Catch And Release (Fleur de Lis) Page 4

  Sighing in frustration at what is going on in my head and the lack of progress in my search for a good man by Christmas, I hop up off the couch. I shove my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and slip on a pair of sandals. Yes, it’s December, but it is south Louisiana, and I love my flip-flops.

  I need to get away, so I head over to the Wahoo. Maybe some time away from my thoughts and memories will do me some good. As I open the door and scan the familiar faces of the regulars, I freeze.

  It isn’t Jack. But it is Jack’s dad. Genes being what they are, they look alike, talk alike, etcetera.

  I take a seat at the bar, and the first thing Jack Sr. does is smile at me and buy me a beer. I’m half tempted to turn him down, but that’s sort of rude.

  One of the bar regulars sitting beside me decides it would be a smart idea to chug a beer. He doesn’t realize that someone has shaken up the beer, and he pops the top.

  Ice cold Bud Light spews all over my face.

  I seriously don’t know how this stuff happens to me.

  As I’m wiping the beer off my face, I look over and Jack Sr. is laughing. It’s the same laugh, same blue eyes, and something twists in my stomach.

  How I’ve missed Jack’s laugh. How he told me he loved it when my face lit up whenever I talked about writing. The first time I saw him, he looked at me with those eyes, and I forgot how to make words.

  Jack Sr. buys another round—he’s a local businessman and very successful—and includes me again. I thank him and once again have to look into those duplicate eyes.

  This is tough. The Wahoo is my safe place. My refuge. And now it’s been shaken with the appearance of Jack Sr. I’m not scared Jack will walk in—it’s been months since I’ve seen him. I have, however, seen Jack Sr. every now and then, and every time I do, it does the same thing to me. I wonder if today will be the day that Jack walks in. I look at the door. Hoping he does. Praying he doesn’t.

  Chapter Ten

  Friday, December 2

  23 Days Left

  I’ve decided not only to find a real good man by Christmas, but to lose thirteen pounds as well. It’ll be easier to catch a great guy with a little less junk in my trunk, right? Right now I have so much junk in my trunk, I think it’s quite possible it’s where Jimmy Hoffa’s body is hidden.

  No more late night runs to the drive-thru for burgers and fries. More salads. Cut back on carbs. This is going to be tough. Dressing up? Painting toenails? Shaving legs? Now dieting? I have to eat healthy? This is south Louisiana, home of gumbo, boudin, crawfish, and King Cake. Healthy? What’s next? Working out? Sweating? I shudder at the thought.

  Prince Charming better be darn near Mr. Perfect with all the work I’m putting into this.

  Speaking of food and eating (un)healthy, I think it’s time to talk about cheesecake. One day, a group of friends and I were sitting around eating lunch and talking about men and dating. Someone had brought cheesecake for our dessert, and we decided that cheesecake would be a great euphemism for sex. Well, it started out as sex, but we eventually expanded it to encompass an entire relationship.

  There are different kinds of cheesecake, as there are different kinds of relationships. For example, there’s No Bake Cheesecake. It’s cheap and easy to put together. It’s for those people, like Jack, who don’t want to put forth effort into making a relationship. He wants quick and easy with no hassle and no complications.

  I am looking for gourmet cheesecake. I want top-of-the-line, exquisite cheesecake. The kind it takes effort and time to create. From the crust to the topping, everything works together for that perfect combination.

  That No Bake can stay on the shelf for all I care.

  ***

  Armyguy is still around. I’m meeting him at one of the small diners in town for breakfast today. We were supposed to meet for a late lunch after I got off work, but, apparently, he couldn’t wait. It’s going okay. He is cute. But this time I did stash some money in my purse, just in case.

  I’m not hungry so I just order hot chocolate. We continue to talk about nothing in particular. No major discussions early in the morning for me. The waitress brings the bill and he frowns.

  “That’s a bit much for hot chocolate, don’t you think?” he asks as he reaches for his wallet.

