Nolan moved an iron over his sleek, dark Calvin Klien shirt—acoustic pop/rock played on the radio, strumming guitars over lyrics through the speakers. Nolan shook out his shirt, pushed his arms through the warm sleeves, and tucked the shirt into his tan pants. He buckled his brown belt.

Mila invited him over for dinner and wine. Mila lived on Stafford Hill. People of means lived on that hill. On his round trip to work, Nolan drove by the homes that spread whispers of old money and generational wealth.

Nolan didn’t have the money to match hers. But a night out would do him well. It happened when Mila messaged him on a dating app.

Nolan debated responding. He set the phone on the ash coffee table and paced over the mahogany floor to give himself reasons not to reply. Nolan sat on his dark leather sectional, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair. He blew out his lips.

Nolan lifted his chin, turned his head, and moved his eyes around the crimson walls with white trim. Framed pictures of his mother and father with their lips stretched over their pearly white teeth softened his gaze.

Nolan pushed himself up. He went to the coffee table with a white, furry carpet spread beneath. Nolan grabbed his phone.

He replied to Mila.

Nolan left no doubt that he didn’t come from money.

Nolan wrote for the local newspaper.

Mila responded: You think I care about money?

Nolan feared she took offense to his insistence.

Mila wasn’t like the other women on dating apps.

She had class and a dark sense of humor.

Mila was Nolan’s type.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

After a week of texts and phone calls, Mila said Nolan seemed worth spending time over a home-cooked meal. Mila and Nolan exchanged wholesome pictures. Mila sent a photo of herself without makeup, sticking out her tongue to let him know what he was getting himself into. Mila had long, red hair that hugged her face, complimented her high cheekbones, and cascaded to the small of her back.

Mila’s freckles camouflaged her pale skin. Mila’s deep green eyes rapt romanticism through his thoughts with a decision set in stone.

Nolan wanted her to know his worth, which overdrew his bank account. Nolan had enough to pay his bills and more than he needed to build a savings account. Nolan’s cozy three-bedroom home with beige walls and framed family pictures made the house a home.

Nolan looked at his watch. He moved through the hall to the bathroom.

He hit the light, opened a cabinet, grabbed a black bottle, pressed a button, and white beard balm filled his hand. He returned the bottle with his free hand. He lathered the balm in his hands and massaged it into his beard.

Nolan turned his head, either way, eyes trained on his style.

Here goes something, he thought, turning off the light.

Nolan grabbed a device from the glass end table, lifted his hand, pointed it at the TV, and pressed a button. The screen went black. He returned the remote to the end table, collected his keys, turned off the lights, and turned on the porch light. The digits beeped as he punched in the alarm code.

Nolan exited the house and locked the door. He circled his home through the gate of his tall, maple fence. He slid into his dark, lifted Dodge Ram.

He twisted the key, and the engine hummed to life. The radio played top fall pop hits. He changed the songs to Taylor Acorn’s Greener.

Nolan’s phone buzzed and flashed. He unlocked his phone.

Mila texted: Hope to see you soon.

Nolan smiled. I’ll see you soon, he replied.

He set his phone on the center console.

Nolan put the truck in drive and turned on the headlights. He traveled the long driveway, crunching over gravel and crisp brown and yellow leaves that hovered and settled with dust from naked willow trees.

Nolan didn’t want to hope for love, but the anticipation lurked in his soul.

Dust kicked up and returned to the ground as the sun sank below the horizon. He looked back at the pine fence that circled his yard and the cedar tree with a tire swing. Nolan blinkered onto the highway and followed the flow of traffic. His playlist shuffled Halsey’s Ego.

He hummed to the lyrics without deciphering a single line.

Outlines of stacks of evergreen trees line on either side of the road.

Nolan saw a deer peek through the brush. He continued and moved to the right lane. Nolan blinkered and followed the off-ramp to a stoplight. It cycled through, and he turned left to continue up the hill. He found her home and pulled into the smooth concrete driveway. She had a four-story home.

Nolan parked and turned off his truck. He looked inside the large bay living room window. She wore a short, dark skirt and sat on her beige couch with her feet behind her, moving her fingers on her phone.

Nolan thought about backing out of the driveway and leaving. How could I compare to this angel? he thought.

Mila moved her head. She set her phone down and stood up.

My headlights, he thought. Mila must have seen my headlights.

Nolan saw her smooth her skirt and fluff her hair. She moved to the door.

He exited the truck and paced to the gate. He opened and closed it behind him. Nolan stepped up the stairs. Nolan folded his hand to hit the door, but Mila opened it first.

“Howdy, stranger,” Mila said. She took a step back and motioned him inside.

Mila wrapped her long, red hair around her neck and moved her bangs behind her ear.

Nolan stood, studying her emerald eyes.

Mila rested her hands in her back pockets, exposing her stripped v-neck sweater with glitter below her collarbone.

Nolan swallowed hard. “Nice place.” He moved into the spacious living room.

Mila leaned in. “Between you and me, my grandparents left me this home in their will.” She winked and wrinkled her nose.

Nolan laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.”  

Framed family pictures hung on the maroon walls. The details behind the smiles and deadpan stares waved a palpable touch of memories under this roof and road trips.

The large TV, facing the wide living room bay window, played college football with the sound off.  

“A lake…” Nolan pointed.

“See the moon?” Mila said.

“The moon reflects off the ripples.”

“I sip coffee on the cherry maple balcony before work,” Mila said as if to relive it.

“I’m not rich,” Nolan said.

“Then we have something in common.” Mila hugged him like she’d known him for decades. “My family has money, and I’m a trust fund baby.”

Nolan enjoyed her embrace and reached his arm around her. “Do you know me?”

Mila lifted her head and moved her eyes to his. “Why do you ask that?”

“This feels too…” He paused.

“Too what?” Mila returned her head to his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said, stroking her back. “Too good to be true.”

Mila sighed. “I’ve missed this. But I had to put myself out there.”

“That’s it!” Nolan’s eyes widened. “You read my articles, don’t you.”

Mila took a step back. “So, I’m a fan.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because you never let on that you’re into someone until you have them where you want them, right?” She pointed at his cheeks. “You’re blushing, so I know I’m right.”

“You’re something else,” Nolan said.

“Us redheads are a different breed.” Mila grabbed his hand and moved to the tan leather loveseat. They twisted the caps off Redhook and sipped the dark beer.

“Oh,” Nolan said, “Julie is a nice gal.” He finished his beer.

Mila set her bottle on the table. “My sister?”

“My sister, Debbie, knows your sister.”

“Us men,” Nolan said, “we’re something else.”

“You got me.” She straddled Nolan and kissed her last first kiss.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States