Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

BLAKE

I have no idea why I asked for cinnamon gum. Cinnamon rolls? Those are great. But chew straight cinnamon on purpose? It burns the taste buds right off my tongue. I guess I just wanted a chance to talk to Molly, and for some reason cinnamon gum popped into my mind.

I feel bad about the way we left things last night, but her behavior this morning made it perfectly clear she's no longer interested in talking to me. This isn't the first time I've sent a woman running in the opposite direction. I reference the time I told a waitress at The Ivy that I couldn't stay and have a drink with her because I was busy stalking Danny Green. She rolled her eyes and announced that her gaydar must be broken before walking away. Fine, she ran.

I didn't bother explaining that I was supposed to write an article about the Lakers star, and he wouldn't return my calls. I just beat it out of the restaurant in hot pursuit.

Walking out of the gift shop, I make my way to the front desk to see what kind of activities there are to pass the time. I find a stack of brochures of things to do in the area as well as a list of indoor and outdoor happenings that can be enjoyed right here at the lodge. Zip-lining looks like fun, but I worry that after last night's snowfall I might wind up wearing all the snow in the trees. Cross country skiing is an option, as is snowmobiling. I make a mental note to try both later in the week.

I finally decide to walk around the grounds before choosing an event. After tromping around the woods for a good half hour, I'm about to go back inside and warm up when I see a guy about my age sitting on a log. His head is resting in his hands. There's something about his posture that makes me think he might be in distress.

Walking up behind him, I ask, "Excuse me for interrupting, but are you okay?"

"No." He doesn't so much as look up.

"Can I help you into the lodge?" Call an ambulance, a priest …

He finally lifts his head and turns around. His eyes are so dark I have a strange sensation they lead to a black hole. "You wouldn't happen to be a therapist, would you?"

A burst of laughter shoots out of me before I can stop it. "Not even close," I tell him. "Did you and your wife have a fight?"

"No wife," he says before letting his shoulders sag. "No girlfriend. No one."

My head bobs up and down like a bobblehead on a speeding dashboard. "Same," I tell him before walking over to him. Gesturing toward his log, I ask, "Mind if I join you?"

"It's a public log."

Since I'm here to write an article about single people, I might as well talk to one. After brushing the snow off the spot next to him, I gingerly sit down. Man, it's cold! My butt immediately goes numb as it makes contact with the frigid wood. "What are you doing here at the lodge?"

A look of embarrassment crosses his face before he answers, "I'm here for a dating thing. Trina Rockwell from Midwestern Matchmaker is having her first big mixer tonight." He pauses for a beat before adding, "It's actually a two-week-long event. "

Sticking my hand out, I introduce myself. "I'm Blake."

He mimics the gesture. "Kyle. Kyle Williams."

"So, Kyle. Are you fresh off a breakup or something?" I ask. I might as well get some information for my article. Who knows? Kyle might even be the perfect guy to follow so people know what a waste of time these things are.

"Not fresh off, no. My girlfriend, Amelia, broke up with me six months ago. She met someone else."

"Ouch." I don't ask any follow up questions and wait to see if Kyle divulges anything else on his own. He does.

"We were together for a year and a half when we went on vacation to the Bahamas. I brought along an engagement ring." Closing his eyes, he shakes his head and inhales deeply. On the exhale, he opens them. "I mean, is there anything more romantic than getting engaged on a tropical beach at sunset?"

"I can't think of anything," I tell him. Although halftime at a Bulls game on the Jumbotron pops into my brain.

"I thought we were forever, man. I really did."

"What happened with her and the other guy?" I realize this might be an intrusive question, but I'm curious.

"They got married last month. Which is the reason I booked myself on this excursion. I figure, I could either continue to sit around and feel sorry for myself or I could pick up the pieces of my shattered heart and start over."

If Kyle wrote his story on paper, he'd have a country western song. All he'd need to add is a broken-down pickup truck and a mutt with gout. "So, you thought a matchmaker was the way to go?"

He shrugs. "I've never tried it before and nothing else has worked, so I figured, why not?" Then he asks, "Are you on vacation with your family?"

