Leaves of scarlet and gold covered the street and sidewalk. The neon signage of the Italian restaurant, Pomodoro, shined blurry on the asphalt. The eatery consumed most of the block. It shed its warm interior into the wet outdoors. A large chalkboard menu visible to onlookers boasted happy hour specials in block letters.

Amidst the revolving door of couples that entered and exited stood a middle-aged woman. An emerald-green wool coat enveloped her. A giant clip held up a dark twist of hair. She peered through her reflection in the restaurant window. He scrolled on his phone, oblivious to her surveillance. She pursed her lips and went through the door.

Wet leaves accompanied her inside. The din of dozens of conversations greeted her. She told the host someone expected her and strode to the table. He sat with slick, wet hair and a crisp blue button-down shirt, the typical corporate uniform. She caught a faint whiff of cologne. 

“Hi, Jason,” she said and gave a low wave. Her voice startled him out of his digital trance. 

His eyes followed her up to her face, and he smiled. He flipped the phone over and motioned to the seat in front of him as he half stood, then sat back in his chair. His face reddened.

“Isla. It’s good to see you. Did you find the place all right?” His phone buzzed, but he ignored it.

“X marks the spot with Google Maps.” She shook her phone from side to side, took off her coat, and sat in the chair across from him. She wore a black low-cut blouse. It brightened her face and accentuated her chocolate hair. “I’ve never been here.”

“No other hot dates?” He laughed.

“Not many—yet.” She smiled, showing her teeth between crimson lips.

“When I saw you on the app, I wanted to reach out to you.” He refolded the cloth napkin on the table.

“Oh yeah? Couldn’t resist?”

His phone buzzed. He glanced at it. “I wanted to see a friendly face.”

“Have you not seen many?”

“Some.” He frowned at the napkin.

“I’m sorry.” She examined her polished nails. “Harvest Blush” shined under the table lamp. She rubbed her forefinger over her smooth thumbnail.

“They all seem like good people. But I forgot how awkward dating is.”

“I understand. Dating does tip to the weird.” She brushed off something invisible from her blouse.

His face brightened with a new topic. “I saw on your profile that you’re playing music. That’s fantastic.”

“A few open mics.” She took a sip of water. “Actually, only one so far. I didn’t tell the kids.”

“It’s important to go after what you want.”

She nodded and spoke toward her glass. “It was terrifying and thrilling, even in front of a handful of people. I am glad I did it.” She held onto the glass with both hands. “What about you? I see you’ve been traveling with Johnny.”

“He’s such a globe-trotter and a great guide. We should have traveled sooner. There’s something about being out of your comfort zone that changes you for the better.”

She took a roll from the breadbasket, split it open with her knife, and inserted a tab of butter inside it. “Like dating.” She met his eyes.

He looked away when the server arrived.

“Beverage menu?”

Both said ‘No, thank you’ in unison. The server handed them two oversized plastic-covered menus.

“Jinx,” she said once the server left.

“No wine?” Jason shifted to the side, put his elbow on the back of the chair, then returned to how he sat.

“I was never good with it, so it’s easy for me to say no.” She studied the menu.

“I didn’t realize that.”

“I made a decision long ago.” She gave him a closed smile.

“This place is so crowded. We’ll be lucky to have dinner before sunrise,” he said and searched as if he wanted to ask someone a question. His phone buzzed again.

“You’re wanted,” she said.

“It can wait.”

“Such discipline. I’m impressed.” She toasted him with her glass of water and took another sip.

“Don’t try stand-up.” He turned the phone around on the table, face-side down.

“Touché. I’m sorry.”

“Your LinkedIn profile says you started a new job,” he said.

“Are you stalking me?” She drummed her nails on the glass. The bread was gone. Plates of steaming pasta dishes passed by them. Each time, they peered to see if it was their order. She nodded. “Onto my fifth career change.”

“Fifth?”

“Three of my jobs were in the same position, so it depends on how I count them. But this is my fifth company.”

He held up his hands as if in defense. “You don’t have to explain to me. I’ve lost count. I may be at eleven, if I’m honest?”

“This job pays less, but I’m happy with it. It’s creative, and I’m helping people a little. You?” She followed a trail of the table’s wood grain.

“Still a desk jockey. Spreadsheet gymnastics, as they say.” He smiled, but looked down.

She touched the corner of her clean lips with the napkin.

He gestured and connected invisible blocks in the air. “I add a spreadsheet here, tack on another one there, then pray to the Excel gods that everything lines up.” 

“And do they bless your spreadsheets?”

He shrugged. “Eleventh company, remember?”

Their two pasta dishes arrived in bowls large enough for a family. Smells of garlic and cream filled their space. Jason offered some of his plate; Isla did the same.

“You never said how long you’ve been back in the game,” Isla said, rolling linguini onto her fork. She restarted several times trying to get a smaller amount on it.

“Off and on—since—you know. The profile you saw is new. I was trying the old-fashioned way. I’m not sure much has changed, or if I was expecting anything different. There are good people out there, but the expectations are high.”

“As in?” Isla raised her eyebrows.

“It’s hard to pinpoint—sensitivities—feelings.” He spoke with his eyes averted to a neighboring table.

“It’s all about emotions. We’re human.” She shrugged her shoulders to make her point. “As you get to know someone better, they become more vulnerable. We’re not ping-pong balls. You’re going to have to get past that.” Her eyes moistened, and she dabbed the corner of her eye as if a speck of dust had intruded.

“Harsh words.” He placed a hand over his heart.

“Truth.” She put a fist over her heart. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Beyond this?” Jason put his fork down. “Is it about us?”

She tilted her head from side to side. “Overall.”

“Please.”

“Keep the phone down. This is the most we’ve talked—even before that day.”