The rain softly tapped on my window, a reminder of the cold wet that awaited me outside. As I applied one last layer of lipstick in the hallway mirror, my cozy sofa called to me, pulling my eyes from my lips. I could stay in, slip into comfortable pajamas, pop some popcorn, and turn on a movie I had watched a million times. The thought enticed me more than I cared to admit, but Tracey would kill me if I blew off her friend. She was so sure that this long-lost friend from college was perfect for me and chided herself for not realizing it sooner.

"I can't believe I didn't see it before. Think of all the nights that could have been filled with double dates," she enthused. "His name is Nick, and he is in mergers and acquisitions, so he has plenty of money."

I had tried to smile as though the bank account of my would-be suiter mattered. Would he be sweet and kind? Would we have enough things to talk about? Would just looking at him make my blood boil with lust? I had passed the phase where a dream man that checked all three boxes existed. I now just looked for one and, candidly, just longed for the blood-boiling for a few dates at least.

"Sounds great," I lied through a plastered smile.

I agreed solely so I didn't have to hear the 'you're not trying hard enough,' or 'you're too picky,' or my personal favorite: 'do you want to die alone?' If I am honest with myself, I'm not trying hard at all. I am picky, and dying alone doesn't scare me at all. I have never woken up in the darkness of night gasping for breath in a cold sweat because I died peacefully in my sleep with my trusty dog by my side. No, the heart-pounding, cold sweat-inducing, searching for breaths in the night always stemmed from not being picky and ending up with a psycho killer. So, I was happy with my trajectory.

Still, if I agreed to a blind date here and there, it seemed to set my overly worried friends and family at ease. I was lucky to have people in my life who thought of me with such care. At least, that is what I told myself as I pulled on my jacket and mentally said goodbye to my couch.

The restaurant was promising when I arrived. There was a woman in the corner that sounded like Rosetta Tharpe reincarnated. She swung into Up Above My Head as though she could read my mind. It engulfed me while I waited in the queue for the host station to clear. I honestly would have been happy waiting for another ten minutes, but an impatient host confronted me, so I reluctantly focused my attention on him.

"Name," he curtly asked without lifting his eyes from the sheet before him.

"Jess Whitfield," I answered, knowing the reservation wasn't under my name, but he startled me so I responded quickly and inaccurately.

"No reservation. Next," the host called out to the couple behind me.

"Um, I think it's under Nick Cobb," I meekly said.

"What?" He stabbed back at me.

"Nick Cobb," I said louder.

"Nick Cobb," he announced again as he checked a box on his list. "You're the first one here. Right this way." Without a glance in my direction, he turned on his heel and marched into the bowels of the restaurant. 

I had to hurry my first few steps to stay near him as he bobbed and weaved through the restaurant.

"Enjoy your meal," he directed before departing as quickly as all his other movements had been.

"Thank you," I murmured to his wake before letting out a resetting sigh.

I fully immersed myself in the music floating around the room. I'm sure a woman sitting at an empty table enamored with the background musician would have looked peculiar to an onlooker, but I didn't care. With little thought, I could list more than a handful of cringeworthy moments that occurred to me in just the last day alone. I had long ago learned that anything that felt cringe to me was just that: cringe to me. Others rarely noticed, as they were too focused on their own embarrassing moments. And indeed, even if one were to partake in one of my less-than-stellar moments, it would be a fleeting memory they would never recall again.

I would have been content in biding my time in this manner, but something pricked the hair on the back of my neck. A heavy heat rolled over my shoulders before I turned to see where the sensation was coming from. My eyes locked with him across the room. He was not like the others in the restaurant. The host busied himself in his present, fumbling with the menus and stumbling over words. Even more unusual was his attire. Well-dressed patrons partaking on thirty dollars-a-plate appetizers and steaks priced higher than my electric bill filled the restaurant. This man, whose attention I had captured, stood before the host station in a t-shirt layered with a flannel and tattered, paint-splattered jeans. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but a few tendrils perfectly framed the impressive features of his face. His dark eyes pierced me from above his perfectly sloped cheekbones that Michelangelo himself must have carved. A well-trimmed mustache melted into an equally well-manicured beard and framed his crimson lips.

A man standing between us broke our gaze. I tried to croon my neck for one last glimpse, but the entirely unaware man only moved to block my view again.

"Hey, I'm Nick," he said, and from the sour tone he used, I knew it had not been his first introduction.

I shook off the image of perfection and set my gaze on Nick. It was unfair to judge him at that moment. It would be like critiquing a child's drawing after viewing Starry Night. Still, like most humans, I could not stop my own thoughts.

