22. Summer

22

SUMMER

I see the puma first. The gold figure waggles out of a doorway in front of me as I walk down the hallway of Sunshine Living’s fifth floor.

“Summer,” Roxanne says, poking her head out, scanning the hallway. She sets the cane on the floor, puma-head down. She blinks, flustered, then switches the puma to its upright position.

“Hey, Roxanne.” Curious, I slow at her door. She doesn’t seem her savvy self at all. “What’s going on?”

“Help,” she whispers.

The hairs on my neck prick. “Are you okay?”

She shakes her head and beckons me. “Come inside for a second. I think I’ve made a grave mistake.”

“Okay,” I say, following her into her apartment.

The door stays open as she ushers me to her living room and motions to a high-backed cranberry-red upholstered couch. “Sit.”

I park myself, and she brandishes her phone. “I don’t know what to do,” she says, almost distraught. “It’s this damn Tinder. I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“What happened?”

Shaking her head, she lowers her voice. “I’m now chatting with a man I’m not interested in. Actually, I’m chatting with a bunch of men I’m not interested in.”

I frown. “Can you just stop talking to them?”

“I could . . .” She trails off.

“But?”

“But there are things I like about them. Hence, my dilemma.”

“I’m a little confused. How did you wind up chatting with them in the first place if you’re not interested?”

She gives me an innocent grin. “They have cute dogs. I swiped right on their dogs.”

A laugh bursts out before I can stop it. “You swiped right on their dogs? How does that happen?”

She squares her shoulders. “Sometimes the dog picture shows first, and some dogs are so adorable I can’t help myself. Especially if they look like my collie, Sally.” She wrings her hands. “Can I just go out with them to see their dogs? I miss my Sally so much.”

I take a breath and consider my answer. “That’s an idea. But I think you should probably tell them that you’re only interested in their dogs.”

She sighs heavily, but after a moment, nods and pats my knee. “You’re right. Honesty is usually best,” she says. “And speaking of honesty, can I tell you my idea for classes?”

“Sure. Of course.”

She sweeps her arm out wide. “Exotic dancing. I want to learn exotic dancing.”

I keep my expression neutral somehow as she tells me about the dance moves she wants to learn.

“Can you please work on getting an exotic dancing class here? Or else I’ll have to set it up myself.”

“Sure. I can look into it,” I tell her.

Throughout the rest of the day, her words echo in my head. Not about exotic dancing, though if she wants that, I will try to help.

But what she said about being honest.

I should be honest with Oliver.

Let him know we simply can’t fake-kiss again. It’s hurting my heart too much. It’s throwing me off.

Nothing against the man, but I’d rather date someone who was more into my dog than me than go through that again.

As I leave, I vow to find a way to add an Ins and Outs of Tinder class to the activity list, no matter what my boss says.