Page 4 of Comforting the Grump
“Then why am I invited?”
Auden was quiet for a beat. “Because she sees you as family? Which you are, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Auden, I don’t want?—”
“There’s no deeper motive, I promise. She’s not trying to build a father-daughter relationship with you.”
I breathed out in relief. Thank fuck Auden knew me so well after forty-four years of friendship. Jesus, we were getting old. “I just wanted to make sure. They’re your girls, and I’d never do anything to risk your bond with them.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. But don’t be afraid to hang out with them. They like you. Violet thinks you’re hysterically funny. Her words.”
Hysterically funny? I’d never heard a descriptor of me that was less accurate. Not that I was going to argue with her. I knew better by now. “I’ll have to take her word for it.”
“Yeah, it didn’t ring any bells with me either.”
I laughed. “Then we’re on the same page. Okay, I’ll be there around six, depending on traffic. That okay?”
“Perfect. We’re having a barbecue, so very relaxed. It’ll be fun.”
“Sounds good. See you then.”
It had been good to hear Auden’s voice, even in a mundane phone call. Somehow, he always grounded me. There was a guy who had it all figured out—stable job, beautiful family, loved and admired in his community. I wondered if he knew how much I envied that sense of completeness, maybe because I’d never had it.
“Too fucked up for love,” I muttered, the words a mantra that echoed in the hollows of my ribcage. It wasn’t self-pity. It was fact. A lifetime of guards and walls made sure of that. Sex was easy. Raw, physical, and simple to walk away from—what more could anyone want? Emotions, though? That was the uncharted territory where I could—and would—get lost.
My car was strangely silent after the call, and I quickly turned on the radio to listen to my favorite jazz channel. At least I had something to look forward to now. Weekends in Forestville were fun, though they did feel different lately. My status as a bachelor had never bothered me, but now that all of my closest friends had found their happily-ever-afters, I was the last man standing. Alone.
Which brought me right back to tonight’s depressing events. What the hell had that been about? I hadn’t had a hookup in a week, so I should’ve been chomping at the bit. Was this what burnout felt like, or was I losing interest in the game? By the time I pulled into the familiar dark of my building’s parking garage, I was no closer to an answer.
As I stepped through the door, the silence of my condo slapped me with its cold indifference. There were no lingering scents of sex or the residue of human connection—only the sterile neutrality of expensive furniture and high-tech gadgets, just the way I preferred it. I never arranged hookups in my condo. This was my private space, my sanctuary.
“Great,” I said to the emptiness, tossing my keys on the counter. “Another thrilling night.”
I glanced at the clock. It was late, but sleep felt like a distant prospect. Dragging my feet to the bedroom, I shed my clothes along the way, then dropped them in the laundry basket for Helga to take care of. The neatly made bed looked no more inviting than the one I’d just left, but at least here, the lack of arousal made sense. I could be alone with my thoughts without the pressure to perform or pretend.
But even lying in my comfortable, expensive king-size bed brought no relief. There, in the darkness, the day’s events replayed in my head—a vivid highlight reel of my failure to connect, my inability to take pleasure where it was freely offered. I turned onto my side, facing the wide expanse of mattress that seemed to mock me with its emptiness.
Fuck this. I heaved myself out of bed, restless energy propelling me forward. If I couldn’t sleep, I might as well make myself useful and get some work done. The night stretched out before me, a blank canvas that I painted with work because it was either that or face the void that yawned within me. I wasn’t built for idle hands. Idle hands led to wandering thoughts, and those were far more dangerous to my health than any amount of work ever would be. Anything was better than lying awake, sinking deeper and deeper into this terrifying restlessness.
With a glass of water in my hand, I headed for my home office, which was neat and organized, everything exactly where I wanted it to be. The glow from the city’s skyline filtered weakly through the blinds, but my eyes needed more light than that, so I flicked on the desk lamp. My office chair creaked as I plopped down, then cracked my knuckles. Within seconds, the screen of my MacBook Pro flickered to life, always eager for my input.
I settled into the chair, surrendering to the work that demanded my focus. Let it consume me. Let it be everything and nothing. Because buried in my job, I could pretend I wasn’tsearching for an explanation for why I felt so goddamn much when I wanted to feel nothing at all.
2
ENNIO
Ipushed open the door to Giovanni’s, the jingle of the small brass bell announcing my arrival like a fanfare suited for someone far more important. The scent of garlic and oregano wrapped around me like a warm embrace from an old friend. My heart was racing, a jumble of nerves and butterflies duking it out in my stomach. Tonight was about taking chances, about potentially finding that elusive spark with someone new.
“Table for Frant,” I announced to the hostess, barely able to conceal the tremor in my voice. She nodded, her eyes skimming the reservation list before she motioned for me to follow.
As we wove through the maze of tables, I eagerly scanned the room for Luke. The soft clink of wine glasses and the murmur of conversation provided a comforting backdrop to my anxious anticipation. And then, there he was—Luke, sitting solo at a table. I immediately recognized his broad frame, black hair, and sturdy build from the pictures he’d sent me over the last two weeks as we’d gotten to know each other through chat.
He was staring down at his menu, but as I approached, he looked up. A flicker of surprise danced across his face before he could mask it. It was clear he hadn’t expected the burst ofcolor that was me—my hair perfectly styled, subtle makeup in the same shades of pink and purple as my top to enhance my features, and nails impeccably painted a pearly pink. I was even wearing a pair of super-sexy lacy pink panties, just in case. But it looked like they would stay on tonight. Dammit.
“Luke?” I asked, extending my hand with practiced ease despite the flutter in my chest. “I’m Ennio.”
“Hi, Ennio,” he replied, his handshake firm, his tone cordial. But his blue eyes lingered for a fraction too long on my appearance, taking in the bright splash of my presence. My heart fell.