Temperature Changes Ch. 01

The brisk smell of the cool, fresh Atlanta air hit my face as I left my new office. A shift in scenery from North Dakota and my freelance gig was the new start I needed after a messy divorce. Especially in an open environment with a booming startup. Luckily I was able to craft together my skills and make it sound somewhat thrilling on the countless resumes I sent. By the grace of God, and the Universe, I was able to land a gig at a local startup. HERd was named by Fortune 500 as a startup on the rise, focused on the now profitable female entrepreneur scene.

Over the past year, I spent my life in countless Facebook groups going from Blogging, to working for a popular Money Coach, and then starting my volatile Web Design Business. After yet another client who felt the need to insult me, totaling around $5,000 in costly business mistakes, I deleted my page and decided a semi corporate gig was the change I needed.

I chuckled as the thought of one, who sent me a voicemail saying that I was an enemy of women, was ironic, being that I'm now the head of the marketing department for a leader in the business. But it's what I do, respectfully bow out, or vanish for lack of a better word, and re-appear when I think I've learned my lesson. And after everything has blown over. And after I finished paying people back.

I shook my head, choosing to think about how I was now fulfilling my insatiable need to help people. It's the major thing that I was missing in my own business, discouraged every time I faced negative feedback.

Sure it wasn't the comments that made me upset, fonts could be changed and colors altered, but surely I could be doing more than just that- right?

So vie so. Such is life.

I made my way to my newly acquired car, pausing for a moment to once again take in a familiar scene of civilization. Although Bismarck was the capital of North Dakota, the most thrilling or bustling sight were the 6 worn-down brick bars and 4 slightly more trendy boutiques that compromised of downtown. Oh! And there was one 4 way intersection. But, no one even heard of the city, let alone could make it out on a map. I'd lived South of Atlanta for 11 years and in the city a year before the big step backwards. One thing I can say now is that I owe my newfound Atlanta appreciation to good old' Bismarck. That and my devotion to good, flavorful, seasoned food. And un-moldy fruit, of course.

Atlanta had changed since I'd been back, in some ways. In most, it had stayed the same. Outside of my office, there were new, larger glass buildings for the rapidly expanding tech startup scene. You could still see the cultural mix of people from diverse backgrounds make their way along Peachtree street. Families walking with strollers in the parks, dogs running around, and business people as they exited their elite office buildings. The tantalizing aroma of southern food drifted towards me as I continued my steady pace, suddenly remembering that I hadn't eaten. Much.

Not that I didn't have lunch or lack of food- the office kept a steady supply of healthy snacks as well as flowing local beer on tap. Part of me wondered why it wasn't wine, as the beer started as a bro-culture thing within silicon valley businesses. The image of my bubbly co-workers bubbly with wine floated through my head. I could see them laughing over sending an unintentionally harsh and sorority level passive aggressive email, as well as tweets as petty as Donald Trump's. Now that would be even more interesting.

As I neared my car, I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that I was forgetting something. I hate this feeling. I toss back in forth between my head, wondering if I'm just being paranoid or if its my intuition/spirit team kicking in and trying to save my ass. Worst case scenario, I lose something and it gets stolen or lost. Especially since it's Friday, Just like my wallet a few months back...

Yeah, I'm heading back inside.

Briskly, I did a 180 back in the direction of my new favorite building, trying not to bump into both speed-walking large men with suitcases and slowly paced families with take-out bags. 'Excuse me! Sorry!' I repeated, making my way through the crowds. There are way too many people on this street right now. And cars to play Frogger with. Anxiously, I zipped between empty spaces ducking and turning just in time to make it back to my office.

As soon as I opened the door, a wave of relief washed over me and my eyes sunk in the quiet and stillness of the open and modern office beyond my eyes. I took my time making my way back to my computer, looking in fondness for the bean bag chairs and feminine styled desks of my colleagues.

My packet was in the same space I left it, with my phone sitting right underneath. How convenient.

I quickly grabbed my belongings, saving the beer and food for tomorrow, and made my way back to the door. This was the only workplace I felt a sense of belonging in. A place I actually wanted to come to work in the mornings and was excited to sit and work on new projects at. Other than my own home of course, but this was just as exciting. And considerably safer, being as I couldn't get sued. Heh.

