Me: How did you get my number?
And I genuinely want to know, because I sure as hell didn’t give it to him.
Jensen: Gentry gave it to me. I asked him if I could have it in case of emergencies. You know, wedding emergencies. Plus, I’m your plus one. I mean, we have to coordinate.
Jensen: Maybe?
I hesitate, knowing just how badly this game can go sideways. Pushing my anxiety aside and figuring human interaction could be good for me when I eventually go on a date, I indulge.
Me: My favorite nostalgic food is grilled cheese with pickles.
Jensen: That actually sounds delicious and I want to try one immediately.
Me: Oh. Well, I guess I could make you one?
Jensen: You would do that for me? :)
Me: Sure. For lunch tomorrow?
Jensen: Deal!
He seems really excited about the sandwich. A little too excited. I feel extremely awkward about all of this.
Jensen: Am I bugging you? Is it your bedtime?
Me: No, I barely sleep these days.
Jensen: Same. I’m a night hawk.
Several minutes go by and I wonder if he’s lost interest, actually thinks I’m crazy, or has fallen asleep and isn’t really the night hawk he’s claimed to be. While I wait, I save him in my phone as “Night Hawk” and laugh.
Jensen: I don’t like sleeping alone.
Me: I’m divorced.
I typed and sent it before I even thought about stopping myself. I’m not sure why I did. I mean, if I can’t tell Jensen, harmless Jensen, how am I going to be able to tell a date? I have to press onward.
Jensen: That sucks. I’m sorry. What happened?
Me: He left me for another woman.
Jensen: Jesus. What an idiot.
I smile at his attempt to make me feel better about the ordeal. I mean, Jensen doesn’t know me or the marriage, so I know he’s just being nice, but still.
Me: It’s been over a year and a half, so I guess it’s time to move on.
Jensen: Oh yeah? Move on how?
Me: Date other people, I guess.
Jensen: Well, technically, you are. I’m your plus one DATE, remember?
Me: How could I forget? You’ve only reminded me like four times.
The texting grows quiet again and I flip back to the dating app. I give three more thumbs downs and two thumbs ups. And then a flashing message appears in my inbox. Holy shit, someone messaged me. Before I can click on it, I’m distracted by a knock on my bedroom door.
I push the blankets down and stand, phone in hand, still partially looking at the screen as I open the door. I glance up and back down and then immediately up again, making eye contact with Jensen.
“I really want that grilled cheese with pickles,” he says, holding up a paper bag full of what I can only assume are the ingredients.
I glance down at my phone and it’s ten-thirty. He wants a grilled cheese this late? “As a bedtime snack?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and folding my arms over my chest.
“To be fair, neither of us are sleeping,” he says.
I grab the bag of items from him and look inside. Everything for the sandwiches seems to be there. I motion for him to follow me to the kitchen and tuck my phone into the pocket of my sweatpants.
When we’re downstairs, I pull a pan from the cupboard and start warming it. He sits and watches me carefully butter the slices of bread then sit them aside. I hear my phone ding again and realize the app has its own set of sounds.
“Do you need to get that?” he asks, his arms crossed over his chest now, a smirk on his lips.
“No, it can wait.”
“I hear those dating app guys can get impatient.” He chuckles.
I shoot a look in his direction. “How did you know?”
“First, everyone knows that alert tone. Second, I’ve been on that app.”
“Any luck?” I ask, finding myself curious as to what kind of girls he’d be looking for on there.
“It’s served its purpose from time to time,” he says.
Ew. That sounds mildly…ew. “Oh. So you’re a player?”
“No?” he says, his words falling out more like a question than an answer and I wonder if he knows if he is or not.
I place the pickles on the melting cheese and then the other slice of bread on top. Then I flip the two sandwiches over, revealing the other side to be golden brown. I smile at myself and my good job. I give the other side of the sandwiches a few minutes, then lift them from the pan and place them on the plate.
I turn and extend the plate to Jensen. “Your snack,” I say, smiling at him.
“Oh, you’re having one,” he says. He sits down at the table and rubs his hands together. I sit across from him and wait for him to take a bite. He reaches for his sandwich but then gestures for me to reach for mine.
I roll my eyes and pick up the sandwich.
“Okay, at the same time. Ready?” he says excitedly.
I nod, readying my sandwich in front of my mouth. We both bite into our sandwiches at the same time and I watch his eyes grow big then sort of roll back, and he makes a moaning sound in the back of his throat.
I’d be lying if I said that noise wasn’t extremely sexual and extremely distracting. “Does it always sound like you’re having sex with your food?”
“Only when my food is making love to me,” he says, and then he winks at me.
For a moment, I think that’s stupid. Who even winks anymore? Then I realize he can actually pull off winking. Then, I get distracted wondering how long it’s been since someone winked at me, and I can’t remember ever being winked at by anyone other than Charles—during my freshman year of high school. At the time, Charles definitely couldn’t pull off winking.
“Thirsty?” I offer.
“Parched,” he says.
I get up to grab us some glasses of lemonade, if only to avoid having to make eye contact with him for a few moments. Then I sit back down and I watch him guzzle half the glass. I look to his plate and realize his entire sandwich is gone. Jesus, does he have a tapeworm?
“Do they feed you where you’re from?” I ask him, laughing.
“Of course. I just really like your signature sandwich,” he says, laughing in return.
His gaze settles on my plate. I look down and see I’ve only eaten a quarter of my sandwich. As I glance back up at him, it’s obvious he’s salivating.
“Do you want the rest of mine?” I ask, watching his features immediately perk up. I hand my plate to him and watch him dig in. It’s satisfying to watch someone like something you made this much.
“Thank you for the sandwiches,” he mumbles, still partially chewing.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes while he finishes eating between sips of lemonade. He stands and takes his plate to the sink, which I find low-key impressive. As if that wasn’t enough, he then rinses the plate and sets it in the drainer. Jensen turns, leaning back against the counter, and places his hands on it on each side of him. “Let’s see those guys,” he says.
“What?”
“The guys messaging you.” He laughs. “Let’s see who’s interested.”
“Oh my god, no.” I laugh.
“Come on,” he prods. “I’ll be nice.”
I roll my eyes and take out my phone.