I slam the boot shut, put the cart away in the cart corral and slide behind the driver’s seat.Â I roll down the window as I turn on the ignition.Â “I can’t believe I got his number,” I say and pull it out of my pocket for another look:Â Jae Elliot â€“ 895-184-5346.
And in a gust of wind, it’s gone.Â “Oh, no!” I cry as the paper sails through the air across the car park.Â I open the door and jog a few steps to catch it, my boobs and flab rebounding with each step.Â The paper lands on the asphalt and I hurry toward it, but three steps away the wind picks it up and sends it whirling overhead, setting it down several yards away.
I’m puffing from the exertion as I jog again, but as soon as I get close, it flies farther away.Â I stand there, hands on my hips, trying to catch my breath and debating whether to keep after it or let it go.Â I really liked what I saw of Jae and wanted to get to know him better, but I just couldn’t keep up the chase.
The paper lay tantalizingly on the ground for several seconds, as if it knows I have decided to give up and therefore gave up as well. Â Then I take a step in its direction and the wind picks it up again.
I return to the car.
“Did you get everything you needed?” Sands asks a I walk through the door.
“And then some” I reply.Â Sands cocks an eyebrow at me in question.Â “I also got the number of a gentleman who wants to take me skydiving.”
A smile slowly spreads across her face.Â “See?Â What’d I tell you?Â How about that.”Â She pauses.Â “Skydiving?Â When?”
My shoulders droop.Â “Never.Â I lost his number.”
“You did what?Â How?”
I start putting away groceries. Â Sands grabs a few items.Â “The wind blew it out of my hand.Â I ran across the parking lot to get it but couldn’t.”
“What’s his name?Â We can look him up online.”
I stash the oranges in the refrigerator.Â “I didn’t get his last name, just his first.Â It’s Jae with an E.Â He runs an adventure tourism business.”
“Jae with an E?Â That’s weird.Â But it might make it easier to find him.Â How many Jae’s with an E who run adventure businesses can there be?”
Before I can reply, the phone rings.Â The caller ID flashes Tiresa Vaega, the very last person in the world I want to talk to after this latest letdown.
I walk away from the phone.Â “Who is it?” Sands asks as she helps put away the groceries.
“Tiresa,” I grumble.
“Bella,” Sands says in her best mother voice, “what did I just tell you not one hour ago about sabotaging relationships?”
“Sands, I’m not in the mood to be told again that I’m not officially invited to their engagement party and how I need to keep a low profile to as not to embarrass her.”