"This is a house," I say curiously. I pull up to the small lot. It's a rundown-looking small Victorian-style house right outside the city. It sits next to an office building on a corner lot. Across the street is some factory or something, making this area very quiet on a Saturday morning. 

I pull up my texts with Emma on my phone with the address to double-check.

A house? I send it to her as I get out of the car.

I walk up to an exterior door that opens without a lock. It leads into an old screened-in porch. There's some graffiti on the walls, but it's clean, so someone must have cleaned it up recently. I head to the main door and can let myself in with the key they mailed me. I guess it's the right place then. 

I step into a kitchen, and it is ... old. Very old. The dark and scuffed wood floor creaks with every step I take. The wallpaper is as loud as Rissa, with a colorful border included. All the cabinets are stained to a deep brown and topped with a now yellowed white countertop.

There's no island in the large eat-in kitchen, but there's a big oak farmhouse table with bench seats. I set my laptop down on the table. 

Walking through an archway into a living room, I'm greeted by even more wallpaper, built-in bookshelves on the back wall, and a large stone fireplace.

This room lacks furniture, and it's better to be comfortable when doing the inner work we're doing. I made a mental note to go somewhere later to get a couch and a chair. For today, we will have to make do at the table.

I head back into the kitchen. Emma responded to my text, explaining that a house felt more private than an apartment and that they got a great deal on the rent.

Before I put my phone away, I glance at my text exchange with Rissa. It's an ongoing chain, and I enjoy the constant stream of messages off and on during the day. I especially get a kick out of how she retells some of her crabby customer calls. The photo she sent me last night is only a quick scroll away, and suddenly I am staring at it again.

I can't seem to tear my eyes off this picture. I should delete it, but I hover over the message and find I can't—just like I couldn't stop staring at it after she sent it.

Don't get feelings for your subject...

Damn it.

She's a beautiful woman, and she was all glammed up. Of course, I found her attractive, but that doesn't mean anything. We've been bonding and becoming friends. Friends sometimes admire each other, right?

Maybe I should be out-dating, so I'm not so hyper-focused on Rissa. But the idea of it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I meant what I said last night. I don't date. I was burned once, and I'm not going there again. I am much better off helping others with their love lives and leaving mine as it is—non-existent.

It was the dress and the dreamy look on her face, that's all. I got caught up in the image.

There's a knock at the kitchen door. "Conner, are you in there?" Rissa calls from outside, sounding as confused as I did.

"Yeah, come on in," I call back.

"This isn't an apartment," she says as she bursts inside. "But it's beautiful! The wood floors.. the —"

"Ugly wallpaper," I fill in for her.

"Who cares about the wallpaper? The house is full of character." She looks up at me, and damn it to all hell. She doesn't have a stitch of makeup today, and her long chocolatey hair is piled up in a messy bun with locks falling out framing her heart-shaped face.  She looks just as stunning as she did in that gown. 

If not more so...so stop looking at her, I tell myself. 

"Where's your eyelashes?"  I ask in hopes of covering up any odd gawking. 

"You kept me up too late, and I was too tired for makeup today," she says with a slight shrug. I don't miss the insecurity that flashes in her eyes as she starts fixing her hair. "Too bad they don't make face filters you can use without your phone."

"You don't need a face filter or makeup," I say, and then instantly regret it. Was that flirting? What am I doing? She doesn't need to know the effect she's having on me.

Luckily, she doesn't seem to notice. She's too excited about the house and has already entered the living room.

"These built-ins! And that fireplace—it's amazing. This staircase is so grand! This is like a small version of the houses uptown!" She chatters away as I hear her footsteps going up the stairs.

The creaking is even worse up there, and I can hear her every step.

"A claw foot bathtub!" She screams it as if she won the lottery.

I roll my eyes as I look up at the ceiling. "Rissa, will you hurry up and get down here? We have two dates to cover, and I'd like to not be here all day."

