Dating & the Country Girl
By Liz Chretien
A Short Story
From the April 2006
Issue of Applaud Magazine

The day Ashlynn Baze kicked her boyfriend out of her high-rise apartment in Boston, she had just reached the status of "responsible adult." Meaning she had a good job, a nice place to live, and was now an expert on the Boston subway's red lines, green lines, and the lines she didn't want to be on when taking the T. Yes, she had finally arrived to that "responsible adult" status, or so she'd thought. But she'd quickly learned that the place she'd arrived at still wasn't the place she wanted to be. It stung, she reflected as she drove through the northern part of Massachusetts in her new SUV—no more T stops where she was going—with the windows down and her cat howling in the backseat. Shelby was not used to long car rides. There had been so much promise when Ashlynn's boyfriend, Jack, had moved in a few months before, an event that really put the clincher on the whole grownup idea. How much more grownup could you get? Ashlynn thought with glee the day Jack transferred the last of his meager belongings to her place. She was finally living with a man after so many stops, starts and broken hearts. Even though she was barely thirty there had been quite a few, something she didn't like to remind herself of very much. Ashlynn was styling, and let everyone know it. She spent way too much time at the Copley Place Mall buying Coach purses and expensive shoes from Saks to wear when on dates with Jack, who was very well known and on his way to becoming an actor—which was the way he'd introduced himself to her at the party she'd attended with a co-worker a few months before. Ashlynn had thought it was very cool to hook up with an artist. She did the power lunch thing and the after-work-bar-haunt thing. She got up early, went to bed late, and drank lattes. Ashlynn Baze had made it to where she'd always wanted to be. Oh, and she let Jack take advantage of her, she reminded herself. She'd trusted this guy, welcomed him into her home, and got to listen to countless lectures from her mother and two sisters for her efforts. Because when Ashlynn faced reality, Jack was not on his way to becoming an actor. Jack was an artsy-fartsy drama student that loved to play the suffering artist part. Although he wasn't suffering all that much, living in her Back Bay apartment for almost free, enjoying the view, and fooling around with his boyfriend when she wasn't around. Until the day Ashlynn walked in on them. Granted, I should have been suspicious when he dyed his brownish-blond hair a strange shade of bleach blond, gooping more product in it then I put in mine, and started wearing clothes with better brand names than most of the executives I worked with. Not that straight men can't wear nice clothes, but still. There should have been a hint. Then she came home from work early with the flu one day and found Jack's boyfriend, some Goth-looking guy, lounging naked on her bed while her no-good bi-sexual boyfriend showered and primped and did whatever men do in this situation. So, after a scene where Ashlynn freaked out, Goth boy laughed the whole time he got dressed, and Jack offered up lame excuses about auditioning for a part, she kicked the jerk out. She thought it would feel worse than it did, but in actuality she found herself quite relieved. They hadn't been that compatible, sexually or otherwise (obviously), she reflected, and he could be downright obnoxious to live with. Plus, the jerk had accidentally let Shelby out when he was greeting his little friend, and Ashlynn had to search the halls until she found her wandering on the eighth floor, meowing pitifully at someone else's door, probably conveying the fact that her mom was still not grown up enough to start choosing the right guys. Ashlynn got rid of Jack, but that didn't seem to be enough. When she sat back and took a good, long look at this grownup life she'd been hell bent on creating, she realized she was fooling herself. She didn't care about corporate worlds, after work cocktails, and whiny pencil pushing men. She didn't want to have power lunches and ride the T next to some smelly person who leered at her the whole way. And she especially did not want to keep meeting the same kinds of men, bisexual artist freaks like Jack or even the lame business types. So in the most impetuous moment in her responsible adult life, Ashlynn broke her lease, quit her job, packed up her cat and her pitiful amount of stuff (because a Back Bay apartment really is too expensive for furniture) and her Coach bags and drove to a small town in New Hampshire to stay with Courtney, who she'd been able to count on since kindergarten. Courtney, who had a huge apartment, half a house actually, for half the price Ashlynn had been paying and a love of cats, and the same lousy luck with men. She lived far enough into New Hampshire that it was the country, but not far enough that Ashlynn felt she would have to worry about losing her teeth and wearing flannel shirts. And, best of all, she said there was no shortage of men in the area. Which was a good thing, Ashlynn thought against her better judgment, because she really needed to get down to the business of real life dating. After all, she was almost 30. She couldn't screw around with