Page 58 of Love Me Not
We headed that way, and I asked, “Do you need glasses?”
With a hand on the small of my back, he navigated us around a group of preschoolers. “I’m only wearing one contact. The other popped out as I was getting ready and I didn’t have time to put in a new one.”
That was something I didn’t know about him. “Can you see to drive?”
“I can see enough, yeah. I realize being so old and all you’d think I’m nearly blind, but it isn’t that bad.”
Again with this. “I didn’t call you old. I said you’re older than I thought you were. There’s a difference.”
We finally reached our booth and found a collection of three plastic children’s fishing poles with what looked like little hammocks where the hooks should be. Trey dropped the instructions onto one of the canvas bag chairs and reached for a large clear bag of stuffed animals.
“It’s okay. I thought you were older, too, so that makes us even.”
He thought what now? “How old did you think I was?”
“At least my age.” Three small yellow ducks landed on the six foot table behind us. “Maybe a little older.” Three pink pigs appeared next. “It was just a guess.”
Had this man never interacted with a woman before? No wonder he hadn’t found anyone to try his eternal dating theory on. He’d probably offended every woman by the second date. If nothing else, he needed to update that contact prescription for sure.
“You thought I was pushing forty?” Vanity wasn’t one of my greater faults, but come on. I was barely over thirty. Not even thirty-five yet. “Are you serious?”
Three alligators hit the table. “Not because you look old or anything. It was more the way you act.”
Was this supposed to make me feel better? “You’re saying I act old?”
“You said yourself that you’re always cranky. Cranky people are typically older.” A dog, a parrot, and a cow joined the other animals. “Do you see the box we’re supposed to put the tickets in?”
He could stick the tickets in his ear for all I cared. “So I’m too cranky for my age. That’s what you’re saying?”
“You’re too cranky for any age.” Trey lifted the plastic cloth hanging over the table. “Ah ha. Found the box.”
Screw the box. “If you think I’m too cranky then why are you here?”
Trey looked around, clearly confused by the question. “I’m here to help run a game for the kids.”
“I mean with me. Why didn’t you tell Miles to put you with someone else?”
“I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
“But you don’t like me.”
“Yes, I do.”
This man was a roller coaster ride in human form. “You just said I’m too cranky.”
“So what?” He picked up a fishing pole and tried to snag one of the apples floating in the water. With a swift sweep and jerk, an apple lifted out of the water swinging on the small hammock. “This is going to be tough for the little ones.”
“What do you mean so what?” I demanded, knocking the apple back into the water, which splashed over onto my shoe. Just what I needed. The temperatures weren’t bad, but that didn’t mean I wanted wet toes.
“Lindsey, this is about fishing for apples, not fishing for compliments. I’ll tell you all the things I like about you later. For now, let’s focus on the task at hand.”
Disarmed by both his honesty and the matter of fact delivery, I stopped arguing. Was I so sensitive that being called old and cranky in the same breath sent me into a tizzy? Coming from anyone else, I’d have said whatever and gone about my business, but I didn’t like hearing them from Trey. Which meant I cared what he thought about me, and I didn’t like that one bit.
When someone’s opinion started to matter, that meant they could hurt you. A level of vulnerability I preferred to avoid.
He practiced picking up the apple again, and I reached for one of the poles to try my hand at it. “I don’t need to hear the things you like about me.” Applying his swoop and lift technique, I pulled up an empty hammock.
“You don’t need to hear or you don’t want to hear?” he asked, perfecting his fishing pole process.