I didn’t question it. I didn’t have the energy to. And the truth was, I needed a friend. Desperately. Even if said friend was seemingly a giant man-boy that called himself Epic. Beggars can’t be choosers.
We plated out a feast of lasagna, stuffed shells, meatballs, and salad. I could not stop eating. I might as well have shoved my face in the Tupperware of lasagna like a horse with a trough. It was so good. I had a glass of red wine with the meal, because Paul insisted it would be the best I’d ever had. And it was. Among the adventurer, skydiver, and lady slayer, I discovered he loved to cook and though he enjoyed alcohol of all kinds, he considered himself a wine connoisseur.
After we did the dishes, which was only the forks because we ate our food off of paper plates—I hadn’t really stocked up on home essentials just yet—we took our wine and sat on the top step of the front porch. It was sturdier now. Crickets chirped in the dark as we sat, not speaking. The quiet between us made me nervous. Friends should be able to talk. Right? Why weren’t we talking?
“I signed the papers,” I blurted out. I didn’t know why. I just needed to tell someone. Anyone. He was there. And no one else was saying anything. Why not me? I needed to feel how it felt to say it . . . to really start owning that I was single and would soon be divorced. Or on my way to divorce.
Paul nodded a few times before holding his glass up to toast. “To moving on.” I clinked my glass with his and we both sipped. “You holding up okay?”
I darted my tongue out and wet my dry lips. “It’s just scary. Being single again. It’s hard to imagine doing something as simple as kissing another man. And as you know, I tend to overthink everything. It’s going to be a disaster.”
“Maybe not,” Paul replied. “Sometimes things just happen. Maybe you won’t have to think about it.”
I let out a long sigh as I laughed. “Maybe I need a practice date and kiss. Ya know? Like someone to get me back on my feet.” I stared at my glass in thought. “Why isn’t that a thing yet? Someone should create that service.”
“It is a thing,” he snorted. “They’re called escorts.”
I scrunched my nose up. “Yuck. This would be different. Strictly helping people get back in the saddle for dating.”
“Is that a new business model you just created?” he joked. “You could make millions.”
I smacked his arm as he laughed at me. “We’re not all blessed in the art of attracting the opposite sex like some people, Paul. You just give a sideways glance to women and they fawn over you.”
“No they don’t,” he argued, playing his hand at modesty, but failing miserably.
“Shut up. You know you’re good-looking.”
“Am I now?” He grinned, scooting closer to me, and smooshing our sides together. “Tell me how good-looking I am.”
My cheeks heated as I laughed and tried to keep him from knocking me over. “I meant other women think you’re hot, not me,” I falsely clarified.
He settled down and sipped his wine, still grinning the entire time. “I mean it. I was not saying you’re attractive.” At least that wasn’t what I meant to say. But it was true. Paul was handsome, in the most classic sense of the word. However, I did not want to admit that to him.
“Whatever you say,” he chuckled.
I sipped my wine. “So why haven’t you found a woman to settle down with, Paul?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could. I didn’t want him to think I was asking because I was interested in him.
He twisted his mouth in thought before saying, “I don’t do happily ever after. I don’t do babies and white picket fences.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. His answer annoyed me. Those were two things that I happened to want desperately. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “It’s just not who I am. I’m not the kind of guy to settle down.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind one day when the right woman comes along,” I mused.
He snorted. “Doubtful.”
We finished our wine and Paul took the glasses inside to the kitchen. When he returned, we stood awkwardly, neither of us knowing what to say, which meant it was time to say good-bye. I patted his shoulder . . . so weird . . . and said, “Thanks for dinner.”
His mouth was tight as if he was trying not to laugh as he patted my shoulder back. “No problem.”
“See you . . . tomorrow?” I questioned as I slid my hands in the back pockets of my shorts.
“See you then.” He made his way down my stairs and toward his truck. When he opened his door, I spun around to go inside for the night.
“Clara,” he called, causing me to turn back. He was at the bottom of the steps, climbing them, and before I could respond with, what? he picked me up by my legs and pushed me against the front door. My mouth dropped open. I was stunned. What was he doing? The muscles in his jaw and neck ticked as his dark eyes burned into mine.
Then he kissed me.