She giggles as she types on my new phone. “A man that isn’t afraid to throw me around in bed.”
“Willow! You can’t say that!”
“Sure, I can. Or, rather, you can.” She grins maniacally at my phone, narrating the profile she’s created on my unwilling behalf. “Tattoos a must, handcuffs plus. Bonus points if you can make me be your good girl.”
“NO!” I laugh.
“Yes!” she declares triumphantly. “Annnd done.” She taps the screen, and I hear a little trumpet of triumph from the phone as my profile loads. “You were the one who gave me shit for not using the sheriff’s handcuffs when we started dating. Ask for what you want and maybe you’ll get it.”
“Yeah, maybe in fairy land where you live. The real world… not so much.”
“Ooh!” Willow exclaims. “Look, you have a notification already! This is so cute. ‘You caught someone’s eye. Start swiping to see if you’re a match!’”
“Give me that!” I laugh, snatching the phone out of her hand and tucking it under my left leg where she can’t reach it. “I’m not swiping on anything.” My phone vibrates under my leg. And then again. And again. “Jesus, Willow. What picture did you use?”
She gives me a devilish look. “You said you wanted a man who appreciates curves…”
“Willow!”
“Jeez. One from the Fourth of July. That cute blue swimsuit.”
I almost faint behind the wheel. “Are you seriously fucking telling me you posted a picture of me in a two-piece on a dating app?! For fuck’s sake, Willow. I’m not like you—”
“So help me God, if you make one negative comment about your curves, I will come for you,” she snaps back, her voice uncharacteristically stern as she points a warning finger in my direction. “Yes, I posted a bikini pic of you. And do you know why? Because you looked sexy as hell in that swimsuit. You felt sexy!”
The phone buzzes under my thigh for the tenth time.
“See?” Willow points at my phone. “All those men swiping right agree with me. They want women with curves. So fucking embrace it.” Willow crosses her arms and huffs at me.
“You’re a really good friend, you know that?” I say after taking a breath.
She sniffs primly. “I know.”
4
Branson
Ihave a new routine, and it sucks.
I wake up after a night of tossing and turning, my mind wandering to the Sugar Creek Bakery before my body is even out of bed. I go for my run, but now I detour down Main Street, hoping I’ll spot Alex through the window.
Today, she’s arranging baguettes in the picture window when I pass by, a smudge of flour gracing her cheekbone. I raise my hand in a wave, but she bites her lip and turns around with an irritated expression.
After my run, I take a shower and go back to the bakery for breakfast. Every day, I try something new along with my coffee. Every day, Alex raises an eyebrow at me and then pretends I don’t exist.
It would almost be convincing if she didn’t blush and chew her lip every time I wink at her. There is a lot of lip biting happening on her side of this equation, and once I get my hands on her, I’m going to nibble the shit out of that pouty little mouth. Every day I think about telling her exactly that as she hands me my coffee.
Today, I head down the street to my office, steaming coffee in one hand and an apricot cream cheese danish in the other. Mildred gives me a dirty look when I walk in with my illicit baked goods.
“Don’t give me that look, you know I love your muffins.”
She rolls her eyes behind her Coke bottle lenses. “I bet you say that to all the GILFs.”
I choke on my coffee. “What did you say?”
She laughs, “Grandmas I’d like to friend. Muriel taught me that at bingo last night, isn’t it cute?”
“That’s not what that means, Mildred. I’m going to go to my office and lock the door while you Google GILF, and then we’ll never speak of this again. Deal?”