"I’m Dr. Landon Reyes. It’s nice to meet you." His slacks are crisp, his shirt starched within an inch of its life, and he looks like the kind of guy who alphabetizes his spice rack and sets calendarreminders for flossing. He then compliments my dress with all the enthusiasm of a man who would rather be dissecting a frog.
"Nice to meet you, too," I say, giving him a smile that feels about seventy-five percent real.
He sits down across from me. "Emma said you run the flower shop in town. I admire that. Small businesses are the backbone of the community."
I blink. "Thanks… I think."
He nods solemnly like I just gave a TED Talk and starts telling me about the one-eyed cat he’s currently fostering, a senior rescue named Captain Jack who hates everyone but his houseplant. I try, really try, to stay engaged. But then I hear it—that low, familiar laugh from the bar. Ashe. And just like that, my focus scatters like petals in the wind.
I nod along as Landon talks about feline dental hygiene, but I’m not really hearing him. Not when Ashe is just across the room, looking so effortlessly good it should be illegal. Not when his voice echoes in my ears like a song I forgot was still stuck in my head.
Halfway through our appetizers, Landon gets a call. He checks the screen, his lips pressing into a tight line. "Emergency at the animal hospital," hesays. "A golden retriever got into a box of chocolate truffles and needs his stomach pumped."
But something about the way he says it—too rehearsed, too convenient—makes my stomach twist. It’s probably his friend calling with a fake excuse, and if he answers, it means he wants out. If he were having a good time, he’d ignore it. Clearly, he’s not having a good time.
I smile politely anyway. "Of course. Go save that sweet doggie."
He nods, already standing. "I’ll call you."
Sure you will. I'll hold my breath.
But as soon as he leaves, I deflate. The waitress appears beside me like a harbinger of reality, holding a notepad and forcing a tight smile. "Would you like a to-go box for this?" she asks, glancing at the untouched appetizers.
I nod, trying to salvage the last shreds of dignity. "Sure." Peaches will love a midnight snack.
She jots something down, then pauses. "Will you be settling the bill tonight as well or would you like to order a main entree?"
Of course. Of course I will. Because even my fake emergency date managed to leave me with the check. The one that is a doctor while I'm a small business and the backbone of the community. Jerk.
"Yeah," I say, forcing a bright smile. "I’ve got it."
Instead of heading home, I walk down to Seaside Sweets and grab a coffee and a box of pastries. The sugar helps. Slightly.
I take my goodies to the boardwalk and sit on a bench, watching the tide roll in. The ocean is peaceful. My brain is not. In fact, it's a crowded, chaotic carnival ride spinning with the realization that maybe I'm just not cut out for dating. Maybe it's time to swear off men entirely. Become a lesbian. Or a monk. Or one of those women who marries her career and lives happily ever after with a greenhouse full of succulents. Honestly, that sounds kind of nice.
"Mind if I sit?" a deep, familiar voice says, startling me enough that I nearly drop my coffee.
I turn, heart leaping into my throat. It’s Ashe. Of course it is.
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Just sits beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, but not touching. The movement startles me as my heart leaps into my throat. For a beat, I can't breathe. My pulse thrums in my ears and there's a strange twist in my stomach, part dread, part… something else. Nerves maybe. Or hope. I can't tell. My fingers tighten around the paper cup, and I force myself to stay still, like maybe if I don't move, this won't spin wildly out of control.
We sit in silence for a beat. Then he says, "Smokey’s been depressed."
I raise an eyebrow, though my heart does a little stutter-step. "Is that so?" I think bitterly, how can I believe him? He disappeared without a trace, left me wondering if I imagined everything, and completely ignored me at the restaurant. And now he's here, acting like all that tension never happened? Like it didn’t wreck me a little every day?
"He misses Peaches. Doesn’t even wag when I say ‘park’ anymore. That’s serious." He lets out a quiet, almost sheepish laugh and rubs the back of his neck. "I even tried saying it in a high-pitched voice like you do—felt ridiculous. He just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. So yeah… I think he’s got it bad.""
My heart twists. "Peaches misses him too. She’s been sighing dramatically like an old woman in a romance novel." And the worst part? It’s not her fault. It’s not Smokey’s either. Just because Ashe apparently decided to ghost me doesn’t mean the dogs should suffer. They’d be thrilled to see each other. But that means I’ll have to see Ashe again too. And I’m not sure if my heart—or my pride—can handle that.
He chuckles. It’s soft. Brief. The kind of laugh that dances on the edge of awkward and endearing. And for some traitorous reason, my heart flips like it's auditioning for a rom-com blooper reel. I grit my teeth and take a sip of my coffee, wishing I had something to block out the stupid, residual heat of his smile.
"Maybe we should set up a doggy date," he says, his voice hopeful and soft, like he's testing the waters and doesn’t quite know if he’ll sink or swim. "The park reopened. We could meet up. For the dogs, of course."
"I feel like I should let you know that I'm a lesbian now," I say, deadpan, hoping to knock him off his cool fireman pedestal.
He blinks. "I just saw you on a dinner date... with a man, and now you're a lesbian?"
"Yep," I say. "It's a relatively recent development."
