“I’m so sorry,” she says, obviously in distress as she pushes out the words, frantically wiping up the mess with a stack of tissues she pulled from her purse. Mom-ready.
I almost say “no worries” yet again as I grab some paper towels, helping her clean up the mess that I could and should take care of by myself to put her at ease. Almost. Almost but I don’t.
Stopping myself, I wait until the chaos has left her beautiful gaze.
“Looks like you owe me a coffee date,” is what comes out instead. The casual maybe-joke, sets a tension between us as I clean up what’s left of the mess and shy Autumn pauses her movements to peek up at me.
I swear my pulse slows and every noise around us fades to nothing when I watch her reaction. The way her mouth parts slightly and then her teeth sink down into her pouty lips. The swallow that follows makes her neck seem that much more tempting to kiss.
“Mr. Morgan,” she barely says my name in a breathy voice and then clears her throat, the nerves getting to her. They get to me too, beautiful.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” she half teases back and the two of us toss the soaked paper towels in the trash can.
“Yes,” I answer her and that playfulness evaporates. “Just coffee,” I tell her, holding my ground, and then I hold my breath.
Wide eyed, her gaze drops to my lips for just a moment. I’ll be damned if this woman doesn’t want me. “Please,” I add for good measure, plastering a smirk on my lips. The smirk that always makes her shift in place from foot to foot.
“Just coffee?” she asks softly.
I can only nod, because I’d rather do that than lie.
As two more youngsters enter, breaking up the moment when one of them cries not to be left by her father, I worry I’ve lost her. And that she’s going to politely decline.
Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ear and agrees to the date by saying, “I think coffee would be nice.”
Autumn
My phone is blowing up as it lays on my somewhat made queen bed. I never tuck in the sheets, but the off-white comforter with a gray paisley pattern is pulled over enough that when I tell my five-year-old son it’s time to make his bed, he can’t point a finger back at me.
Ting, ting. The phone chimes and buzzes again, and I’m quick to read the updates from Mags followed by the response from Renee. Magnolia’s life could be a story line for a soap opera. Or a Lifetime movie maybe. I’ve thought it for years but especially now given what’s going on in her love life.
I’m quick to reply and then silence it, but not before catching Sharon’s comment. Just seeing her name on the screen produces guilty tumbles in the pit of my stomach.
What do you do when your friend and you like the same man? You don’t touch him. You certainly don’t go on a coffee date with him over the weekend.
I don’t even see what Sharon replied or know what position she’s taking on Magnolia’s situation. All I know is that I said yes to coffee with a guy I know she likes.
“Ugh.” The groan slips out as I pull my sundress down and then blow a few strands of curly, dark blond hair out of my face. Makeup is done, this dress is brand new and I love how it flows, but my goodness, I cannot get past this feeling of betrayal. No matter how excited I am.
“You look pretty, Mommy.” Henry’s voice catches me by surprise. The door creaks as my son pushes it open even more. “Pretty for date.” His tone is mischievous.
My bottom lip drops and my mouth opens with shock for this little cutie staring back at me as he climbs onto my bed. His little fists grab a handful of bedding and I help him, scooting his bottom up until he’s on the mattress.
“It’s not a date, sweetie,” I tell him and there’s practically a scold in my tone. Maybe that’s why he arches that little brow of his at me. It’s nearly comical. He’s always had a mind of his own.
It’s between a glance in the vanity mirror and a glance back at him that I see his true intentions. “Nope,” I say and snag my phone just before he can reach it. The last time he got ahold of my phone, I had about 100 pictures of his mouth and up his nose in my camera roll.
Before he can protest or reach for it, I change the subject. Distraction is my best parenting weapon. I think it was Maggie who told me that if a kid wants something, offer them something else while taking what they want out of view. It has worked like a charm for years.
“Do you want Aunt Renee to come by and hang out this morning?” My voice takes on a bit of a sing-song quality as I set my phone down on the dresser. “She might have said something about ice cream sandwiches.”
Now it’s my son’s turn for his mouth to drop in surprise. As he chants “Auntie Renee,” my smile grows and all those nerves take a back seat. Until I check my phone again.
Aunt Renee spilled the beans in the chat. With a grimace, I read the texts.
When are you bringing my little man over so you can go on your coffee date, Autumn? She sent the text only a minute ago and the other two ladies in the chat pile on:
Ooh, a date?
With who?
My stomach drops when Renee answers Sharon’s question regarding who this coffee date is with. The hot preschool teacher with the nice butt.
Sharon assumes wrong, typing back, Mr. Harding?
And frozen in my spot, I watch the horror story play out in real time with Renee correcting her: Nope, she snagged Trent.
Before my eyes close, I catch sight in my periphery of Henry jumping on my bed while chanting, “Date, date, date. You date Mr. Morgan. I date Renee!” His gleeful song is accompanied by the squeak of the bed frame and more vibrating in my hand from the phone.
Oh my God, kill me now.
Trent
Keeping it PG is how my buddy Harding would describe this coffee date. He’s far more experienced than I am on the dating scene and if he was here now … he’d enjoy laughing at me.
Autumn and I snagged a coveted table on the patio outside a mom-and-pop coffee and cake shop. There’s not a cloud in sight and the breeze is just right. So right that when it blows by, Autumn’s dark brunette hair sweeps across her shoulders.
Yet this date is less like a date and more like small talk between two people who are both waiting in a doctor’s office for a rectal exam. Yeah, Harding would laugh his ass off right about now.
“Our boys get along real well,” I say and take a sip of my coffee, my thumb tapping rhythmically on the edge of the generic white ceramic mug. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but I have no game whatsoever with her. Even less so this morning. Maybe I just need more coffee.
“I know, Henry talks about Chase all the time.” She mimics the way the two boys say, “best buds for life,” then lets out a small laugh. Very short and riddled with the same kind of nerves that won’t settle in my gut.
I know she already knows that the boys get along. The two of them hit it off Henry’s first day of preschool last year.
Even though I can’t manage a conversation outside of the weather, the cinnamon cake on the table, and our boys, I still think it’s going well because when that wind blows and she has to retuck her hair behind her ear, she smiles down into her latte that smells so sweet and then peeks up at me, all shy-like.