"I'm actually here for the same singles' thing you are," I tell him, feeling like a world-class phony.

"Really?" He sounds so excited I can only surmise that misery really does love company. The only thing is, I'm not miserable .

"Yup," I tell him. "I just moved back to Chicago from LA and I figured this was the perfect way to get back into the Midwestern dating scene." More like the perfect way to keep my job so I can finally do what I moved to Chicago to do—write about sports.

"Is dating in Los Angeles a lot different than dating here?"

"LA is generally thought of as its own planet," I tell him truthfully. "There's no other place on earth where out of shape, fifty-year-old men think it's their due to date twenty-year-old swimsuit models."

Kyle's face contorts in disgust. "Do the women really go for guys like that?"

"If the men profess to be producers they do. LA is the land of bartering your body for career advancement."

"Dude, that's so gross," he says. Although part of him looks intrigued. "What's keeping everyone from pretending to be something they're not?"

"I guess some people have morals. Also, smart women will look up potential suitors on IMDB to confirm their identities. Although, drunk ones at random parties often find out the truth too late."

His expression is priceless: revolted, with a side of I wonder if that would work for me?

"Did you ever do that?" he wants to know.

"No way," I tell him. Then, for emphasis, I add, "Not only am I not a predator, but I want to date women who are interested in the real me." Which, of course, is another reason I can't pursue anything with Molly. She can't know who I am until this event is over.

His chin lifts in agreement. "I guess the teenager in me got a little excited at the prospect of being a hot ticket."

"Yeah, but that stuff doesn't last." Even though none of my relationships have gone the distance, I console myself that at least I've never been a sleaze bucket.

"How did you find out about this event?" he wants to know.

"I heard about it at work. I'm a barista." While that's not currently true, I did work at a coffee chain for two years while I was getting my sports-writing career off the ground.

"You moved back to Chicago to make coffee?"

"I'm working on a novel," I tell him. "The coffee gig pays the bills."

"You can make enough as a barista to support yourself in Chicago?"

Letting the lies pile up, I tell him, "My folks have a small apartment in the city for when they come into town to shop or see a show." Now I'm making myself sound like I'm a Rockefeller or something.

"That's cool," he says. "I'm a lawyer."

"I guess you can afford a fancy place then."

"Yeah, but what fun is a great apartment when you're all alone?"

"Which is why you're here," I remind him. "Maybe in two weeks you'll have met a nice woman to date and you'll be well on your way to becoming a couple." More likely he'll have wasted a ton of money and still be miserable, but that's his problem.

"I had a really nice girlfriend before I met Amelia," Kyle says.

"What happened to her?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose like he's trying to stop a throbbing pain, before telling me, "I left her for Amelia."

"Oh man, that's rough."

"It's like karma is gunning for me. I knew enough not to fool around, but I did it anyway. Then I got the same that I gave. It's poetic justice, I guess."

"They do say that what goes around, comes around …" I agree.

"I know I deserve to be in the boat I'm in," Kyle says. "But I justified my behavior because my girlfriend and I weren't engaged. Heck, we weren't even living together. I figured I was still single, so I was allowed to change my mind."

"Were you exclusive?" I ask .

"That's the fine line, isn't it?" He pauses before saying, "We were, but she traveled a lot, so it didn't always feel like it."

I think about Lana and realize that even if we'd tried harder, we weren't destined to be. You can't live long distance forever because inevitably one of you will start to feel you're not receiving enough attention, and that can easily develop into a wandering eye.

As I ponder what might have been, Kyle stands up. "It's been nice talking to you, Blake. I guess I'll see you tonight."

"You bet," I tell him. As I watch him walk away, I wonder at what age we start to realize there aren't an endless number of people we might wind up with. I'm not a fatalist, but I have been starting to wonder if we might not pick our mate before we arrive on Earth.

That thought leads me to consider that by a series of near misses I might have already lost my opportunity to meet my person. What if she got itchy and decided I wasn't getting to her fast enough? What if she settled for someone she knew wasn't right for her but didn't want to wait anymore?

I'm about to have a panic attack when I hear a voice inside my head ask, What if she's still out there looking for you?