I opened the door, closing my eyes to say a silent prayer. My spirit team were the only "people" who looked out for me, and gratitude pays off in more ways than one. And I owed them- big time. Trying not to look to weird, I kept moving. Except, this time everything seemed to slow down to a fraction of a second.

Everything happened so quickly and slowly at the same time. It was as if time caught up to me when I realized that the door met with a large and beautiful man on the other side. His statue, reminding me that of an unreal mix of a Greek God and that of a lumberjack. Perhaps a dark-haired and civil looking Tarzan, if you will. One thing was different, he seemed equally stunned to see me as I was him.

"Oh my goodness! Are you okay?" I said as words finally caught up with me and I assessed my new situation of hitting this hunk of a man with a very intriguing smelling bag of food. Instantly regretting my decision to skimp on the free food back inside.

"I'm alright," the large man, with a deep voice said. "I can't say the same for my leftovers." Though his words didn't allude to it, I could see a small smile on his lips and his eyes seemed light. Friendly, even.

"I didn't see you on the other side, sorry," I started bending down to help him clean up the mess, partially mortified that I'd caused it and also grateful that I was able to have even a casual encounter with an attractive member of the opposite sex. It'd been far too long.

His dark green eyes accompanied with his widening sly smile told me he was amused. "I'd be more surprised if you could see with your eyes closed, but this street is a little crowded so." He took a look around, nodding towards a fragile woman, at least in her late 80s, making her way down the street, "I'm just happy you didn't hit that old lady carrying her purse."

Matching his friendly demeanor, I decided to continue the joke. "Maybe that's what I do for a living, you know there are quite a few weird jobs out there. Especially in Atlanta." I said. It seemed to make the man smile.

"I would definitely take up a job where I could just close my eyes and blindly open doors all day, especially if I could return the favor," he said. I could see the twinkle in his eye when he talked. He was not afraid to hold eye-contact. So the man was flirting back, I smirked. I could handle a little playful banter. Careful not to get too worked up, I wanted to disregard it as a little bit of Southern Hospitality. Either that or a naturally flirtatious demeanor.

"I don't know whether to take that as a joke or compliment, but I'd like to think I'm pretty good at reading people so I'll just leave it up in the air." I read people like it's my job, but there was something more to Mr. Green Eyes and Curly Hair than the easy-going nature he gives off. I wanted to sound as casual as possible, and keep the good luck running.

He chuckled, "Maybe it was a mixture of both." Still not revealing anything. So he was mysterious.

I want to continue talking to him, but I'm not sure where to take it from here. How long ago had it been since I was actively flirting with someone? Although it seemed easy to keep up with the witty banter, I seemed to be at a loss for words. So I just start fidgeting with the pasta on the concrete. "In that case, I'm very flattered. And sorry about your leftovers."

"Me, too. And my favorite chef just finished his last day at work." He seemed to state the fact completely void of emotion. Though his eyes were still fixated on the ground. Could it be sarcasm or dry humor, perhaps? His facial expression revealed nothing as he was scooping the contents into the white to-go box.

I placed my bet on the humor. "You seem really heartbroken over it. Maybe we should actually keep these leftovers and you can have it with ice cream later."

He had a booming laugh that appeared to be quite genuine. It was hard not to join in with him or let my eyes linger as I watched him throw his head back, seeming to be enjoying himself. "Nah, I'm just messing with you," he said extending his hand while getting back on his feet. His hand was large and warm, I noted while accepting his kind invitation.

I started to roll my eyes just as I felt the familiar rumble in my stomach. My not-so-subtle pang of hunger didn't seem to dissipate at all. Fun.

He took his time looking over my slim figure, stopping once again at my eyes. "I would say not to worry about the food, but it sounds like you haven't even touched it today."

"I mean, if you put a honey bun with chips and some sweet tea, it kind of does make an actual meal." I offered, shrugging my arms. And then went my stomach. Again. I should probably eat better, but I tended to rely on whatever was convenient, and sweet, when I stress-ate.

His interrogative look let me know that he didn't believe me. "I'd say your stomach begs to differ. We should get you something to eat."

