I Have Always Been Confident

Chapter 3: The Open House

I went to the Reading Room open house because I was scheduled to record a short sponsor segment.

That was the explanation I gave Lila, who joined me with a tote bag full of audio equipment and the expression of someone prepared to confiscate my phone.

The Reading Room was a renovated library on the edge of Bellwether's old market district. Pairwise had paid for new furniture and a little recording booth tucked behind the children's shelves. The open house was meant to show off the space and let pilot members meet the team.

I wore a green jacket and carried my questions on a card. I had no expectation of seeing Noah. I did not look for him when I walked in.

I saw him anyway.

He stood beside a display about the library's restoration, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a paper cup. He wore a navy sweater and had the same careful, contained smile as his profile photo. When he noticed me, he lifted his cup in greeting.

I lifted my hand.

That was all.

Lila leaned close. "You're doing fine."

"I'm holding a microphone and standing indoors."

"Sometimes that's what fine looks like."

I recorded the sponsor segment with Jules, then asked a volunteer about the renovation. I kept my attention on the work. There were black-and-white photographs of the library before restoration, a long table made from salvaged oak, and a brass mail slot mounted in a frame.

I thought of Noah's answer. He was probably there because the building mattered to his firm, not because the app had sent him. The distinction was obvious enough to be almost irritating.

A volunteer named Dean offered to show me the second-floor reading space. I followed him upstairs with Lila behind me. From the landing, I could see the event below through the open rail. Noah had turned toward the display, speaking to an older woman. He used his hands when he talked, measuring a shape in the air.

I looked away.

Dean told me the library had found the original floorboards beneath layers of carpet. I asked if they had reused any. He pointed toward the oak table.

I laughed. "That's the kind of thing I would have taken."

"Taken?"

"From a building scheduled for demolition. My match's answer to a Pairwise prompt."

Dean glanced at me. "The architect?"

I nodded.

"Do you know him?"

"I don't."

"Ah."

I could have left it there. Instead, I asked Dean how he knew Noah. Dean said Northline Studio had supervised the restoration, and Noah had been the project architect. Noah was local, he said, and careful. He had pushed for the library to remain open during construction.

Careful. Local. A person with a real job and a complicated schedule. I could build a whole explanation around those words if I let myself.

When I went downstairs, the crowd had thinned. Noah stood near the exit, looking at his phone. I made myself walk toward the display, not him. I wanted to leave with my dignity intact and my recording complete.

"Claire," he said.

I turned. "Hi."

"Your segment was good."

I felt warmth rise in my face. "Thanks. I'm glad you heard it."

"I listened to the part about accepting a no."

The sentence sounded like a small boundary marker. I had the urge to laugh it away, to say I meant every word. Instead I said, "I meant it."

"I believe you."

He didn't sound angry. He didn't sound hopeful, either. He sounded exactly like a man who had listened to a podcast.

"I'm sorry if the match notification made things strange," he said. "I should've been clearer on my profile. I'm not interested in dating right now."

"You were clear when you declined."

"I wasn't sure if the app delivered the message properly. It sent me a reminder after I'd passed."

I imagined him getting the same cheerful prompts I had received, an app insisting on momentum after the two people inside it had stopped moving.

"I marked it ended," I said.

"Thank you."

There was nothing to add. I had always thought silence was a problem I could solve. With Noah, it felt like a space I was supposed to leave alone.

"I hope the renovation went well," I said.

"It did. The library reopened ahead of schedule."

"That's impressive."

"Thanks."

Lila appeared beside me, her camera tucked under one arm. "We need to get back before the rain gets worse."

"Right." I turned to Noah. "Have a good evening."

"You, too."

We left without exchanging numbers. We already had each other's through Pairwise, but the app had closed the match. The distinction mattered.

Outside, rain tapped against the awning. I took a deep breath and felt foolishly proud of myself for not turning a polite conversation into a new beginning.

Then Lila asked, "How do you feel?"

"Like a person who had a conversation."

"Good."

"And a little like someone who wants credit for not doing the obvious thing."

"That's honest."

"I'm still confident."

"I know."

I walked beside her, my hands in my jacket pockets. The rain darkened the sidewalk. I didn't feel rejected in the dramatic, consuming way I had expected. I felt a little embarrassed, a little curious, and unexpectedly relieved that Noah had not been unkind.

At the studio, Jules emailed to ask for a photo from the event. I sent him one of the restored table, not the one where Noah stood in the background. I called that progress.