Eric had a soccer game last Saturday.
And his dad was supposed to come, but something came up. I wasn’t surprised, it happens.
So I texted Jenn.
It felt spontaneous like most things with her do.
She said yes before I even finished asking.
When we got there, Eric gave her a curious look.
Jenn’s not what you’d call “typical.” Not to a five-year-old who’s used to moms in yoga pants and long hair in ponytails.
She had on ripped jeans, a vintage tee, and that messy half-bun she somehow always made look cool. The dragon tattoo was peeking out from her sleeve, and Eric stared a little longer than usual before running off to warm up.
Jenn was all in, cheering louder than me, yelling “Good hustle!” like she coached the team.
And even brought snacks.
But I could barely focus on the game.
She kept leaning over, whispering random comments that made me laugh harder than I should have.
And at some point, I caught myself watching her more than I was watching Eric.
After the game, I dropped Eric off for a playdate.
Jenn offered to take me to a few spots she said I “absolutely needed to experience.”
It wasn’t a date.
We didn’t call it that.
But everything in me was buzzing like it was.
She brought me to this tiny bakery that made the best honey lavender latte I’ve ever had, then walked me through an art pop-up tucked behind a bookstore.
She knew every artist, had stories, and a way of making things feel special even if they weren’t.
And there I was, blushing constantly like a schoolgirl.
Every time she smiled, every time she held the door for me, every time our arms brushed just barely.
I’ve been on a hundred dates with my fiancé.
This wasn’t even a date.
But somehow, it felt like one.
A better one.
A truer one.
And I don’t know if that says something about her… or something about me.