28. Green Flags

Juliet

On Friday morning, I pad through the house in jammies in search of coffee. Monroe's off for a run but Sawyer's standing at the sink in the hallway bathroom, door open, brushing his teeth with his finger.

"Gross," I say.

"Good hygiene is not gross," he retorts through a mouthful of paste.

"Maybe I meant you're gross," I say.

"Maybe I'll give you a noogie."

"Maybe I'm still faster and you can't catch me," I say, then wander into the kitchen desperately seeking caffeine.

There's so much to do today. The realtor is coming in two hours, and she said she can also put us in touch with someone who can handle all these goodies in an estate sale here in the home. It's weird to think of an estate sale with Eleanor still alive and well, but she definitely is. She posted a video of her cruise on her social feed, singing her Christmas song with her husband at karaoke on the ship. Something about her felt vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it.

Mostly the image reminded me of how much I love karaoke. Does Monroe like it too? I bet that's a no, but I'll ask him. Mostly because I want to know if I'm right. A smile takes over my face as I picture him grumbling about karaoke and show tunes.

I yank open a cupboard searching for coffee when the heavenly scent drifts into my nostrils. Am I dreaming of coffee? I follow my nose, peering down the counter like a cartoon character tracking a scent to…a freshly brewed pot. There's also a pretty sky-blue ceramic mug with a Post-it note that has my name on it, along with a simple sketch of a ladybug.

At least, I think it's a ladybug. It's roundish and has spots. My heart gallops.

"Let me guess. He made you coffee and you're going all schmoopy."

Oh shit. I straighten my spine, rearrange my schmoopy features, and turn around to face my brother. "It's just coffee."

He rolls his eyes. "Save the innocent act for court. And no, he didn't tell me. I figured it out because I'm astute, and you two are also pathetically obvious."

Are you kidding me? My brother guessed right? That's it? "Um…"

"Yeah. Um,indeed. So, are you two a thing?"

"No, it's not like that. It's not like that at all. It's like…" I sputter out because I don't know what this thing is like at all, other than an experiment with an end date.

He lifts a brow. "A hook-up? A fling? A one-night stand?"

"No!" I hate all of those terms for Monroe and me, and the frown on my face must tell my brother so because he closes the distance and sets a hand on my shoulder. "Be patient with him," Sawyer says, gently. "He's a work in progress."

My frown turns to a sigh, maybe a grateful one. "Aren't we all?"

A soft smile comes my way. "Truer words."

Then, Sawyer reaches around and snags my mug, fills it with coffee, and knocks back a big gulp.

"You sneak! You set me up!"

With a smug smile he puts down the mug and smacks his lips. "You don't want me to drive without caffeine, do you?"

"It's seven-thirty in the morning! You're wide awake!"

He sweeps out an arm toward the coffeepot. "And you have more coffee from a man who's too crazy about you to admit it."

Then he wheels around and takes off on a bigger mic drop than last night's clamjam.

I'm still a little buzzed from Sawyer's parting shot as I walk through town for my own exercise. As the summer air wraps around me, I turn over a slate of new questions in my head as I pass Downward Dog All Day.

Is Monroe crazy about me? He did draw me a ladybug. And brewed me coffee. And brought me a hair tie yesterday. And a lavender eye mask the other night. And rented me a limo before that. And joined me at breakfast with my mom one morning. And saved me from the cheese douche last week.

And called me a masterpiece.

On the one hand, he treats me like, well, like a man should treat a woman. On the other hand, he's gone on the record that he's not keen on relationships.

Why should I believe his actions more than his words? Just because I want to? That's foolish, even when his actions speak so loudly.

I want to believe them so badly it hurts. I rub my hand against my sternum as I near the lavender farm, drawn by the alluring scent and my new friend, who's outside setting up a big wooden sign listing the farm's hours.

"Hey, city girl," Ripley says, adjusting the placement of the white and lavender sign on the emerald-green grass. Her inked arms are strong.

"Nice guns," I say, admiring her.

"Thanks," she says, glancing at her toned biceps like she just noticed them. "I guess lugging signs and stuff for years has an effect. What's going on with you?"

