To New Friends and Second Chances

Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.

Shakespeare wrote it. I live by it. But here I am, running late for our 1st date. I’m so sorry. Work detained me. Will explain more when we meet. I’m @ 30 mins out.

I typed out that text sitting at the light on Route Ninety-Six in front of the Sunoco Station in Fairview, Tennessee. Took a quick snapshot from my phone. Attached it. And hit SEND.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot in front of the Welcome Center at Montgomery Bell State Park. It was five minutes after one and I was officially five minutes late.

I took a quick turn around the lot, looking for his red Kia before pulling into a space and checking my phone for his reply. Nothing. Surely he wouldn’t have given up on me - not for being five minutes late.

I got out of the car and went around to the back. Snapped a quick shot of my silver 2017 Kia Niro, including enough background so he’d know where to find me.

Hey, Grant! I’ve arrived! Heading into the Welcome Center to change out of my work clothes. 5 minutes - tops. I can’t wait to meet you!

I attached the snapshot of my car to the text and sent it out into the digital void before popping the hatchback and grabbing my ruck. Hoisting it onto my shoulder, I checked the cooler to make sure that the simple lunch I prepared was still intact. Yes, I am that girl - the one who has to check up on EVERYTHING.

It was a beautiful spring day, with the sun high overhead. Fluffy white clouds punctuated the deep cerulean sky. Temps in the mid-sixties made it the perfect day for a hike through the forest. I took a deep breath - in through my nose and out through my mouth. And then again, to dispel the first date jitters, and quiet the nagging thoughts that maybe - just maybe - I was being stood up.

I slipped my mask up over my nose and mouth as I entered the Welcome Center and made my way down the short hall towards the ladies’ room. A woman was sitting on a bench near the restrooms, with a small Yorkie-type dog at her feet.

“Are you waiting?”, I asked, pointing toward the alcove.

She gave me the once over. “Oh. No. Just taking a break.”

I gave her a quick nod before heading in to change.

Once inside the stall, I slipped into my hiking clothes - a pair of black high-waisted Lycra shorts and cropped tank set, topped with a light cotton flannel that I tied at my waist. I looked in the mirror, pleased that the outfit I’d chosen looked great and flattered my figure. That’s when I realized what I’d forgotten - my trail shoes.

I looked down at my feet. And then at the pair of black leather ankle boots with a three-inch heel. Could I actually wear these on the trail and not look like I was trying too hard? I looked at the soles. They were rugged enough, and I was out of options. I slid them back on and zipped them up. Packed everything back into my ruck and wrestled it onto my shoulders. I fastened the hip belt and drew it snug across my pelvis. Mask in place and I was ready.

The woman with the dog was still on the bench when I emerged. I nodded and smiled, taking the seat on the opposite side of the narrow corridor. I could feel her eyes on me as I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked my messages. Nothing. Not a word.

I leaned my head back against the wall and let a long sigh filter through my mask before I looked across to her. I could feel the tension building between my brows. Not only was I stood up, now I was being judged. I cut my eyes up to meet her gaze.

She caught my look and stammered. “Your boots. They’re a bold choice for the trail.”

“Maybe so,” I said, my tone clipped. “But I just came from work and forgot my trail shoes.”

“You look cute. Don’t worry about it. I wish I had worn shorts.” She stopped and looked away for a second. “Is everything okay? I mean… you look… tense.”

“I’m fine. It’s just. Well. I was meeting up with this guy. A first date. And...” I took a deep breath. “I think he ditched me.”

“Oh. God. Dating. Yeah. It’s a shit show. Especially at our age…”

“That it is. I honestly thought this guy was different. Maybe I was wrong, but - hell - I hate to think about wasting this gorgeous day.”

She scooped her dog into her lap. “If you want company, I’d be happy to go along. What trail were you doing?”

“The M.B. You know, the white trail.”

“Ooh. That’s a long one. I’ve never done it. Mostly because I’m always alone and I just don’t think it’s safe. If you don’t mind Pepper, maybe we could go together.”

I chuckled. “If you don’t mind my boots...”

We both laughed, stood, and bumped elbows.

“I’m Bethany. My friends call me Beth.”

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I’m Claire.” She giggled. “My friends call me Claire.”

She and Pepper followed me out of the Welcome Center while I pulled up the All Trails app on my phone. I showed her the map of the trail and how we could take the Creech Hollow Trail as a shortcut if she wasn’t up for the full ten and a half miles. She agreed, saying that the full loop might be too much for her.

“Don’t worry about it, at all. Please. I’m just glad to be out.” I hitched my thumb back over my shoulder, “And I have enough water and snacks for all three of us.”

