Tempted Read Free Page B

purse and manage to secure the lock on the door without too much embarrassing fumbling.   I turn around and find myself smack dab in the middle of a big 6’3” bear hug, and just sort of melt into his arms.   Oh, this is already fun.
    Before I know it, he is pulling me by the hand over to the car, tucking me in and motoring us wh o knows where.   Considering he’ s wearing a classic tailored suit, we look awfully ‘appropriate’ together. Next thing I know, we are at our destination: the samples bar at Trader Joe’s!   We had discussed its merits online on many occasions and I regard the move as genius and the perfect ice-breaker.   My buddy Sarah is on duty again and does a jaw-drop double-take upon seeing me, but then plays it cool enough so as not to make me appear as dorky as I actually am.
    If we had gone home right after our TJ stop I would have considered the date a success.   Instead, we head to the city , where he takes me to Aqua for dinner, followed by a stroll around the Palace of Fine Arts.   In rating the evening as a whol e, I dub it ‘the best date ever . ’   It not only goes off without a hitch, but is enjoyable in every way imaginable.   We laugh, we flirt, and ultimately we smooch out like teenagers.   He is gentlemanly, interesting, a joy to be around and just plain cool.   April is right.   This guy really is perfect.   So then why don’t I feel anything for him?

Chapter Three
    My Facebook wall has been buzzing with “Well?”s and “How did it go?”s after my perfect date with Mr. Perfect.   Fortunately, Peter left for a business trip a couple of days after our meeting, so I have a handy alibi as to why I’ m not seeing him again this week.   My plan to taunt my mother with Peter’s existence backfired big time.   Now I will never hear the end of how ‘perfect’ he is and how if I am efficient I should be able to plan the wedding for three months hence.   One word comes to mind – karma!
    April, of course, immediately grilled me for the details of the Peter Perfect tryst.   Throughout my retelling , she was uncharacteristically stoic.   And at story’s end, after a pregnant pause , she said, “You’re just not that into him, are you?”
    “ Not a bit of it,” I replied.     I launched into a rant, whining , “What’s wrong with me?   Go ahead and say it.   I am far too picky and am destined for the catlady life and ya know what, that’s just fine with me!”
    “Blah blah blah, could you be any more dramatic?” April mocks.
    “Hahahahaha.   I know.   I’m just starting to wonder if everyone is right – that I have unrealistic expectations of what a relationship can be. ”  
    “Hey , only you know who or what is right for you,” she interjects.
    “ ... and that I really am the ice maiden everyone believes me to be, incapable of deep, intense, all-consuming love.”
    “Now we both know that’s not true.   You were head over heels for David,” she says.
    Suddenly I am aware of an enormous elephant in the room, or in my head, a great wooly mammoth, which is my pachyderm of choice.
    April and I rarely discuss David, or at least try not to.   What would be the point?   He is there and I am here, and it’s as simple as that.
    Who am I kidding?   There’s been nothing simple about it.   Finding out he has a girlfriend whom he lives with, and not finding it out till eight months into our torrid long-distance affair should have been grounds for dismissal.   But oh no, not for this Pollyan n a.   I forgave him, dealt with it (badly) and moved on.   Still, April’s mention of his name arrests me and suggests that my heart has just been run through with a blunt instrument.  
    Eventually I fi nd my voice, “Yeh, at least we know I’m capable of feeling.”
    “Aww Cl aire, I am so sorry. I didn’t ... ”
    “I know, April.   It’s ok.   You wouldn’t be my best friend if you didn’t tell it like it is.   Thanks.”
    Long