Tequila and Tea

I met him on Hinge. Our messages were easy, the kind that flowed just enough to make meeting up in person feel natural. We met at a local coffee shop and spent two hours talking—nothing earth-shattering, but nice. He walked me to my car, gave me a hug, and that was it. No hand-holding, no kiss, just a simple, unspoken maybe.

I liked him. But I also wasn’t sure. Was he ambitious enough? Could he really meet me where I am? He had a habit of poking fun at things, which kept our conversations light. I didn’t get too deep or too me with him. That’s something I do—hold back parts of myself to keep the peace, to keep things easy.

Still, I invited him to my Power of 8 group, not knowing if he’d actually come. But he did—every week but one. And over those eight weeks, I got to see him more clearly. At first, I was excited. We agreed to take things slow, though the chemistry was there, lingering in the spaces between. I helped him with a few things, shared some resources, tried to make his transition to the valley a little easier. In doing so, I got a front-row seat to his strengths, his struggles, his hang-ups, and his guarded heart.

Miscommunications happened. He expressed disappointment when plans fell through. I tried to help him with something else, and when it didn’t work out, I could feel his irritation. Then, one night, after two whiskey drinks, he showed up at my house. We talked, and I liked it. But it took time away from my daughter, from my own rhythm. He stayed late. We were intimate. And then… not much.

Maybe he’s just busy. Or maybe he’s just not that into me.

Or maybe, more importantly, I’m just not that into him. Not into the arguments, the subtle jabs, the sport hunting. Not into feeling like I have to hold back who I am to make something work.

I want someone who meets me with drive and depth. Who sees my weird, my wild, my full spectrum—and stays.

So, slow? Sure. But steady? I think I’ll keep moving forward.