CHAPTER ONE
* Allie *
So many things in this world were pure perfection. Like the first sip of coffee before setting the giant mug back down on the wooden table at the back of my local coffee shop. Or the soft piano jazz that played through the quiet space, as half a dozen people near the front tapped away on their laptops. The moment before starting a new project was something that always gave me a rush of pure joy.
Smiling to myself, I wiped off the table with my sleeve. Reaching into my giant shoulder bag, I pulled out a brand new notebook and pen, slipping the paper ribbon off the middle before opening the pages.
At every new phase of my life, I started a fresh journal and took notes to clarify my intent. It was essential for me to be deliberate and precise when deciding what I wanted out of life, even when it was something that terrified me to pieces. No, that was the wrong word. We shouldn’t think, ‘terrified.’ Perhaps, ‘excited.’
Before I could think about starting this exciting new phase, the bell dinged softly over the front door. Christine walked in and gave me a wave, bought her coffee, then came to the back table to sit beside me.
“You and your journals,” she laughed. “What are you plotting this week?”
“It’s not plotting,” I laughed. “It’s manifesting.”
“Whatever,” she shrugged, stirring her coffee that I knew probably contained two massive teaspoons of sugar. No wonder Christine was always a bit hyper.
“Writing things down so that they’ll happen just the way you want them to, I get it,” she smiled, smoothing back her long, dark hair. “What’s the latest game plan?”
Although we usually shared absolutely everything about our lives, I was reluctant to be as open with this one for half a second. But considering that Christine had a lot more experience, I could probably use her help.
“I think it’s time that I went on a few dates and found a boyfriend,” I said slowly.
She nodded, pursing her pink lips that were accented with a light gloss. “I could see that. You already have the killer apartment, the incredible job, and,” she waved her hand up and down toward me, “the incredible makeover.”
I couldn’t stop my instant grin. I’d finally been brave enough to chop off my waist-length hair to just a few inches below my shoulders, which released a ton of natural curl. That, plus a lesson in figuring out how to make my eyes pop without looking like I was wearing too much makeup, had made me feel like a whole new woman.
I’d also been slowly converting my wardrobe from utilitarian university pieces to feminine professional outfits that flattered my frame. For the first time ever, I actually felt girlish.
“Honestly, you look amazing. So you’re ready for a man,” Christine giggled. “You dated a bit in university, didn’t you? I think I remember that.”
“Well, kind of,” I admitted. “I went to a movie and drinks with a guy once, and that didn’t pan out. Then I went to dinner with another guy, and coffee with a third, but nothing really clicked.”
“So, you’ve never had a boyfriend?” Her eyebrow raised. We were so opposite there. I’ve only known Christine for three years, but she’s never been without a boyfriend for more than a week or two.
“Exactly. So if I’d like to be married and start having kids by twenty-six or so, I need to figure out precisely what I’m looking for in a guy and learn how to date.”
“You and your timelines.” Christine sipped her coffee, then set it down while shaking her head, making a chiding clicking noise with her tongue. “There’s nothing precise about love, Allie. You’re going to fall for whomever you fall for. All you can do is hope that it’s a nice guy.”
I tried to stop myself from frowning. “That’s the thing. I don’t just want a nice guy, I want somebody who is…”
“I know. The perfect guy,” Christine smiled, holding up her hands.
“Not necessarily perfect.” She was always on my case for being too fussy, and I did love her for keeping me in check sometimes.
“I just don’t want to waste my time with a guy I know isn’t right from the start,” I tried to explain. “There are certain basic things I want. Shouldn’t I start there?”
“That depends how reasonable you are,” she said. “Quick, pull out your notebook, and let’s make a list.”
I dug in my purse for my everyday notebook and flipped to a new page.
“All right, so you’re looking for a boyfriend, not a fling?” Christine asked.
“Yes,” I said emphatically, jotting down, ‘real boyfriend material, with husband potential.’ “Even if it only lasts for a handful of dates, we should have a good chance from the very start.”
Christine nodded, looking around the café at the other customers. “Are you looking for someone your own age?”
“A little older, I think. Twenty-two-year old guys don’t seem to have a clue.”
“Older guys really are sexier,” she nodded.
“It’s not that, it’s just… I guess I want a guy who’s sort of settled. Not out partying and acting crazy. You know what I mean?”
She nodded, her black fingernails clicking against the side of her white mug. “So how old is that?”