Trace plucked up her long-stemmed glass of pinot grigio and watched Haley’s reaction over the rim. “Yes. It was your mother’s idea. I think we all had been hoping for fireworks, but, like the second time around with Finn—as it seems with everyone I’ve dated over the last few years—it just wasn’t there.” She cringed, picturing the number of failed dates over the last decade. “But, I mean, at least we had fun, unlike last weekend with Draven. Not a spark of anything.”
“Ugh, I’m sorry. Maybe you’re, I don’t know, looking in the wrong places?”
“Maybe.” Trace’s posture slumped, her mind shuffling through the uneventful dates and relationships like doom scrolling her news feed, but there wasn’t even a funny cat meme to break the monotony.
“Or the wrong guys? Draven sounded too uptight for you. Finn was—“
“Literallyyourdream guy.”
“Not your type, I meant. He’s a total jock, whichIlike, but you fit better with guys who are… deeper.”
Trace snorted a laugh, devious delight filling the hollow of her mood. “I’m so telling Finn you don’t think he’s deep.”
“Shush. You know what I mean. Finn is Finn. Mysterious, he is not.”
“I love you, Haley. I always wanted a sibling, and I consider you the closest thing I will ever have to a sister. But we werefourteenwhen you moved away. Maybe I was into brooding, adventurous, dreamy artist sorts back then. But I grew up. Practicality won. I had a lovely, appropriately obsessive, first love relationship with Finn through high school. I’ve had nothing but blasé since. So when he moved back to town, I hoped that I would feel like I did back then, but… I didn’t. He didn’t. When there were no sparks with the only guy I have ever sparked with, it hit me.“ Trace lifted her drink off the table and air toasted unglamorously. “I. Am.Boring. This dress? These boots? I wouldn’t even own them if you hadn’t talked me into them.”
Haley sat back and slowly spun her glass, studying Trace with a curious, mournful look.
“I don’t make first moves. I hope my lips look kissable enough for him to kiss me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Finn and I would have worked this second time if I had been gutsier. I’m saying that I’m not grabbing any bulls by any horns, and I’m realizing it’s the cow with the problem, not the bulls. Sorry if that didn’t make sense, I don’t know much about how cows mate.”
“It’s not you. It’s just that you need to meet the right guy. Someone who sees past your phony smiles and sweet outfits—I mean—“
“Nope. Sweet is putting it gently. I’d call it lackluster.”
“You could use a little variety.”
Trace kicked her leg out and pointed her toes, admiring one of the few cute pieces of her wardrobe. “When I branch out, I don’t know, I feel like everyone stares and judges, thinking I think I live in New York or something.”
Haley groaned and nodded. “Right? We’re not much for cute outfits around here, but I’m wearing what I want anyway.”
“See? You pull that off. It’s a confidence thing.”
Out of nowhere, sort of, Haley threw her napkin across the table at Trace.
Mouth gaping open, she gasped and plucked it from the center of the table, the light piece of fluff having only made it that far. She chucked it back harder. “What was that for?”
“What happened to you? You’re hot, you’ve got great taste, and you just need to break out of that shell. You’re not boring, and guys don’t think so either. You just need to, I don’t know, have a little faith in yourself.”
Wine glass rapidly reducing in volume, Trace drained it faster, letting it burn her throat and coat her empty stomach.
Haley leaned forward on her elbows and swirled the wine in her glass. “The shirtless man you were groping in your parents’ craft room. Did you conjure your imaginary boyfriend into reality? Remember when we decided we needed boyfriends, we fictionalized entire diaries about them?”
Trace covered her hand with her mouth, wincing as she remembered the entry about the thrill of said imaginary boyfriend proposing with flowers and chocolates, down on one knee and professing his undying love for her, gushy and immature as shit. But they’d been twelve. “Never bring that up again.” She bit her lips together, warming as she was grateful for the distraction.
“Then I’ll have to see this man in the daylight, maybe someplace public, so I know he’s real. Did you meet him in Paris and forget to mention it? A stray you brought home and begged your parents to keep him? A sexy alien, like Superman, who crashed into your backyard?”
She lifted her glass again and hid behind it, wishing she’d ordered a jug of red wine rather than a glass of white, so she’d have something more substantial to block Haley’s view of her floundering. “No. Yes. Maybe.” She gulped a sip and burned her throat with the fire of it. “None and all of those things.”
“Disappointing. I was hoping for a spy that you’re harboring so the Russians can’t find him. Or even a notorious criminal who’s really more of a Robin Hood but he’s turning legit because of his undying love for you,” Haley said before delicately taking a sip.
Trace shook her head and set her glass down, twirling the stem between her thumbs. “Cole is polar opposite from my imaginary boyfriend in that old diary, and he’s not Robin Hood turning legit because of…” She trailed off and took a long drag of wine.
Imagine, if he had come back for her?
Guys didn’t come back for her.
Or, if they did, they came for polite lunches and polite tongue-less kisses and polite hints of equally dull future dates.
