Her Rebound Guy. Jennifer Lohmann

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      “Thanks. I hope you’re right.” Beck had only been separated for a year and divorced for twelve days, but she knew she wanted to get married again eventually, even if she occasionally pretended otherwise. The saying about fishes and bicycles was all well and good, but what if the fish wanted a bicycle? What if coming home to a bicycle had been better than coming home to nothing?

      Take your time. Learn to love yourself alone. Spend time looking at all those couples you work with. Then you will know what you want out of your next husband. Get right into that dating pool or all the good ones will get away. Make sure to use a good moisturizer. Once you start getting wrinkles, it will only get harder.

      All the advice was well-meant and none of it helpful. The fact that one piece of advice often contradicted every other piece of advice, sometimes out of the mouth of the same person, only muddled her already muddy mind more.

      “You seem like a good person,” the woman said, giving her another long look. “So, I’ll give you a little more advice. Stay away from the handsome men.”

      It was rude, but Beck couldn’t help glancing at the woman’s fiancé. He was good-looking enough—on the cusp between someone she thought would look good on someone else’s arm and who would look good on her arm.

      “Tanner’s good-looking, but not handsome,” Jennifer said under her voice. “And as my grandmother used to say, handsome is as handsome does.”

      Beck wasn’t entirely sure how to take this piece of advice, so she said, “I’ll keep that in mind,” and decided to leave it at that.

      If his picture was anything to judge, Mr. Swoony was handsome. She smiled to cover up the desire to beat her head against the wall. The message might not even be from Mr. Swoony. It could be from someone else altogether. Mr. Less-than Swoony, for example, or Mr. Rotten Eggs.

      “Thank you, to the both of you, for coming in today,” she said, her hand outstretched for the prospective bride to take. “Even if you decide that Buono Come Il Pane isn’t for you, I’m glad to have chatted with you and we appreciate you thinking of us.”

      “Oh, of course. Tanner’s father insisted. And this does look like a nice place.”

      Nice place, hah, Beck thought, the advice and comments about the wall colors and thinking about handsome men getting to her.

      If only getting remarried didn’t have to involve dating, this process would be much easier. Meet a nice guy. Fall in love. Get married. That’s what she’d done in college, with Neil.

      And here she was, newly evaluating what she wanted out of her future. That, at least, was a lot like college.

      Once the happy couple left, holding hands and whispering to each other as they walked out the door, Beck went back to the tiny room they called her office and sat in front of her computer. Before she got back to her planning document for the bridal event she was working on, she pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the message.

      Hey. Cute smile. Cute dog, too. What’s his name?

      Mr. Swoony had written back. Her shoulders fell with a relief that she would be embarrassed to admit to anyone. Whether or not she should need validation from a stranger on an online-dating service, getting it felt better than not getting it and that was the darn truth.

      Before writing back, she checked her other notifications. No other messages, just a couple of winks and a couple of likes for the pictures she’d posted. She held the phone up a little closer to her face to see those likes of her pictures.

      Well, she thought as she sat back in her chair. There’s a fine how-do-you-do. All three likes on her photos were on pictures of Seamus.

      At least men seemed to like her dog. She hoped he appreciated how popular he was among the men online. Mr. Swoony had even taken some of the precious real estate in his short message to say he was cute.

      For a brief second, Beck thought about changing her profile picture to one with her and Seamus, but then decided she was overthinking the whole thing and needed to stop before she drove herself crazy.

      Instead, she did what she thought was the reasonable thing and replied to Mr. Swoony’s message.

      Thanks! Seamus, my dog, is a sweetheart. Stinky breath, but really, what dog doesn’t have stinky breath? You said in your profile that you like to hang out in downtown Raleigh. What’s your favorite place? I loved Busy Bee and was enormously sad that it closed.

      What will I do without those tots?!

      Her finger hovered over how to sign the message. With her name? Mr. Swoony hadn’t signed with his name. Maybe names just weren’t done at this stage in online dating. Maybe they were supposed to get to know each other a little better.

      Maybe he’s not an online-dating veteran, either, and everyone in this room knows you’re overthinking this, Beck. Self-chiding done, she sent the message and called herself done with online dating for the day.

      She had work to do and better things to think about than a romantic-looking guy who, if she were to believe today’s bride, was too handsome for his own good.

      * * *

      WELL, HELLO, CALEB thought as he read the message on his phone from Ms. Dogfan while he waited for his takeout, sitting in one of the plastic chairs in his favorite Chinese restaurant. Like the tables, the chairs were mostly for decoration. No one ate here—they ordered off the sign above the counter and got their food to go. The food was good and the restaurant catered to the busy professional who didn’t have the time or energy to figure out how to use the kitchen.

      Or, as in Caleb’s case, only swept the crap off the kitchen counters when company was due over.

      He’d shove everything into his office and shut the door for Ms. Dogfan. She hadn’t written very much, but it was cute. Short. Succinct. Charming enough to make him want to know more. That and her smile was enough to write back.

      Ah, yes. Busy Bee had the best tater tots. And huevos rancheros. You could never go wrong with their brunch. It’s not a bar and it’s not tots, but have you had the fries at Chuck’s? I’m partial to those. And the milkshakes don’t hurt.

      Seamus, huh? That seems like a good name for your dog. Does he have a green collar? And do you buy him a little green bow tie on St. Patrick’s Day?

      —Caleb

      There. That was enough to keep the conversation going. After all, these emails were really about deciding if they wanted to meet in person. Best not to give too much away and either not live up to the email charm or say something so phenomenally stupid that the woman wouldn’t be interested in meeting at all.

      Not exchanging lots of emails was part of the trick, too. Emails gave you time to think about what you wanted to say, to edit your words and your tone. To rethink. He’d been on a couple of dates with women who’d been absolutely enthralling over email but flat in person.

      Likely, a few women had thought the same about him before he’d learned to offer a date early—like three quick exchanges in.

      “Thirty-five,” the man barked from behind the counter. СКАЧАТЬ