Rachel Lawrence
“Too tall,” I said as my roommate Kendra swiped to the next profile. “Too sporty. Too…pixelated.”
Kendra lowered her phone and glared at me. “You’re going to pass on a guy because his photo quality isn’t up to your standards? Really, Trisha?”
“Can you two please keep the slumber party chatter down over there?” Owen groused from the beanbag chair in the corner of the living room. “I came over here to study so I wouldn’t fall asleep, not so you could force me to watch Penny’s season of The Bachelorette.”
“Yes, Your Grumpiness,” Kendra replied, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “We should totally add your nickname to your profile though. It highlights those beautiful copper curls. Plus, it implies that any guy would be lucky to pick you up.”
Owen snorted, and I shook my head. “It’s not an official nickname. Only Owen calls me Penny. And it has less to do with my hair color than with this silly story we read once in creative writing class about Abe Lincoln.” I fought a smile at the memory. “Nevermind. Who’s next?”
“Ooo,” Kendra crooned. “This guy is—”
“A little too hot,” I finished.
“Too hot?” She threw up her free hand. “Impossible. You know what? I don’t think these guys are too anything. I think you’re just too picky.”
Owen’s book snapped shut. “She’s not picky. She just has high standards. And she shouldn’t have to settle.” He stood and stretched his back. “You guys seriously need some better seating in this apartment.”
I crossed the room, took the abandoned beanbag, and snuggled in. “Thank you, O. I appreciate your support. And I apologize for Kendra keeping you from your studies.” I tried to keep a straight face, but he rolled his eyes, and I couldn’t help but giggle.
“If you need a break, we could always set up a profile for you, Owie-Bear,” Kendra teased. “There has to be a quiet, nerd-loving sunshine to your grumpy out there somewhere. She may even live in an apartment with adequate seating.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“No thanks,” he growled. Did he growl?
“Was that your stomach?” Kendra asked.
I blushed. “What time is it? Too late for another late-night snack? Or too early for breakfast?”
Owen set his book on the makeshift end table. “I need coffee anyway. I’ll make you some oatmeal.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but he held up a hand. “I know, I know. One sprinkle of sugar and extra blueberries. Room temperature.” Something very close to a smile flirted with the corner of his mouth. “Maybe Kendra’s right. Maybe you are kind of picky.”
As he exited the room, I tossed a throw pillow from the floor at his back. He caught it without looking and threw it back over his shoulder.
“Oh my gosh.” Kendra’s eyes rounded. “This is why you can’t pick a guy online,” she whispered. “You like Owen.”
“What?” I spluttered. “No. Uh-uh.” I pulled my legs up into the beanbag. “I mean, Owen’s a great guy and a wonderful friend.” I gestured to her phone. “But there’s no way I would have given his profile a second glance. Sarcastic bookworm whose secret talent is a satirical Chris Harrison impersonation? I don’t think so.”
“Shy, grouchy cinnamon roll with a heart of gold and a weakness for his best friend. Offers the girl who’s captured his affection endearing nicknames and oatmeal just the way she likes it.” She grinned mischievously. “And you didn’t meet him online. So your heart didn’t have a chance to shut him down with some lame excuse before he weaseled his way in there.”
My whole face heated. “Stop, Kendra. Don’t make things weird.”
“Fine.” She stood and pocketed her phone. “Look me in the eye and tell me honestly that I’m wrong, and I’ll never mention it again.”
I met her gaze for a brief second before burying my head in my hands. “I can’t,” I mumbled.
“That’s what I thought.” She headed for the door. “I’m going for a walk.”
I sat up straight. “At this hour? Alone?”
“Relax. Just over to see the cute security guard. I’ll get him to walk me back. Enjoy your oatmeal.” She winked and pulled the door shut behind her.
A minute later, Owen appeared, mug and bowl in hand. “Where’d Kendra go? Finally give up on finding your perfect match?”
As he crossed the room and handed me the bowl, I scooted over in the beanbag to make room for him to sit. He only hesitated for a second before lowering himself beside me.
“I decided online dating isn’t for me after all.” I tentatively rested my head against his shoulder. “I don’t think what I’m looking for is out there.”
He tensed for a moment, then relaxed and sipped his coffee. “I’m happy to hear that,” he remarked quietly. My nerves fizzled out, and I felt safe and warm and at peace. Why had I been running from this for so long?
“You need someone to quiz you on vocab for tomorrow’s test?” I offered.
He stretched his arm around the back of the beanbag, and I cuddled in closer. “I’d like that. But eat your oatmeal first. It should be the perfect temperature now.”
I almost laughed out loud at his brusque tone and the absurdity of how quickly things had shifted in the course of one ordinary evening. Owen was by no means the perfect guy. And I had imperfections of my own. But somehow, sitting there in my shabby apartment living room, I knew we were better together.
I slid a spoonful of blueberry oatmeal into my mouth and hummed in contentment. Looking up at Owen, I nodded. “Just right.”
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Spark Flash Fiction 