Gentle as Spring

Chapter 2: The Invitation

I spent the first hour at work matching a widower from Marsh Point with a retired school librarian who owned two very opinionated terriers. At nine, I answered a client's question about whether "a little awkwardness" meant he should leave the date early. At ten, I deleted the text I had started to send Theo.

At ten-fifteen, Celia set a cup of coffee beside my keyboard.

"Well?" she asked.

"I haven't decided."

"That's a decision with extra steps."

"I'm trying to be thoughtful."

"You've been thoughtful for five years."

She lowered her voice. I noticed the way her gaze moved over the desk, making sure no one else was close enough to hear. "I'm not asking you to fall in love with him. I'm asking you to let one person meet you without your resume between you."

"I don't give people my resume on dates."

"You give them the version of you that knows exactly what to say. That's different."

I took a sip of coffee to avoid answering.

Celia was the reason I had kept this job. She had hired me when I arrived in Bellwether without much more than a degree in communications, a sublet, and the stubborn conviction that I would eventually find a place to belong. She had taught me how to sit with people while they described their loneliness. She had also learned the fastest way to make me resent her was to pretend my private life belonged to the office.

"I don't want to be a story," I said.

"Then don't make it one."

She went back to her office. I stared at my screen until the words in front of me stopped swimming.

At lunch, I walked three blocks to the public garden and ate a sandwich on a bench. The fall leaves had turned copper along the path. A small boy in a yellow raincoat chased a pigeon while his father called after him. I watched them until my sandwich went cold.

Then I took out my phone and typed.

Mara: Hi, Theo. Celia gave me your number. She said you might be open to coffee. Would you still like to meet?

I read it four times. I wanted to add that I understood if he wasn't interested. I wanted to add that I didn't usually do this, which would have sounded like I was asking him to praise me for a small, ordinary thing.

I sent it as written.

My phone stayed silent for the next two minutes. I put it away. I took it out again. I told myself that waiting was not a character test.

Theo: I would. Saturday morning? The Marlowe has a coffee cart in the lobby while we work on the restoration.

I looked at the message until the words blurred at the edges.

I had pictured a café with two exits. The Marlowe was a place I knew, but I hadn't been inside since its roof had begun to leak. The thought of seeing it being worked on made something in my chest loosen.

Mara: Saturday works. What time?

Theo: Ten?

Mara: Ten.

I pressed send before I could negotiate with myself.

*****

Celia noticed my face when I got back.

"You did it," she said.

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"Then you're wasting your talent at matchmaking."

"Maybe." She smiled. "How do you feel?"

"Like I sent a text."

"That's the correct amount of drama."

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."

I believed her. It was one of the reasons I trusted her.

On Saturday, I arrived at the Marlowe eight minutes early. The street was wet from overnight rain, and the black-and-white marquee was lined with scaffolding. A paper sign on the door read: RESTORATION IN PROGRESS. PLEASE USE EAST ENTRANCE.

I took the east entrance and stopped just inside.

The lobby smelled of sawdust and coffee. Plastic sheeting covered the ticket windows. A few people moved between the room and the auditorium carrying tools, but I didn't see Theo.

I was considering whether I could simply take my coffee and go when a voice called from behind me.

"Mara?"

I turned.

Theo stood near the old ticket booth, holding two paper cups. His blue work shirt was gone; he wore a dark green sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and a pencil sat behind one ear. The scar near his chin showed more clearly in person. He held out a cup.

"Black coffee," he said. "Celia thought that was what you drank."

"She's right. That's unsettling."

He smiled. "She knows people."

"I'm beginning to suspect that."

He glanced around the lobby. "I can show you the theater first, if you want. Or we can talk somewhere that isn't full of ladders."

I could have made a joke. I could have said whatever was easiest.

"Show me the theater," I said. "If that's all right."

"It is."

And I followed him inside.