Page 5 of Always Almost You

The dating app had advised giving a first meeting at least an hour—enough time, they claimed, for nerves to settle and real conversation to emerge. He had fifteen minutes left. I can survive fifteen more minutes, he told himself. Then he’d wrap this up and head back to the office.

“Mike. Mike.”

He blinked and refocused on her.

“I’ve got to get going,” she said brightly. “But this has been a great conversation.” She stood and unhooked her purse from the back of her chair.

Mike rose automatically. They shook hands again.

“I hope we do this again,” she said, already turning toward the door.

“Take care,” Mike replied.

She disappeared into the crowd, and Mike dropped back into his chair, shaking his head. He wondered if she realized “a great conversation” involved at least two people talking. He drained the last of his cold coffee and typed a text to his mother.

Date a firm no.

Are you sure you gave her a chance?

Positive.

Well … don’t be discouraged. I hate thinking of you living alone.

Maybe I should get a dog.

You know that’s not what I mean. We’ll talk when you’re home.

Mike slid the phone into his pocket and took out two five-dollar bills, tucking them under his empty cup. As he stood, a familiar heaviness settled in his chest—not relief this time, but something closer to resignation. He’d shown up. He’d tried. Again. And still, he was no closer to finding someone who felt right.

Mike left the shop and stepped back into the afternoon, grateful that a long day of work awaited him—grateful for anything that might distract him from the quiet, sinking fear that he might never find a woman to share his life with.

Lauren threaded her way through the customers waiting to place their orders at The Friendly Bean. Pumpkin strutted at her side, weaving around boots and tote bags like she owned the place. The popular coffee shop was two blocks from the offices of K + L Interiors. Lauren and Pumpkin stopped there every morning on their way to work. As they squeezed through the doorway, the rich smell of espresso and steamed milk wrapped around them, warm and familiar.

Lauren caught the eye of her favorite barista, who was behind the counter tamping espresso. He grinned when he recognized the popular pair and mouthed, Regular?

She gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded and turned back to the machine.

They made their way to the pickup counter, where a large oat-milk latte and a pupcake were already waiting. “It’s good to be a regular, and to have a credit card on file,” Lauren murmured to Pumpkin. She scanned the interior of the shop, searching for Kathy.

Pumpkin spotted her first. She let out a muffled woof and tugged toward her second-favorite person in the world.

“Are we late?” Lauren asked as she slid into the chair opposite Kathy and set the pupcake on the floor beneath the table. Pumpkin got to work on her treat.

“Right on time, as usual,” Kathy said. “I was a little early. I can’t wait to hear how your Thanksgiving went.” She studied Lauren’s face more closely. “Those bags under your eyes look like they could hold enough clothes for an around-the-world cruise. I hope that means you had a very good day and night.”

Lauren brushed a loose hank of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. “I didn’t get much sleep, that’s for sure.”

Kathy raised an eyebrow.

“But not for the reason you’re thinking,” Lauren said. “Yesterday turned out way differently than I had planned—or wanted.”

“Oh, honey.” Kathy leaned forward, her expression softening. “When you walked up, I thought you looked sad-tired. Not happy-tired.”

Lauren nodded and took a sip of her coffee, the heat steadying her.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

Lauren took a longer swallow, then set her cup down and launched into the story of her Thanksgiving.