She eyed my backpack. “That’s some pack. You must hike a lot.”

“It’s my fitness thing. The pack’s made for carrying heavy weight so it stays balanced, etcetera.”

“What kind of weight? Like water and stuff?”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “That and a twenty-five pound steel plate. My total pack weight is somewhere between thirty-eight and forty pounds. Maybe a little more.”

She stopped. “Damn. That’s totally badass. And you’re so… tiny.”

I turned to her. “It’s called rucking. Hiking with a weighted pack. And it is how I got to be so tiny.” I winked. “Six years ago, after my husband died, I gained a lot of weight. Damn near sixty pounds. I didn’t care about anything. Rucking helped me get right in my head and the rest of it kind of fell into place.”

“I’m in that same sort of circumstance since I got divorced. It’s like food is my only comfort. Well, food and Pepper.”

“We’ve got a long hill coming up. It’s about a mile. Maybe a mile and a half. You up for it?”

“Lead on,” she said.

I slowed my pace, and we talked as we hiked the steep and rocky terrain. She told me about her husband. How he cheated and how she caught up to his philandering ways when he inadvertently connected with one of her co-workers on Tinder. How they devised a plan and executed it publicly at the Sonic.

The details stopped me dead in my tracks at the top of the hill. “Wait,” I said. “Your co-worker set up a date with your husband and you followed?”

“It was actually her idea, and we planned it all out. She pulled into a stall. He parked around back and got into her car. I was sitting at a table on the patio, watching. Waiting for him to make a play for her. Then I walked up to her car. She put the window down and said, ‘Bobby, I want you to meet my friend.’ He looked up, all smiles, until he realized it was me.”

“Talk about badass! Dang! What happened then?”

“Oh. He was pissed. He got out of the car. Slammed the door. And started yelling - accusing me of following him. I know I make it sound easy. And it’s kind of funny now. But it wasn’t funny at all. It’s been about a year and things are getting better. I started dating and… well, you know what that’s like.”

Yeah. I did. But our conversation flowed easily, and I had all but forgotten about my missed connection.

We walked the trail through the changing landscape to the access road, lined by fragrant pines that created a barrier from the public golf course, until we came to the shortcut around Creech Hollow Lake. The connecting trail gets a lot easier and cuts off about four miles back to the Welcome Center.

She said her longest hike had been between three and four miles and she was excited to have covered a six-mile trek. As we connected to the Story Book Trail, leading back to our cars, I asked her if she was hungry and invited her to join me for a light meal that I had packed in the cooler in the back of my car. A simple antipasto, crusty bread, and a bottle of Merlot.

“It was for my date. If it went well, I was going to invite him to share it with me. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? Heavens, no. I’m all up for it and in no hurry to get back to my apartment in Nashville.”

Back at my car, I shucked off my ruck and opened the cooler, pulling out the bottle of Merlot. “Meet Cute,” I chuckled, holding up the bottle so she could see the label.

“Oh. My… That guy has no idea what he missed! I LOVE it!” She laid the bottle back in place and turned to me. “Have you heard from him?”

I pulled out my phone as it pinged with notifications. A satisfied smile spread across my face.

Dear Beth, I’m so sorry. When we set up the date, I mistyped. I should have written it as Sunday. I was at work & away from my phone all day, installing a new exhibit @ the Metro Museum. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’d love to meet you tomorrow. I promise to make it worth your while. Please. Call me.

Attached was a photo of his handsome, smiling face, posed in front of a wall of art. And then another where he was pouting, holding a handwritten sign. Please. Forgive me. I am so very sorry.

I held it out to Claire.

“Awe. You gonna forgive him?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. I might. I’m going to call from the car. If you want to follow me, I know a place down by the creek where we can pull off and have a picnic. It’s outside of the state park but still public land so we can enjoy it, wine and all.”

With Pepper close at her heels, Claire helped me unload the cooler from my car and we carried it down the short shaded path to the picnic table near the creek. I dressed the table while she got Pepper his bowls of food and water.

She grinned and settled at the table. “So. I have to ask. How’d it all turn out with Mister Cute? You let him off the hook?”

I smiled sheepishly, poured the Merlot into pretty paper cups, and sat down across the table from her. “Yeah. I did. He said he was afraid that I would write him off. But then he said he’d make it worth my while and asked if I liked Merchant’s.”

She raised her cup in a toast and peeked over the rim. “And you said…?”

“I said, Mister, you just won yourself a second chance at a first date.” I raised my cup. “To new friends and second chances.”