My heart fluttered at the quick change of plans that now involved him, even though it was clearly apparent that he'd already eaten. "I'd like that," I say as we start strolling down Peachtree Street. "I haven't actually gotten a chance to eat around this area yet." Not that I didn't want to, I just didn't make the time. And I didn't have someone to go with. At least there was variety in the foods being offered, as the street was filled with a mixture of shops and different food vendors ranging from traditional American to high-end Italian restaurants.

"Really?" He paused, looking at me. "Not even for lunch?" His thick eyebrows gave way to his quizzical expression. "Maybe that's why you seemed relieved to be going outside. I always wondered what they do in that building, and if the people actually have lives outside of work."

My personal Tarzan was actually quite funny. I couldn't help but to laugh at his wit and admire the way his smile seemed to always reach his eyes.

"Nah, we actually get free food and catered lunches," I humbly bragged. Working at a startup certainly had its perks.

"I'd say I'm missing out, but today I get to cater your lunch. So I'm doing pretty well." He looked over once again, to check my expression I'm assuming. Corny, but cute.

I smile, as it's my turn to reveal nothing. "I guess you could say that," I say, shifting attention to something else.

"There's a pretty cool bar down the street that has the best view for people watching. And tacos."

He was pretty good at conversation, seeming to have an interest in my work and asking detailed questions. I assumed that he was in a similar field, since not many people I know can carry a conversation about sales funnels and social media marketing. If he did work nearby, I hadn't seen him on this street before. Not that I would have, considering both the lunch hour and afternoon are the opposite of quiet. And Downtown Atlanta didn't seem to rest, evident in the random and consistent traffic throughout each hour of the day. Plus, his fit jeans and casual, soft looking, olive green shirt didn't necessarily hint at the fact that he came straight from work. It was nice, having a conversation with someone that seemed to go below the frivolous and vain surface. Not that I was immune to his dashing good looks, of course. But I couldn't exactly date an outward shell of a person. Then, again, my mind vaguely wondered how far today would go. Or even if it would progress...

We reached a large glass building with "Tap Bar" neatly written in red. I felt somewhat anxious thinking about the impromptu lunch with a stranger, at a pub I haven't been to before. It helped that he was a fairly attractive man, with slightly tousled deep brown hair and a stubbly beard. He opened the door, allowing me to walk through the biggest glass doors I've seen. The spacious bar was composed of a wooden plank wall, wire stairs, butcher-block bar tops. And red. Lots of red. I'm usually drawn to more industrial places, and this was a good choice. Not bad, mysterious man.

He lightly placed his hand on the small of my back as he made his way inside. The touch took me by surprise, considering the fact that I hadn't let a man this close longer than I was willing to admit. But he was warm and welcoming, so I allowed it. He leaned in close to my ear saying, "I don't go to bars, but I make an exception for TAP." I'm flattered, as it matches his confident demeanor. He was definitely my type. Whether that was good or bad, I had yet to find out. It couldn't be too bad for now, at least I could get free food out of it.

"I rarely drink, but this place is quite my type," I said back. This was true, as the smell of beer on someone marked a few memories that served a painful reminder. Moreso my ex-husband coming in drunk, late, unapologetic and uncaring. The vivid flashes of the memories were ones I'd tried to push back for quite some time. I shook them away and tried taking note of the warm and welcome ambiance. Thankful that I brought my glasses, my eyes search the modern building for a menu or counter, wanting to move away from the door. He follows a few steps behind, having held the door open for some teenage girls, then an older man.

"I thought you've been here before?" I ask, noting the new menu in his hand.

"Trust me, I have," He says with that charming, toothy smile, "I know what I want, but this is for you." He places the menu in my hand, allowing his fingers to touch mine for a few more seconds.

I return the smile sweetly, "Thank you." I briefly glance over the menu consisting mostly of comfort food. Grilled Cheese, my usual choice seems tempting. Though the tacos he mentioned earlier have my full attention. Admittedly, I wasn't a taco fanatic, the way every millennial seemed to be these days. But I was curious, and wanted to see if they'd meet my expectations."Which tacos do you prefer?"

"How about I surprise you, and you pick the best people watching seat?"

