Twitterpated by Melanie Jacobson Page B

neither a broken heart nor a psycho stalker in those two years. In fact, since being in Seattle, I’d gone out with over ten different guys and had never been tempted to say yes to a third date. I either lost interest or got too busy or picked up a strange vibe that made saying no to a third date easy. Was it crazy to break the policy for Ben?
    My anxiety spiked even higher until the third place setting snagged my attention again.
    Oh yeah. This wasn’t a date. This was Ben coming over for dinner with me and my roommate. Right, I could do this. This was the same Ben I’d had a great time with yesterday without any nervousness at all.
    Armed with this reminder and the knowledge that it would be rude to keep him waiting any longer, I went to let him in. I found him smiling uncertainly, with a six pack of root beer under his arm, and the last bit of my stress evaporated.
    “Hi,” he said.
    “Hi back,” I replied. Should I hug him? We weren’t at hello hugs yet. I stared at him for a full five seconds while I tried to figure out what to do next then reddened as his smile wavered again. “Come in,” I said, and stepped aside so he could enter. I invited him to sit on the sofa while I stuck the soda on the kitchen counter. As I walked back into the living room, Sandy made an appearance in the hallway.
    “Are you hungry?” I asked Ben.
    “Not until I walked in, but whatever I smell has me about three seconds from starving now,” he said.
    “Smooth,” mouthed Sandy so Ben couldn’t see.
    “Let’s eat, then,” I said and led the way to the dining room table. After Ben and Sandy took their seats, I stepped into my kitchen and grabbed a platter of chips and guacamole. When I placed it on the table, Ben scooped up a bite and sighed.
    “I love good guacamole. It’s been hard to find since I left Arizona,” he said.
    “Jessie made it,” Sandy informed him. “Her cooking doesn’t stink.”
    “I didn’t have to cook anything to make it,” I said, embarrassed. I rarely cooked for myself, but I knew my way around a kitchen. My mother grew up in Georgia and trained my sisters and me to be old school Southern cooks. Living in California had broadened our food vocabulary to include things like tasty chicken enchiladas, since Mexican food was not a thing when my mom was growing up. Thank goodness times change. She had found a killer enchilada recipe, which I had baked for tonight. Even health-crazed Sandy couldn’t resist them.
    “Did you know February is the biggest month for avocado sales?” Ben asked.
    “Uh, no,” Sandy said.
    “It’s true,” Ben said. “It’s because of the Super Bowl; people love to make guacamole for their game parties. Surprising, right?”
    “Why would you know that?” Sandy asked.
    Ben shrugged. “I have a bad habit of getting random facts caught in my head. If I see it or hear it, it’s in there. I can list ten useless pieces of trivia on demand that you never needed to know. I think it’s a talent to compensate for not being able to play the piano or sing or, you know, something cool.”
    “Bad trade,” she said.
    “Definitely. But watch Jeopardy with me and you’ll think I’m a genius. I own that half hour,” he joked.
    “You sound like Jessie,” Sandy said. “Last time she had the flu, she made me read her Trivial Pursuit cards for an hour. She didn’t even want the board out.” She shook her head.
    “I wanted to take my mind off my misery,” I defended myself.
    “Is that why you cheated?” Sandy asked.
    “I can’t cheat if I’m not even playing the real game,” I said.
    Sandy explained to Ben. “She not only didn’t play with the pieces, but she skipped half the categories on the card.”
    “Only two!” I interrupted her. “I don’t like the geography or science and nature questions. They give me a headache.”
    “I think the flu means you can skip categories if you want,” Ben said. “But geography? From someone who loves to travel?”
    “I can