
“This stuff is better than sex.”
Eve arched an eyebrow at me. “Told you. Old.”
Her husband, used to her playful jabs, ignored her. “Did you meet Jonathon yet?”
Eve elbowed him. “She just got here. I haven’t mentioned Jonathon yet.”
Tom snorted. “Or Will. Or Jack. Or Mike, Adam, or Timmy. Although, I think my wife is wrong and Timmy is gay.”
I fixed my stare on my friend. “What is he talking about?”
Eve took the spoon back from her husband and filled her mouth with more dessert. Pointing at her cheeks, she made garbled sounds to relay her inability to speak.
I looked over her shoulder. “Tom, what did your wife do?”
“She made me invite every single man in my office. I’m guessing you had no idea.”
“Good guess.” I turned to Eve. “Please tell me you didn’t tell them I was single and looking to meet someone.”
“Of course not.”
“Thank God.”
“I told them you were single and looking to get laid.”
My eyes widened to saucers.
Eve reached out and put her hand on my arm. “Kidding.”
“You better be.”
She wriggled out of her husband’s hold and slung her arm around my neck. “Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”
Jonathon turned out to be a really nice guy, although not my personal taste. He was good looking enough. The problem was more his abundant spirituality. I like a man who has strong beliefs, don’t get me wrong. But when someone spends fifteen minutes preaching to me about his church and religion during the first twenty minutes we meet, I think he may be a little too reverent for me and my frequent potty mouth.
Will lived with his mother and had not ever been married—a warning sign even to a non-dater such as myself.
Mike told me about his ex-wife for a half an hour. Clearly, he was still hung up on her.
Timmy, well…Tom called that one. He was more interested in Mike than me.
That left me with Adam. Six-feet tall, clean shaven, broad shoulders under a navy polo with a little horse on it and Ferragamo loafers. My interest was sparked.
“So you work with Tom at Dunn and Monroe?”
“Been there about a year now.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m the VP of Finance.”
For the next half hour, Adam and I got to know each other. He was as funny and smart as he was handsome and polite. He certainly checked all the boxes for a man I should date. Yet…no butterflies swarmed in my belly. But maybe my expectations were off. Maybe I’d watched too many sappy romance movies. I’d felt that excitement when I’d first met Ryan, though I was a teenager back then. Perhaps things were more subdued and pleasant when dating a man in your late thirties. That made sense.
Though when he excused himself to take a call, I realized I was wrong.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I dug it out. Donovan’s name flashed on the screen…causing a flutter in my chest and a swarm of bees in my belly. Damn it.
Donovan: How’s the party you didn’t invite me to go to with you?
Valentina: It’s nice. Although, calmer than most years. It has a very different vibe. No one is even in the pool.
Donovan: No one in the pool? See, you should have invited me. I’d be in the pool and so would you.
I looked around. The usual Monroe pool party barbeque was more like a cocktail party this year. People were dressed a little nicer, and the air was stiffer. It was nice, just not the usual carefree, anything-goes party Eve normally threw.
Valentina: It’s a different crowd than usual. More of Eve’s husband’s colleagues from work.
Donovan: What does he do?
Valentina: He’s a mutual fund manager.
Donovan: Sounds boring. Definitely should have brought me.
Valentina: Oh really? And what do you do that is so exciting?
Donovan: I told you, I’m self-employed.
Valentina: Yes, but you haven’t elaborated.
Donovan: You haven’t asked.
He had a point. I’d been hesitant to delve too deeply into who Donovan was over the last few days. The more we chatted, the more I liked him. And I had no intention of getting involved with a boy of his age. Finding things in common would make it even more difficult to cut this tie at the end of the week. Before I could respond, my phone buzzed again.
Donovan: Not even a little curious?
Valentina: Of course. I just didn’t want to be too intrusive.
Donovan: Intrusive = Afraid to get to know you for fear I might actually like you.
Valentina: That’s not it at all.
That’s totally it!
Donovan: Well, then, I’m good with intrusive. So ask away.