starving artist types forever, right? Especially those that were gay and conveniently forgot to tell her. But along with all Courtney's other wonderful qualities, the best part about her is her persistence. When she puts her mind to something, it gets done. So when Ashlynn and Shelby finally pulled up in her driveway with their lives packed in a small SUV, she was waiting. "We've gotta get started," she said. "Have I got a guy in mind for you." Ashlynn dragged boxes across Courtney's porch. Paint flaked off the old boards of the floor, disrupted by the activity. Ashlynn barely noticed. Her cell phone rang, startling her out of the peaceful zone she'd been operating in, not thinking or worrying, just concentrating on manual labor. Ashlynn pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. Her sister Lia's name was flashing on the screen. Grinning, she flipped the phone open. "Wait," Lia said when Ashlynn answered. There was a click, then Lia came back on the line. "You there?" "I'm here," Ashlynn answered. "Me too," replied another voice. Despite her best efforts not to, Ashlynn winced. Lia had used her three-way calling feature to dial their older sister, Dylan. Ashlynn loved her sister, but sometimes she just wasn't in the mood for her. Today was one of those times. "Back already?" Dylan inquired, a laugh hiding beneath her neutral tone. "Couldn't wait to be near you guys again," Ashlynn answered through somewhat gritted teeth. Lia sighed. "Don't start already," she warned. "We're getting dressed up tonight and we're all going out. The four of us. Tell Courtney," she instructed Ashlynn. "Drinks, dinner, whatever. We'll see you at seven." "Later," Dylan said, and hung up. "Yeah," Ashlynn muttered. "Later." With a lot of sweet talking and a little poor-me-this-is-the-only-thing-that-will-cheer-me-up wrangling, Ashlynn cajoled Courtney into abandoning the shopping trip for a new outfit for the evening out and instead got her into the bookstore. "You're the only girl I know that needs a new book for a night out scoping guys instead of some sexy new top," Courtney grumbled as they walked into Barnes and Noble. "I need the book for later," Ashlynn said. "When I come home alone while you're all out with your new men. Except Dylan, because she's married." Courtney didn't even dignify her with an answer. "I'll be over at the horror section." Ashlynn waved her off and headed to the new hardcover section. She was perusing the choices in her favorite genre, chick lit, when it happened. Or rather, he happened. Standing right at the edge of her aisle in the travel section, flipping through a book about Italy. Her first thought was, thank God he's not in the self-help section. Then she focused in on the details. Blond hair, close-cropped but still sexy, accented a strong face with sharp cheekbones and a small chin dent. Chin dents were, without a doubt, Ashlynn's favorite features on a man. But his eyes—a deep, arctic blue shot through with purple and gray. A light, barely-there smattering of freckles on a face that practically shouted devilish. The shirt he wore, a simple long-sleeved black top, clung to a fascinating assortment of muscles, rippling along his arms, chest, and back. And when he happened to look up and smile, probably because he could feel my stalkerish gaze on him, I just melted. And then he put the book down and walked away just as Courtney came over. "Cool. A new vampire book," she announced, waving it at me. When I didn't answer, she reached out, shook my shoulder. "What's with you?" "Nothing," I said, staring at the door my Greek god had just vanished through. The irrational half of my brain encouraged me to run through the parking lot looking, but I clamped down on it. I forced myself to look at her, smile. "I'm fine." Courtney shook her head. "You got weird in Boston. Let's go, we gotta get dressed." Ashlynn's Journal March 5, 2006 I used to think I knew what I wanted out of a guy. Obviously he had to be hot, and I preferred the artistic type. I guess if I were to be psychoanalyzed, they would say I chose those types to counterbalance my anal-retentive, detail-oriented self. Who knows how the mind works, but that was what I wanted. Rich was also a bonus, but artistic and rich did not usually go hand in hand. It was cool to settle for artistic, so that's what I did. And there was a long line of them, way before Jack. Jack just happened to be the one that wormed his way into my life way deeper than any other guy had. And Jack was definitely not what I wanted. So, what did I want? How did I know? I still don't really have a clue. But I think I found him today, without even meaning to. THE him. The man of my dreams. Blond, hot, sexy, no wedding ring that I could see. He just looked so different, so kind and sweet and funny. He looked like a man that actually cared about other people as much as he cared about himself. And how I knew this by seeing him flip through a book on walking tours of Italy, I have no idea. It was just a gut feeling. Or maybe I was overreacting because of everything that had happened. Only one way to find out, I guess. Meet and see for myself. Problem is, how will I ever find him again? There has to be a way. A PI, a tracking device. Security cameras. Looks like I found my first project in New Hampshire.