Friday Romance: Chestnut Waves (Parts 1 - 3)
"Mmhmm, I bet." She teased her fingers through her hair. "Your turn. Tell me about yourself."
It was a Saturday afternoon and the sun was resting on a cloud. As she sat across from me talking about her job I noticed she had a freckle on the side of her nose, that her upper lip quivered every time she said "work" - as if the word coursed fear down her spine, and that her roots were showing and her blonde hair was naturally chestnut. She caught my eyes and smirked.
"I bet you have secrets too," she said.
"I wasn't staring," I replied, my voice crackling like grade-school, "just, admiring."
"Mmhmm, I bet." She teased her fingers through her hair. "Your turn. Tell me about yourself."
First dates were never easy. They're essentially interviews, but unlike the ones you go to for a job you want them to last as long as possible. I took a sip from my glass of gluten-free lager, fumbled some thoughts in my head, then tried my best to sound interesting.
"I order supplies," I said. "Factory supplies, screws, bolts, nuts, and cashews." That joke never landed, not once, until that day. She covered her mouth as she laughed. "Even if that's a pity laugh I'll take it. It's a good job, pays my rent."
"Do you like it?" Her eyes were locked on mine. Was she genuinely interested?
"I like the routine I suppose. I wake up, whether it be to my alarm or my cat licking the side of my head, and head to the gym, get home to shower, eat while watching TV…" I was rambling, was I rambling? I was rambling. "Then, I go to work, just sit there in front of a screen all day ordering whatever is available. When I get home I play around with my guitar a bit, tell myself I'll get better one day. Not sure any of that sounds too glamorous." My life wasn't interesting.
"Sounds interesting."
"It does?" I took a sip of my drink as a mulled over what I did Friday.
"You're paying your rent, living your life. Don't be so hard on yourself. My job isn't a walk in the park everyday."
"You work at a national park, though." I smiled and raised an eyebrow.
"You got me there. I play the desk work game too sometimes," she tilted her glass and claimed the last drop of her IPA, "but most days I'm outside driving a golf cart around all the paths."
"We're living different lives, that's for sure."
"There's days when," she sighed and broke eye contact, "I'd rather be at home, working on anything else. I love to paint, not sure if I'm any good, not sure if there's a way to tell. I love my job, don't get me wrong, but there's always a pull coming from the other direction. Does that ever happen to you?"
"Every day. Only I'm not sure where I'm being pulled to, other than away from one screen and to another." I followed her lead and caught the last bead of my lager on my tongue.
The following Monday the bright screen hurt my eyes. The letters on the keyboard dodged my fingertips. Every time an email pinged it struck my eardrum. I had to get out.
I texted her. She was feeling the same way.
When I picked her up she was wearing a floppy straw hat and sunglasses that covered her whole face. When she got in the car she took them off and smiled as her blue eyes hit me like a barreling sea salt wave.
"What'd you have in mind for today?" I asked. I'd usually be sitting at a desk beside a third cup of coffee.
"I know what I don't have in mind," she said, tapping her index finger on the dimple in her chin, "no parks, no painting, no keyboards or guitars, no nuts, no screws, and definitely no cashews. Let's just…" she found the word somewhere by the rear-view mirror, as if looking back was the only way to move us forward, "be."
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Dan Leicht is a romance, mystery, and science fiction author living in Upstate New York with his wife Barbara and their mischievous tortie cat. He has a Bachelor's in Creative Writing from SUNY Brockport. His work has appeared in Sci-fi Shorts, 365 Tomorrows, The Kraken Lore, and Ripples in Space. You can find him online at danleicht.com and on Instagram/Threads @danleicht.