Page 64 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

LINDY

“–before we even got out the drill. We got the dental dam in to expose only the back molar and–”

Alan Isaacson was handsome. Well dressed. Attentive. But boring as hell. He started on about his top three craziest patients right after we placed our order and hadn’t stopped.

His longwindedness was partially my fault, me learning more than I ever wanted about halitosis and gum grafts, because I hadn’t shared much myself. He was holding up first date small talk on his own because I’d been distracted ever since I left the house.

Dex’s house.

After we finished moving things around at the house–mine and Bridget’s–the four of us sat on the front yard and watched the tree trimmers invade the only home I’d ever known with revving chainsaws.

They’d gone after the branches inside, slicing them into manageable chunks and tossing them out the jagged openings the tree had made.

Piece by piece, they dismantled the entire thing into nothing but a big pile.

Scout had grabbed a stick from it and kept it in his mouth.

Dex and I didn’t linger when they powered up the woodchipper, but Bridget and Mav did.

I should have been the one to stay and ensured everything was done right, but they promised they’d see it done.

Mav had his arm around Bridget’s waist and the one thing I’d learned about the guy–and appreciated–was that he took care of what was his.

Bridget was his.

Maybe I left because I felt the same recurring bout of envy whenever I saw the two of them together. Mav took care of Bridget. Shouldered her problems. A tree fell on her house? He’d move mountains–or a dead cottonwood–to make her happy.

I wanted that. For someone to take care of things with me. For me.

Ever since our parents were killed, I’d been the one taking care of everything. Putting my life plans on hold, raising Bridget.

Today, for once, I walked away. Why? Because I had this date with Alan the dentist, hoping he might be Mr. Right.

Clearly, he wasn’t. That didn’t bother me that much. I was used to man after man not being the guy for me. What irked me was Dex.

The frustrating man! Gah!

He didn’t say one word–one word!–about the date, only settled on the couch with that book of his and started reading.

He’d even let me take over his bathroom for an hour to get ready.

Then, when it was time to leave to meet Alan at the restaurant, he told me I looked pretty, waved me off with his quick grin and a light and breezy, “Have fun!”

Have fun?

It made no sense. I was staying in his house. In his bed. I woke up on top of him. His hand had been on my bare butt!

And his response was have fun?

“I was filling the needle with novocaine and he took one look at it and bolted from the chair as if he’d been shocked by a cattle prod.

” Alan laughed at the memory and pushed on, straightening his silverware on the white cloth as he did so.

“Ran from the building as if it was on fire. Dental dam still in his mouth.”

I offered him a smile and swallowed a big sip of white wine.

I took a deep breath and pushed thoughts of Dex in his athletic shorts and snug t-shirt to the side.

Or up. I imagined pushing that t-shirt up, seeing his steely abs. Feeling the ridges of his hard muscles with my palms. Licking each one.

Shit. I had more wine. “So, Alan, tell me what you like to do when you aren’t working.” Hopefully he’d talk about something else besides oral hygiene because it was far from interesting. Or sexy.

“I’m in a pickleball league on Tuesdays,” he replied.

“The community center has courts and everything. Next week is the championships for the summer season. Sundays, I meal prep for the week.” He patted his flat stomach beneath the blue button up he wore.

He probably had toned abs, but I didn’t have any interest in licking them. “I eat Keto, but I’m also gluten free.”

“Do you have celiac disease?” I wondered. It was a horrible thing to have and made contact with any kind of wheat product life threatening.

He shook his head. “No. It gives my meals boundaries when I don’t include wheat products.”

“Oh.” I finished my wine wondering what food boundaries were.

“I have a cabin on the far side of Hunter Mountain and go there for a week every Memorial Day and Labor Day. Fourth of July is spent at the lake.”

“And Christmas?” I asked.

“Ten o’clock present opening at my parents’ house in Missoula.”

I wasn’t sure if he was serious about the precise timing, but I didn’t push for the answer because the waitress arrived with our entrees.

His plate was spartan with a piece of grilled chicken, steamed vegetables and small side salad.

He’d had to special request the lettuce mix–no dressing–instead of whipped potatoes. Oh, and no marsala sauce either.

In front of me, I had the chicken picatta, loaded with lemony butter goodness. And a side of pasta. A big, huge, wheat filled pile of it. My food boundaries were the size of the plate.

“What about you?” he asked, picking up his silverware.

I glanced up at him from how I was twirling pasta on my fork. “What about me?”

“You’re an accountant. Very… structured.”

Meaning boring. He probably found my job as dull as I found his. I dealt with calculators and the IRS. He dealt in spit.

“What do you do for fun?” he asked.

I raised my fork and before I shoved the saucy noodles into my mouth, I said, “I eat gluten.”

Petty? Maybe.

But looking at Alan, with his crisp clothes, perfectly combed hair and exacting dinner, I felt like I was staring at myself.

A male version of Lindy Beckett. As I chewed on the tangy bite, I realized Alan was me.

He had a boring job that never changed. Mouth after mouth of teeth, day in and day out until retirement.

If the only excitement from his work was scaring a patient out the door, then it had to be monotonous.

Specifically–and consistently–planned vacations to the same place year after year, traditions down to an exact time…

Me.

While I didn’t cook all my meals on Sunday, Saturday was my shopping day.

Sunday I did laundry and ensured my clothes were ready for the week.

I cut the grass on Monday nights because it was cooler, and I liked being outdoors after a day at the office.

Yoga was Tuesday and Thursday mornings. I kept lists. Even pulled Dex into making one.

Who was I to judge Alan when I was the female version of him?

Except he met every single requirement on my man list that I’d taped on the bottom side of the toaster.

Employed, well mannered, well kept, solid family.

It was eye opening, and depressing. Was this how everyone saw me?

Bland and boring as a keto, gluten free meal?

Was this how Dex saw me? Was he humoring me by keeping track of all my to-dos? Was my man list bad?

Suddenly, the pasta in my mouth tasted like saw dust. No wonder Dex had been happy to wave me off on my date.

He wasn’t interested. Sure, he’d kissed me, but…

well, that made no sense. And the waking up on top of him thing?

He hadn’t initiated it. I’d gotten past the berm and ended up on top of him on his side of the bed. I’d practically molested him.

“Those capers will get stuck in your teeth.” Alan pointed to the little green bits of tangy yumminess on my plate. “Be sure to floss later. And use a different spot on the thread with each tooth so you don’t spread bacteria.”

I swallowed, wiped my lips, then stood.

“Alan, I have to go.”

I had to get away from him. From this. From me.

From being so consistent in my life that it was comforting.

I wondered how Alan had sex. With his socks on?

Scheduled? Did he count in and out strokes and ensure he was consistent each time?

Three minutes of foreplay, thirty-seven missionary-style thrusts and a mediocre orgasm?

No sweaty rolling around. No wet spot. God, did he use a dental dam for oral?

I wasn’t being all that nice to Alan because… because he was a perfectly nice guy.

I didn’t want nice. I didn’t want to be a dull, boring accountant any longer. I wanted to be a romance writer and I was just… floundering. I wanted fun and excitement and to be kissed because a guy couldn’t resist.

I wanted more than what I was living now.

He stared up at me, a piece of steamed zucchini jabbed onto his fork.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. This isn’t going to work. Good luck with your pickleball. I’m sure your team will destroy the others next week.”