I hear her coming as she stomps down the steps. How can one tiny woman make so much noise?

"Someone has their crabby pants on today," she chirps as she bursts into the kitchen.

"You're the one that kept us up till three am. How are you so perky?" I ask as I stifle a yawn.

"I did not," she argues as she plops on the bench. "Harvey did. Can you believe that cliffhanger they left us on? We're watching again tonight, right?"

"Maybe–"

"Wait!" Her eyes widen. "We can binge it here. They said we could buy furniture and write it off, right? A TV counts as furniture."

"Does it, though?" I ask with a slight chuckle. "I should probably clarify what we can and cannot buy for the place."

"Haven't you ever heard the famous saying that it's better to ask forgiveness than permission?"

"Not when it comes to submitting an expense report."

"The person who made that saying up was probably talking about an expense report," she argues.

I roll my eyes, but whatever, it's worth a shot. I can argue that it could be here if we set up a 'staying-in' date. "Fine, we can get a small TV."

"Yes!" she pumps a fist into the air as she jumps up. "I have a great idea for a color scheme, too. I can't wait to decorate. Target run, here we come!"

"Not until we're done debriefing the dates," I say sternly. "Now sit."

"I guess," she grumbles. 

"I'll door-dash us some coffee," I offer.

"Pastries too, please," she agrees.

"What kind?"

"what do they have?"

She's over in seconds, hovering over my shoulder to look at my phone, the scent of her flowery shampoo overwhelmes my senses.

"Here, just pick out whatever." I hand her my phone and then get up, needing some distance. She sits where I was as she starts scrolling, oblivious to my weirdness.

I tell myself to get it together as I try to shake this off and focus on the task at hand- the book.

***

"Let's circle back to Wednesday's date again," I suggest, earning another groan from Rissa.

"Why? It was a failure.  Let's let it go."

"I don't think it was," I say, and she looks doubtful, so I continue. "Rissa, when dating someone, they're bound to take you somewhere you don't like occasionally."

"It wasn't that I didn't like the place. It was a cool spot, but I didn't like the comedian."

"What bugged you so much about him? The marriage jokes themselves like he wasn't taking marriage seriously?"

"I think a little of that...but more so the way his wife was the butt of all his jokes when he was out there flirting with someone. I felt she deserved better than that, and it annoyed me that everyone was laughing like it was funny."

"You were uncomfortable with a man who didn't seem to treat his wife right and didn't find it funny. It all ties into what type of guy you're looking for, or more importantly, how you want to be treated."

"I definitely don't ever want someone making body-shaming jokes behind my back," she mutters.

Wow, that comedian sounds like a major tool. I should have vetted him better, but this turned out to be a good lesson for her.

"Have you been taken on a date where you weren't having a good time?"

"I mean a few times, but I do try and have fun anyway..." she trails off.

"A guy took you to his kid's recital once," I remind her as I arch an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. They tend to take me to places I'm not impressed with, but that's guys, right?"

"No, those are the guys you've been dating," I say and then lean forward a bit. "What did you do when you realized you weren't having a good time?"

"I told you... I left and had some drinks at the bar." She seems reluctant to talk about that part for some weird reason.

"If you were out with someone and they saw you weren't having fun and pulled you into the bar for a quiet chat, would that have salvaged the date?"

She slowly nods, "Yeah, I guess it would have."

"When you talked about last night's date, you loved that it felt like everything was meant for you."

"Yes! It was the most Rissa-coded date I've ever been on!" She raved on forever about how much she loved the date. Her cheeks were all rosy, and her eyes were dreamy. All I want to do is set up a dozen more dates that spoil her like that.

Stop! I scream at my brain. That is not what we're doing... stay focused.

I clear my throat and try to clear my damn head. Again.

"What I am hearing is that you loved it when someone paid attention to you," I say. "So, if they also noticed you weren't having fun..."