  “I don’t know,” I say. I’d never had a guy complain about spending a buck and half on a date, so I was silent.

  “You want to go fishing later, when you get off work?” he asks.

  “I think it’s a little too chilly for me,” I reply, not completely referring to the cool breeze.

  He hugs me, and I head home to get ready for my shift. I text him and thank him for breakfast. He again asks me to go fishing.

  I tell him I’ll let him know.

  Later he texts me that he’s out fishing with his dog. Okay. Good for him. And his dog.

  One of my friends calls me to meet her for lunch. She’s going on a date later and is nervous, so I go try to lend a little moral support. I tell her nothing of my morning “breakfast.”

  While we’re eating and joking about cheesecake for dessert, Armyguy calls again. I don’t answer. We wrap up our lunch. My friend leaves to go get ready for her date, and I head home to type up entries for my book.

  Wait. I’m turning down a date when I’m looking for a man by Christmas? What’s wrong with me?

  Later, as I’m sitting at my laptop typing, my phone vibrates. I look down and see Armyguy’s name.

  Shaking my head, I pick up the phone to read the text.

  Armyguy: Figure we would go see a movie or something. I always go where u ask but when I ask there’s an excuse involved.

  I drop the phone on the desk. What? I’ve known him all of one week. One week and two dates—if you count hot chocolate as a date—does not constitute “always.”

  I have no idea what to say to this. Finally, I respond and tell him I’ve been busy.

  Armyguy: So I’ve noticed.

  That’s it! I’m done! Yes, I’m busy. I like my life. I have amazing friends and a job I like. I’m not looking for someone to be my life. I’m looking for someone to enhance my life. Like a great pair of shoes. You don’t really have to have them, there are other shoes that will work, but those shoes are the perfect complement to your outfit. That’s what I want.

  I want someone who complements me and my life. And that’s not Armyguy. He’s so clingy, I’d get blisters.

  After all this, I decide to head on over to the Wahoo. I need a drink after this drama.

  When I get to the bar, I say my hellos to everyone and give hugs, but instead of joining a group, I take a seat by myself. One of the great things about going to the Wahoo is that everyone knows me well enough to give me space when I need it. It’s also a good opportunity to survey the available man situation.

  After Crystal serves my beer, I get up and play some cheesy ’80s music to combat some of the tear-in-my-beer country while I sip my drink. I hold my phone in my hand, staring at it, willing it to ring, wanting it to be Jack.

  It’s not going to ring. I really don’t know why I do this to myself. I have to end this. I pull up his contact info, say goodbye, and delete Jack’s number for what I hope is the last time. It is the most emotionally freeing thing I have done in a long, long time.

  The barstool next to me is empty, so I recline back and put my feet on the seat. While I’m contemplating and sipping my beer, one of Ryder’s friends comes up. It’s not one of our mutual friends we always hang out with, but I have seen him here before.

  “Where’s Ryder?” he asks me. It’s funny how many people are asking me that question these days.

  “I’m not sure,” I tell him.

  “I’ve tried to call him, but he’s not answering.” He shrugs. “So, what are you doing sitting alone?”

  I shrug back and say, “Just am.”

  He nods his white cowboy hat at the empty seat. “I see you’re keeping Ryder’s seat warm for him.”

  I just smile.
I have no witty remarks. I’m shocked actually. I’ve never spoken more than two words to this guy, and yet he seems to know a lot more about this situation than I do. Has Ryder been talking about me? He had to if this guy assumes that I would have any idea where Ryder is and that I’m saving a seat just for him.

  Friend tips his cowboy hat and moseys off to the greener pastures of the pool table. I’m left alone with my thoughts again.

  Has Ryder been giving me signals all along that he’s interested? Have I just refused to pick up on them? I’ve treated him like just a friend all this time. Maybe he just gave up. Maybe it’s my turn. I have to do something. I can’t let this be another Jack and months from now have unanswered questions and regrets.