I agree and pause to take a look at the GastroPub once more. Soft indie music plays in the background, nothing that I've ever heard of. Definitely more for the hipster crowd, I note as faces with fuller beards and Osborne glasses make up the audience. I glance at the groups of people sitting at the bar, grabbing a bite with friends, and even glance back outside, trying to determine which spot would give the best view. A bright red leather booth, with a live edge table catches my eye. My mind starts to wander as I watch Mr. Warm Hands make his way around the place. His pace isn't slow nor rushed, just patient and calculated. His eyes scan the bar for my presence. He winks as he sees me.

I smile, playing it cool. From what I've seen, he has a naturally manly personality. Somewhat hunky like the Brawny man. Not as eye-roll worthy as the typical macho-man, but someone who was comfortable in his masculinity. I could dig it. Another young couple with a bouncing toddler make their way around the bar and I'm reminded, yet again, that this was out of my comfort zone. I was a 21 year old, divorced, single mom. Who should definitely be on her way home to pick up her son.

Shit.

I quickly send an iMessage to Dev, hoping she can take Aiden home and watch him for an hour. My college and now current roomie worked at his daycare and usually kept an eye on him, though she worked in the room with the not-so-newborns. She typically took him home out of convenience, unless she had plans after work, so this wasn't too much of a stretch.

"Is everything okay?" He asks noting my unintentionally anxious expression, setting our drinks down on the table.

"Yeah, I just had to text my roommate," I toy with the idea of revealing the fact that I have a son. Not wanting to scare off a man I only met 30 minutes prior.

"Hopefully not your husband or sugar-daddy, but I can't knock your hustle," He shrugs, passing me the dark-colored drink.

I laugh. I can't tell if he's being blunt or sarcastic, but his demeanor is straightforward. "Nah, I left those days in the past," I joke, taking a sip of the sweet tea. "So you remembered my drink of choice. Nice move." I said, feigning causal interest yet again.

He only chuckled, slightly shaking his head. "Can't blame you. If I looked like you, I'd do the same," he flirted.

So he was feeling me. Not having much luck with meeting guys in person- ever, I didn't think it was still a possibility. Online was easier for convenience, and I could pre-stalk people. But that didn't always pan out considering my last Tinder date ended up in a 6 hour hell and I met my unfaithful ex through the platform. Though, I could easily put that I was a mom and in my bio. And screen out most Republicans. I start feeling a little anxious bringing up my son, and about my political beliefs.

So I'm back to square one; how do I tactfully see if he and I were compatible?

I settled on saying, "I think those days are long gone, now that I'm a mom."

"Everyone has their kink," he said with a darker sense of humor. It relieved me of my serious thoughts, causing me to laugh. "How old is your kid?" he asked.

"Two and a half, I wouldn't call it the terrible twos, but it's a growing phase," I say, recollecting a few times my kid has written on the walls, broken a few things, and everything else. Part of me feels relieved that he took it in stride.

"Theodore, Fish and Chicken Tacos," a loud voice says, barely detectable over the music and chatter.

My charming companion stands up and heads over to the counter. Theodore, an interesting name. Not one that I would've guessed, but it suits him well. A little old fashioned, but charming. Does he go by Theo? I catch myself watching the way his large legs carry his muscular upper body. His demeanor, a mix of wit and self-assured is somewhat irresistible. And I met him in an 2010s Wattpad-esque way. Was the universe testing me? I shake my head at the thought of yet another painful lesson from the Universe.

"Theodore?" I say sweetly, letting the name linger.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, handing me napkins and silverware. He splits the tacos, so we each have one chicken and one fish taco. I can dig it.

"Do most people usually call you Theo? or?" I ask, taking my time watching him prepare the food.

He casually shrugs, handing me a plate. "Most do, yes. It's not necessarily my name of choice. What about you?"

"Just Danielle, I don't really have any nicknames," I state, taking another sip of the tea before trying the dish.

Theo. Theodore. I let the name roll around in my head a hundred ways. It looks like it suits him. I watch the way he devours his plate, the way those hands handle the meal and letting my eyes find their way back to his plump pink lips. They look just attractive as the food in front of me.