"And pulled me away that's also paying attention," she deduces. "I want someone who wants me enough to care about the little things and show they do." 

"And that realization is not a failure," I agree. "It's a win. Knowing what you want is one of the biggest tools you'll need coming out of this."

She looks to be considering this as she picks up her iced coffee to finish the last few drops, making loud slurping sounds as she sucks it dry. It should be annoying, but it's as cute as those darn build-a-bears still sitting on my island at home.

"Alright, we figured out I want a prince charming, but come on, Conner. I can't go from having too low of expectations to too high of them."

"Why not?"

"Because it's unrealistic. I'll constantly be let down."

"Only if you accept that behavior," I point out.

"I can't break it off with every guy who's not perfect," she argues.

"I'm not suggesting you do," I say as I lean back, stretching my legs some. We definitely need comfy furniture for our next meeting. "If you think he's worth it, you talk to him if he's not giving you what you need.

If he isn't willing to work on that with you, that's when you break it off."

That seems to frighten her as her face pales slightly.

"That's not easy for you, is it?" I guess.

"No, it's not. I don't even know where I'd begin to —"

"We can work on that," I offer. "We can role-play some stuff out. I think it'll be good for you to practice confrontations."

She snickers. "We do that at work when they try to coach us on how to handle calls. It's stupid."

"It may feel a little silly, but it does work."

"Ugh, fine. Do we have to right now, though?"

"No. I think we covered enough for today." I close my notebook.

I've already started putting the book together, and even though I'll need to go back and fill in things later, I've written a lot. It feels good to be excited to work on something again.

"We can go shopping now?" She squeals as she jumps up again, this time racing over to my side of the large table and grabbing my wrist. "Come on, let's go!"

 I suddenly envision us at the store, myself behind her as she tugs at my hand, lighting up at every little thing. I wish I had the zest for life she has.

As I stand up, I can't deny the smile she puts on my face, but then it hits me. 

"We can't go together," I tell her, and her face falls, tugging at my gut even more.

I need to reel this in. This is not good. Maybe I should just send her away today so I can get a damn grip. Or go home and let her decorate this place herself.

But... somehow, I can't seem to do either of those things. 

"Why?" She asks with a pout. 

"Emma– the social media thing, she'll be pissed if we screw up her big plan," I explain. 

"But no one has even started getting all, 'what's going on' yet," Rissa says, holding her fingers up like quotations.

"She'll still kill us," I say.

"Conner," she drags my name out as she whines. "We have so much to buy. I need your help and your money."

"I'll drop you and the company card off at Target and have Ed meet you there." Those pretty eyes of hers start to sparkle mischievously. "Do not go over the top with it! They will force me to pay anything back they won't cover."

"Don't you worry your curly head about it," she says as she tiptoes to ruffle my hair playfully. "I'm great at finding deals. But what about furniture? Ed and I can't carry all that."

"I'll go to the furniture store and get the couch and chairs. I have a friend near here with a truck who owes me a favor." I start texting him as I talk. "We'll meet back here for lunch. Is there anything special you want me to pick up?"

"No, but get extra because we'll get hungry again later when we're binging our show."

Our show...Why do I like the sound of that? Shit, shit, shit. What is happening, and what was I thinking about agreeing to spend the whole day with her?

"No boring furniture, Conner," she demands. "I mean it. I'll die if I have to sit on an oatmeal-colored couch every Saturday."

"I've never heard of death by beige," I scoff.

"Where do you think the phrase bored to death came from?" she asks, popping a hand on her hip.

"Stop making up facts, or you'll force me to pull up Google and prove you wrong."

"Ewe, no, Mel does that, and I hate it," she crinkles her face up. "And don't change the subject. That living room is begging for bright and beautiful furniture."

"I doubt I'll find a purple living room set, Riss."

"Oh yeah?" she smirks at me and then whirls around, heading towards the door. "I have a lavender couch and a matching rug."

"Of course you do," I laugh as I follow her outside.