  But do what? That’s the question. I am going to ask him about dinner. At my house. We’ll order takeout. Lord knows I’d kill him with my cooking. I can’t boil water.

  Maybe I’ll ask him to make out like teenagers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Saturday, December 3

  22 Days Left

  Dear Carly,

  Here’s your singles love horoscope for December 3:

  Intriguing new ideas regarding romance are introduced to you, and these developments point the way to renewal. It’s understandable to feel hesitant at first. After all, saying yes to one thing means saying no to another.

  Intriguing new ideas? That sounds about right. As I’ve started this mission to jump back into the dating world after a six-month hiatus, I feel like I’ve learned so much about men, dating, and relationships. It’s like starting all over again. The rules are different at thirty than at twenty. When you’re twenty, you’re reckless, thrilled by the chase and endless possibilities. At thirty, after you’ve been hurt a few times, you’re a little jaded and a little less willing to jump into anything without first learning to trust yourself and the other person. It’s funny how many people I’ve run into who feel the same way. Jack and Ryder have both stated that they just don’t want to hurt anyone again. So what happens when we become either scared to hurt someone or to be hurt ourselves? What makes someone decide to finally take that plunge again? I’m not there yet, obviously, or I would make my feelings known to Ryder.

  Maybe I can take baby steps. Who says I have to plunge in? Why can’t I stick a toe in the water and decide if I like the water before I dive in? Or is that what I’ve been doing?

  ***

  Taking the advice from this morning’s horoscope, I decide to change tactics with Ryder. While I’m getting ready to go to the Wahoo, I decide to back off a little with him and see what happens.

  He isn’t there when I get there, so I go sit with Morgan and watch him play pool. Ryder walks in later. He makes his rounds and greets everyone but me. I let that slide. I continue to watch the pool game and act like he’s not there. I even give Morgan a high five when he beats Ryder. Ryder is a damn good pool player and there aren’t many who can beat him, but Morgan is one of those people.

  I watch Ryder out of the corner of my eye. I will admit that I was extraordinarily disappointed that he went and sat a few stools down with another friend of ours rather than sit in the empty chair beside me. I shake it off, though, and go play some ’80s man-hating music on the jukebox. No, I didn’t play that old Paula Cole song “Where Have all the Cowboys Gone.” It was more “Love is a Battlefield.”

  While I’m sitting there listening to my music, I think of Joey, who would normally be here, but he’s offshore and will be gone until after Christmas. What I like most about Joey is that he makes me be myself. If I’m not, he calls me on it with that one eyebrow raise of his. I can’t be anyone but who I am with him. He demands it. It’s actually refreshing.

  I like who I am with Joey. I am me. I am comfortable. I haven’t been myself around Ryder in a few weeks.

  When I say I’m not myself when I’m with Ryder, it’s because I’m constantly trying to figure him out and what he’s thinking. I don’t relax. He makes me nervous, and I hate it!

  If that’s the way it’s going to be with him, then maybe I shouldn’t even be thinking about being with him in the first place. That line of thinking distracts me, and I sit there with, I’m sure, my puzzled pug expression. That head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed look. Now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t look like that when I think. It can’t be attractive.

  Morgan gets up to go talk to a few people who have come into the bar. Ryder slides into his normal seat next to me. We talk a little bit about what we’ve been up to lately, which, for both of us, consists of work.

  “Guess what?” I ask.

  “I have no idea.” And with me, that’s true. Sometimes there’s no telling what I’m going to come up with next.

  “I’ve been writing again.”

  He almost seems relieved here. I grin and tell him, “I might be famous someday.”

  “What are you writing about?”

  It’s then that I realize how badly I’ve inserted my foot into my mouth. If I tell him I’m writing about dating, what is he going to say? And what if he asks to read it? He can’t read this! It’s all about him! So, what do I tell him my book is about?

  “Dancing.”

  He cuts his brown eyes at me. “You? Dancing? I have to read this.”

