Uh…huh…sure it’ll help. It’ll help put me into an early grave. Should start digging the hole myself, to get a head start. I learned my lesson the last time I attempted to seek understanding of my past, with a boyfriend, and I have the emotional and physical scars to prove it. I’m not walking that path again. When I was younger, I was rather enthusiastic about love and life. I wanted to get out there and experience things, to open myself up and let people in. My first serious boyfriend blew that to smithereens when I was twenty-one, and I’ve refused to get physically close to anyone again. Except Daniel, he accepts me the way I am. All five foot eight of me, with silky jet-black hair hitting the middle of my back, pale skin, blue eyes, and an entire abdomen and back littered with ugly visible scars. Belt scars, knife scars, burn scars, switch scars, even high heel scars. Without divulging too much, let’s just say between my father and my ex, Brian, I’ve had enough physical pain to last me six lifetimes, and if you add the emotional abuse, double that number.
“I’ll think about it.” I give him my best diplomatic answer. I don’t need to think on it. I don’t want to. I’m happy with the way things are. I live two houses down from my mom; I have my best friend living above my garage in her own two-bedroom luxury apartment. I own a huge five bedroom, three bath, white colonial, with a huge front porch. My entire house has been refurbished back to part of its original state. It has eleven foot ceilings in both the upstairs and down and killer moldings. There isn’t just a living room, I have a sitting room right off the entry by the stained glass all original double front doors. Off the kitchen, I have a small office with library. It’s a superb home, and I take a lot of pride in it and keeping with its originality along with adding a few modern touches.
Knowing full and well I will not negotiate, Daniel has already left. We are friends, but he understands fully that I am his boss first, his friend second. He’s worked here with me the past year as he completed college. I paid for most of it. He’s a nice fella, and his loyalty to me is unbreakable. You can’t buy the kind of love and friendship we share.
Gazing at the clock on the wall, its minute hand claims quarter past six, and my stomach audibly growls. I need dinner. Pulling up my contacts on my computer, I find Dolly’s and click send. My work phone clicks on its speaker as it rings to my second favorite restaurant in town, and this one delivers.
“Ms. Keagan, working late again?” she greets, I’d know her voice anywhere. It’s Dolly, the owner of Dolly’s Dairy Dream. It’s a cute, mom and pop owned dairy bar about three streets over from my house, and she delivers for her favorite customers. Thankfully, I happen to be one of them.
“You know me so well.” I chuckle, running my hands through my hair as I relax in my chair. My shoes, I took off long ago and are sitting under my desk.
“Yes, honey, I’ve know you for years. Now let me guess, you want a chicken Caesar wrap, seasoned curly fries and a fat free chocolate and peanut butter shake, extra thick.”
Suppressing my need to laugh at the extra thick comment, I agree to the order and hang up with a sweet goodbye before she starts in on trying to pair me up with her nephew Randall. Nice guy, doormat material, not my type, even if I was thinking of venturing out. I’m guessing if he knew the real me, he’d probably agree I’m not his type either.
Working some more on my computer, my email pings four more times, which means I am now up to thirty-three messages on my online dating account with Matchmakerhaven.com. Roni selected the site, said a girl in our lotions department met her fiancé there three years ago. It’s a small town, where everybody knows everybody. This means, they are fully acquainted with most people’s business. If you let them know anything valuable, gossip spreads like wildfire. My lack of love life is the only thing the town has been able to pin on me, which is how I like it.
The call bell to the outside door rings, which means my food has arrived. Good, I’m starving.
Leaving my shoes, I pad barefoot out of my door and down the small hallway to the front where the reception desk sits. I unlock the glass door, allowing Randall in. You know…the doormat, nephew. See, case and point. He doesn’t even work for Dolly; he’s a carpenter. Tall, tan and lean, and still not my type.
“You look lovely.” He states, handing me the white paper bag containing my dinner. He stands at least six one. However, he’s as soft and gentle as a pussy cat.
“Thanks, Randall.” I wink at him, making him blush. Such a shy guy.