Page 8 of The Write Midlife

There were ‘attempts,’ scattered through her thirties like poorly plotted subplot points. A few coffee meetings between freelance articles. Some halfhearted swipes on dating apps whilewaiting for editor feedback. But somewhere between getting her Creative Lit degree and publishing her first book, she had decided that writing about love was safer than actually pursuing it.

Then Mom got sick, and suddenly she was thirty-eight and spending her evenings reading manuscripts aloud in a hospice room instead of meeting eligible bachelors for drinks. By the time she hit forty, her dating life had become as theoretical as the plots of her novels.

But last night...

God, last night was different.

Maybe it was the wine, or the way Nate looked at her like she was the only woman in the room. Under his unwavering gaze, she forgot about the gray ‘natural highlights’ she didn’t even have to pay for. She glazed over the laugh lines that had started to fold in around her eyes, the extra curves that came with choosing writing marathons over actual marathons.

Last night, Mr. Broad-and-Blue-Eyed made her feel wanted. Craved, even. He made her feel seen.

That thought stayed with her until she saw something herself. A note on the pillow next to her. She snatched it up, her heart racing as she read Nate's hurried scrawl:

Mel—

Had to run. Early meeting.

Last night was incredible.

—Nate

She stared at the message, torn between elation that he bothered to leave anything at all and frustration that he didn't leave his number.

"Really? 'Last night was incredible'? That's all you've got?" she groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "What am I supposed to do with that? Send a carrier pigeon to every office building in Seattle asking for the hot guy named Nate?"

Taking a few minutes, she let the wallowing turn to groan-out-loud mode before dragging herself out of bed. As she showered and got dressed, her mind kept drifting back to Nate. The way his hands felt on her skin, the sound of his laughter, the deepening color of his ocean-colored eyes when he...

"Nope, stop right there, Melody," she scolded herself as she applied mascara. "You're not some airhead who doesn't understand how one-night stands work. You're a successful author with a meeting to get to."

But as she gathered her things and headed out of the hotel, she couldn't help but scan the lobby, half-hoping to see a tall, dark-haired figure.

No such luck.

The taxi ride to her agent's office was a blur of rainy streets and internal debate. Part of her wanted to track Nate down, to see if what they had was more than just a one-night stand. But the rational part of her brain (admittedly, a rather small part) knew that was crazy. He didn't leave his number for a reason. It was just one night of fun, nothing more.

She arrived at Carmen's office building, still lost in thought. The elevator dinged, and she stepped out onto the 15th floor, greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and old books.

Carmen's assistant, a perky blonde named Tiffany, waved her in. "She's waiting for you, Melody. Nice dress, by the way. Hot date last night?"

She felt her cheeks flush. "Something like that."

Her literary agent Carmen Martinez’s office was a reflection of her personality: sleek, modern, and intimidating as hell. Shelooked up from her computer as Melody entered, her dark eyes sharp behind her designer glasses.

"Melody, darling, there you are," she said, gesturing for her to sit. "How was the event last night? Make any useful connections?"

She sank into the plush chair across from her desk, fighting to keep a straight face. "Oh, you know, the usual. Schmoozing, networking, trying not to spill wine on anyone important."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "And yet you look like the cat that got the cream. Give."

She fidgeted with the strap of her purse. "Well, I may have met someone. But it's not a big deal. Just a... a fun night."

"Uh-huh," Carmen said, clearly not buying it. "And does this 'fun night' have a name?"

"Nate," she admitted. "But it doesn't matter. He left before I woke up, and I probably won't see him again."

Carmen's eyes softened for a moment. "Oh, honey. Men are idiots. But let's focus on what's important, shall we? Your career."

She straightened up, grateful for the change of subject. "Right, of course. What's on the agenda?"