That's the question, isn't it? But I think I know the answer. "Oh, you know, just stupidly falling for a guy who's not really available."

She gives me a sympathetic look as she dusts one hand against the other. "Really?"

I wince. "I think so."

"You think you're falling for him, or you think he's unavailable?"

I tackle the first question since it's easier. "I'm definitely falling for him. In just a few short days. Though, in my dumb heart's defense, I sort of fell for him eight years ago right here in this town."

An eyebrow lifts. "Details."

I check the time. I need to get back to see Luna Ferrara, the realtor, but I also need to process all my feels, so I give a condensed version of the past and the present.

Ripley listens attentively, nodding as I talk, then when I'm done, she asks, "So he got you a lavender eye mask when you had a headache? But was it one of mine? Because The Slippery Dipper carries mine. And if it was mine that means…extra points."

I laugh, flashing back to that night. "Come to think of it, it probably came from your lavender farm."

"Then, maybe talk to him about it."

Nerves fly through my body. "That sounds terrifying."

"Yup."

On that note, I turn to go, a plan coming together as I walk. Functional fitness indeed.

A couple of hours later, Monroe and I see Luna to the door and thank her for her time. "We appreciate you taking this on so quickly," Monroe says.

"And I appreciate your business." The realtor is a curvy woman with olive skin and a friendly smile. "This house will be so fun to list."

She takes off, and when the door closes, Monroe looks at his watch. "If memory serves, you have one more date. We should do that tonight."

He sounds businesslike, and I get it. We said three dates with three men at the start of this experiment. Monroe's simply sticking to the plan.

But what if we could have more than three dates? What if we could have dates that go beyond this week? Nights together in San Francisco? Perhaps, I'll use this last date to show my podcast co-host the sort of fun we can have together and then feel him out about all these pesky feelings. We've grown closer with each of our dates, stripping down our defenses, but we needed those costumes to get there. It'll be easier for me to broach the big, scary topic while we're still in experiment mode.

"Let's do it." We head to the back porch, where I open the Date Night app and thumb through prospects as if I'm simply hunting. But I quickly land on the guy I found during my walk back to the house. I take a quiet, steadying breath. With fingers metaphorically crossed, I swallow my nerves and ask, "How about this one?"

It's my choice, of course. I don't need his permission, but I do want this date tonight to go well, like the others have. Each date has brought us closer, and I want this one to do the same.

That's why I pre-selected Adam. He's a college professor who likes nineties tunes, tinkering on household projects, reading on cold days, and reading on hot days. Oh, he's also divorced. His smile is warm, his eyes kind behind those glasses, and his word choices in his profile are unadorned. He's thirty-eight. "No douche vibes here, right?"

Monroe studies his profile for flaws, then smiles like he's impressed. "No douche vibes," he echoes.

"Good." Another deep breath. "Then why don't we practice it as a third date?"

He gives me a quizzical stare. "A third date?" Like he's not sure he heard.

"Yes, that means the professor and I have gone out twice already."

"I know what third means."

"Do you though?"

His smile takes time to spread, then it turns naughty. "I do."

Fun and feelings. You can't do that on the first date. I close my eyes and soak in the sun, keeping my mind focused on Monroe's actions this week. This morning, especially. "Thanks for the coffee. And the ladybug drawing."

"You're welcome."

When I open my eyes, he's soaking in the rays, too, looking content, like he belongs here. "Do you like karaoke?"

He barks out a laugh. "That's random."

"Do you?"

He shoots me a challenging look. "What do you think?"

"No."

"You'd be right." He takes a beat, tilts his head. "But I'd go with you if you wanted to."

Maybe his words are starting to match his actions. I'm feeling all sorts of possibilities.

That evening, as I'm getting ready in the main bathroom, my phone buzzes with a text from my mom.

Mom: Dating is so fun! I'm having the best time.

Juliet: I'm so happy for you, Mom.

Mom: And you? Are you having fun?

Juliet: Definitely!

Mom: I take it that means it's going well with the guy you met? Aren't the men better here?

Juliet: You could say that. It's promising, if a little complicated.

Mom: What happens next with him? Will you see him next week when you return to the city?

That's one question I don't have an answer for.