MAGPIE Read Free Page B

splendid evening,
    Daniel
    Daniel. Nice name. “Evening” meant he wrote it earlier, especially since he was two hours ahead of me. Hmm…a tennis player. I dated one in high school. Nice legs, too. I tried tennis myself once—a complete disaster. I possess the coordination of a slug, making sports uninteresting. Jack played hockey, something I could watch because it was fast, which complimented my self-diagnosed ADD. And, of course, because he loved it.
    I felt like I needed Tony to help me respond, but it wouldn’t be very professional to contact my employee at ten o’clock at night with a dating question. Propping myself against a stack of pillows, I reread Daniel’s message. I smiled with delight at his playfulness. Daniel was sweet, a word that most men hate, but a “must have” quality for me.
    Feeling frisky, I wrote, hoping he’d get the reference,
    Daniel my brother, you are older than me…
    I couldn’t help it, it’s late! But you really are older than me—I was born in ’59. Never took you for a fool, BTW. Not a real sports person, though I can appreciate the athleticism (is that a word?) of tennis. Actually, I was glad to see something about you that is so different from me—makes the point that there never will be an “us” easier to swallow. Would I care to meet if sixteen-hundred were actually 16? Good question—may I sleep on it?
    Sweet dreams,
    Maggie (not short for anything, it’s really my given name)
    I hit the “send” button and realized I was flirting with a man who lived hundreds of miles away, yet I’d set him up for a response. Giggling quietly, I felt my face flush with a heat I hadn’t felt in years. I closed the Match tab on my iPad and set it down. Calmly, I turned out the light and dozed off to sleep, an impish smile brushed across my face.
    ***
    For the next few weeks, Daniel and I traded messages. I continued to flirt, and he volleyed back. I didn’t tell anyone about him. I lied to Tony when he asked about setpnt58, explaining that I hadn’t heard from him since that first day. When Katie asked how my online dating was going, I’d shrug and tell her I rarely checked the site, too damn busy. In reality, I checked the site daily, looking for Daniel’s sweet, clever messages.
    “Good morning, buddy! Want your bunny basket?” I asked Cody, making my way into the bathroom.
    It was Easter Sunday and the weather was going to be fantastic. I planned an early morning walk with Cody followed by brunch with Katie. It was our tradition. Our folks lived on the Western Slope in the same house we grew up in. We attempted to go back home every few months, but not this Easter. Snowfall in the mountains had reached record numbers, and we didn’t want to get caught in a spring storm that could render I-70 a parking lot.
    I threw on some yoga pants (none of the four pair I owned had sullied a studio), fleece jacket and my “outside” sneakers. Cody knew the routine and was dancing in circles.
    “Hang on, Cody! Just wait, let me get your leash.”
    I’d made an effort to keep his eighty-five pound frame in good shape, hoping like hell he’d live a long, healthy life. I snapped the leash to his loose collar, and we headed out. Cody lived for his walks, and I delighted in giving my pooch what he longed for.
    I was happier than I’d been in years, thanks in part to Daniel’s fun and flirtatious messages. We hadn’t traded personal contact information yet; I’d learned to be cautious after a few crazy online-dating experiences that had ended before I met the weirdoes in person. Daniel’s messages had become a little more suggestive but not in an obnoxious way, like those I’d received from so many other guys. He had a way with words that made me think he was a writer, either professionally or as a hobby. He excited me, what can I say. Unfortunately, our budding romance made it difficult to concentrate at work and I’d missed a few deadlines, a rarity during my professional