I can’t believe this is going to be my life. Untying my apron and peeling it off my diner uniform, I look around at the other waitresses taking over now that I’m off. Jennifer is barely twenty, and Fiona is still just a fresh-faced baby at nineteen. They’re both almost ten years younger than me, and yet they have plans to go to school in the fall and leave this diner as a greasy stain on their résumés.

At twenty-eight, every month that passes by seems to whittle down my life options. I thought I had this figured out. Last week I received an acceptance letter from New York’s City College for their Undergraduate Childhood Education program. I had jumped the first hurdle to reaching my dream of getting my Bachelor of Science in Education, and I was ecstatic. My shifts at the diner flew by as I started planning my life after this place. Hell, I wasn’t even upset that Colt never called me like he said he would.

Then yesterday it all came crashing to a halt when I found out I wouldn’t be getting enough student funding to cover my tuition, let alone books and fees. This job barely pays the rent as it is, so it’s not like I’ll be dipping into my extensive savings.

Basically, I’m fucked. Now I have to figure out another way out of this dump. This isn’t a job for a woman soon to be in her thirties, and this isn’t the job I want to raise a family on.

Of course, I’d have to find a man who actually calls me to start thinking about kids. Maybe I should teach myself to type at a decent speed and get into a temp agency somewhere for some clerical work, but I’m not holding my breath.

Watching Fiona and Jennifer laugh and joke around makes me feel old and sad. I need to walk my sore feet to the bus stop and have an early night. Heading out into the darkness, I grab my phone. Two missed calls and a voicemail. Did Julia get back from her honeymoon early? Listening to the message, I’m shocked when Colt’s sultry voice teases my ear.

“Hey, Isabella, it’s Colt. I’m just finishing up my business trip and flying back into New York tonight, so I thought I’d check in and see if you’re still up for grabbing some dinner or drinks sometime. I’d love to hear from you. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since I left. So... I’ll be in tomorrow if you want to give me a call. Oh, I guess I should give you my number.” He laughs and my heartbeat flutters. “It’s 212-573-5431. Talk soon.”

After I left Colt’s place in a cab nearly two weeks ago in the middle of the night, I never expected to hear from him again. I didn’t think he really had a business trip to go on, since I’ve heard it all before. That night went from being one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life to feeling like just another fuck and chuck in minutes.

When he didn’t call me the next day, or the days after that, I pushed him out of my mind as well as I could. I don’t want my hopes to be soaring as high as they are right now. It’s a long way to come crashing back down from up there. Yet, I can’t help the excitement shivering through me at the thought of going on an actual date with Colt. Just hearing his voice again made my body go from feeling like it’s been doing hard labor to spending a day being pampered at a spa.

Should I call him now? He might be in already. No, I don’t want to come off as desperate. Watching the bus arrive, I’m drawn into the eerie glow lighting up the tired faces inside. It looks like a portable waiting room at the doctor’s office, where everyone is avoiding eye contact and hoping not to catch anything from the people they’re crammed in with.

My self-control lasts as long as it takes to find a seat. I pull my phone back out. After all, one little text message doesn’t seem desperate. If anything it’s just good manners to let him know I got his message, right?

I read my message over and over, hoping it sounds friendly but casual. This is the problem with technology. It makes every little sentence take on so much more meaning. I swear world wars have been started over things like misinterpreted texts. Then again, I might be blowing this out of proportion.

Just a little.

Pressing send, I sit and watch my screen like a hawk, hoping to get a reply. By the time the bus reaches my stop, I still haven’t heard anything, though. Well, at least I have something better to focus on than self-pity and my exhaustion tonight.