"Hello, I'm Jess," I offered with an extended hand.

Nick looked at my hand as though it were an alien and then shook it as though he were entertaining a child's whim. I wanted to see more in him, but my eyes clung to the dull, muddy eyes that peered back at me and his disheveled button-down that strained over his stomach. There was no blood-boiling lust at this table, but still, he could be sweet and interesting.

"So, Tracy tells me you're in mergers and acquisitions. I have to be honest; I don't even know what that means," I giggled, to try to break the ice.

"It means I can take pretty ladies like you to expensive places like this." He winked.

Mentally, my mind screamed 'ew,' but I bit back the bile-filled response with a smile. "It is nice here. I love the singer," I noted.

"Really? I was just thinking about how it would be better if they just turned on the radio. What is she even singing?" He griped.

"Blues. What kind of music do you like?" I volleyed back at him.

"Good music. Certainly not this trash." He motioned to the singer as he spoke and my heart sank.

I busied myself with the menu, but it was very short, and my avoidance quickly became noticeable.

"You don't need to worry about the prices. Any girl out with me doesn't have to worry about the bill," he shot at me with a prideful smile on his face.

My stomach churned at the thought of having to spend even one meal with this person, while my brain wanted to scream that I was far from a girl and could pay for my own Caesar salad.

"So you know Tracey?" I threw up as a last glimmer of connection.

"Yeah, we boned a few times in college. You know, before she got fat," he absently said without looking up from his menu.

"Fat?" The word fell from my lips without a moment to think.

"What? You girls are allowed to squawk about each other, but the minute a man says something, we're evil," he protested.

"I'm not a girl, and Tracey is far from fat," I argued.

"Oh great, are you an evolved chick? I'm going to need a few more drinks in me then."

"I... I..." I was at a loss for words. I had been on many bad dates, from boring conversations to one where I actually set my sleeve on fire, but this was the first time I was truly at a loss for words.

"Jess," a low, smooth voice said. "You've had your fun. Please come join me now." I looked up to see the gorgeous face from across the restaurant now peering down at me. What's more, his hand was burning into my shoulder.

"Excuse me, this is my date," Nick protested.

The way Nick hit the word 'my' as though I was owned churned my stomach further.

The mysterious stranger let out a low rumble of a chuckle. "You clearly don't know Jess well if you think she is anyone's but hers. However, I can assure you that after we've shared a decade together, she is far from yours, and I wouldn't dare call her mine."

"A decade? Who is this, your dad?" Nick retorted, trying to wield humor as deftly as the stranger.

"He's..." I looked up at the man. Nick was right; upon closer inspection, he was markedly older than my forty-one years, but his charm and looks melted the age differences. "I apologize. After being together for so long, I sometimes like to tease him by sharing dinner with another man. Tracey must have given you the wrong impression of my intent. I can assure you, there is only one man for me." As I spoke, I let a hand slip up to cover the stranger's still planted on my shoulder.

My eyes slipped up to my savior's face and saw the touch of a smile tip his lips and crease his eyes.

"You two are disgusting. You should be ashamed. Here I am trying to find someone to build a life with..." Nick was gearing up for a solid rant.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I have spent far too long apart from Jess. I'd be happy to cover your tab," the stranger concluded with a simple flick of his hand to the host. Then, as though we had been in each other's orbit for years, he slipped his hand from mine and offered it to me. I clutched it as the path to peace that it was and felt myself seamlessly lifted to his side. His hand slipped down the curve of my back, sending shockwaves as it traveled.

"Thank you," I murmured as he led me to the back of the restaurant.

"My pleasure. It is men like him that give us all a bad name." His voice was much thinner now, and his eyes shyly diverted to the floor.

"Luckily, there are men like you in the world to redeem your gender," I teased.

Another flicker of a smile passed over his lips.

"I didn't mean to intrude on your dinner," I added as I noted the lone plate of food set on a table in the private room that I did not know existed until we entered. "I'll get out of your way," I offered, secretly hoping he would ask me to join him.

"Yes, do you need a ride home? I have a car you can use," he offered, as if to cement his claim to the world's sexiest gentleman.

"I can just get an Uber," I dismissed.

"Nonsense, consider my car your Uber." His deep brown eyes flickered to mine beneath the tendrils of his hair that slipped over his downcast face and sent a burning through me that I had only read about.

"Okay," came out on the crest of a lustful breath. I needed to know this man's name before his car whisked me away. "Who do I thank?" I whispered.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"You're name?"

"Charlie. My name is Charlie. Be well, Jess," he offered before returning to his table.

I knew my time with this man was over, but he would haunt my dreams and many of my waking thoughts for months and possibly years.