  Shit!

  “I’ll let you know when I finish,” I tell him, but add in my head, when hell freezes over. Ryder will never read this. Wait, what if it gets published? I’ll think about that later.

  “Just remember when you’re all rich and famous who’s going to come get you when you wreck your car.”

  Aww, that’s kind of sweet.

  We talk a little more about nothing serious, and later he gets up to leave. He circles the bar and tells everyone bye. I sit and wait. He comes to me last, stands for just a second, and I wonder what he’s going to do. Hug? Kiss on the forehead? Kiss on the cheek? Handshake?

  He leans in slowly and kisses my cheek.

  “Have a good night,” he tells me.

  I smile, then reply, “You too.”

  And he walks out the door.

  Somewhere in this last hour that we’ve been talking, I realize that I’ve been going about this dating thing all wrong. I’ve been so busy chasing Ryder around the dance floor that I haven’t truly danced. Dancing is two people making similar steps to the same rhythm. You can’t get on the floor and one person do a two-step and the other do a waltz. I’m out on the floor line dancing, and the guys in my life are moonwalking themselves right off the floor.

  It’s not fun. Instead of stressing myself out and trying to make something happen, for now, I’m simply going to see where this dance leads me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sunday, December 4

  21 Days Left

  Prince Charming did not walk through the doors of the Wahoo last night. I was too busy to spark any meaningful conversation anyway.

  I’ve thought a lot about my friend’s funnel theory, and I think she’s got it right. A man who will not work to pursue you will not work to make the relationship succeed. I’ve thought that by making a guy pursue you, you were playing hard to get. Maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s taking the measure of a man before you decide you want to become emotionally involved with someone. Is this man worth investing your feelings in? It’s a good question. I’d like to find a guy I know is worth it, not who I think might be.

  Taking a break today. Not going to do much on the dating front. Going to take some time for me today. I may read a book or work on some writing that has nothing to do with dating. I may try to write a poem. Lord knows I’m not good at that. That’s Ryder’s forte.

  I may lay around and eat junk and read a really trashy romance novel. The trashier the better. Maybe I’ll go to the library and get a book about cowboys.

  No, absolutely no cowboys.

  Maybe I should read nonfiction today. Maybe some Dating for Dummies. Or Flirting 101.

  Anyway, I’m declaring it Queen Carly Day. I’m going to get a bottle o
f champagne and celebrate life. Maybe get some takeout or see what Glinda’s cooking.

  If Prince Charming wants me today, he can damn well come find me. And if he does find me? I’ll share my champagne.

  Maybe.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday, December 5

  20 Days Left

  It’s occurred to me that maybe I’m taking this search a little too seriously. It’s becoming more like work than play, which I think is why I was so frustrated yesterday. I think I need to relax a little more. Take more “me” time and enjoy myself. Maybe if I’m having fun, others will want to have fun with me. Wasn’t that one of those flirting rules that I haven’t been using?

  I had another thought while I watched Sammy play on the beach yesterday. Sammy hunts all day long, her long nose to the ground, her tail pointed straight up. I have sat for hours and watched her do this. I have even walked over to see what she was looking for. I’ve never actually seen what she’s hunting. I have no clue what it is. I don’t think she knows what she’s looking for. Or what she’s going to do with it when she finds it.

  Sammy’s hunt is a lot like mine. What am I looking for? I’m still not sure. I know that I’m searching for Prince Charming, but you know what? I think I’m searching in all the wrong places. I’m not going to find my prince in the Wahoo. As often as I’m there, if he were there, I would have found him already. I think I need to broaden my search and look further than my backyard to find him. Maybe I should consider New Orleans, or Biloxi, even. I wouldn’t mind moving and starting a new adventure.

  What am I going to do if I find Prince Charming? What then? That’s going to be an adjustment. I’ve been single and content for so long. Am I really ready to give up my freedom and independence for the sake of having someone to keep my feet warm?