The Dating Proposal(46)

He grins like a sly dog. “I had a feeling. It makes for that little extra spark. But it makes me a little nervous, admittedly, given the past.”

My muscles tighten. The last thing I want is for the boss to be uneasy. “It’s not the same.”

“I know. I can tell. And the viewers can too. This is different. Just listen.”

As I eat the yogurt, he proceeds to read a sampling of the emails, and it’s like I’m being sprinkled with gold dust. I couldn't be happier that the new concept has gone over so well.

After we tackle a few more items, he hands me the stack of papers. “Be sure to share the viewer comments with your lovely lady. And don’t forget—always tell her how special she is to you.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” I say, appreciating the rare moment of candor and honest advice from the guy.

“She’s a good one. So are you. And listen, I know you beat yourself up about the other one. But you’re right—this isn’t the same. Not one bit. Carly wasn’t a happy person. She took it out on you.”

I’m surprised he’s so aware of the details, since I never discussed Carly with him. But then, Bruce doesn’t miss much. He might be old-school, he might print his emails, he might cringe at my occasionally hipster ways, but he’s sharp and whip-smart at his job. He sees everything and steps in when he needs to.

“Thanks. I think I needed to hear that.”

I head to my office, noodling on what he said. The assurance was good to hear, but as I sink down in my leather chair and flip through the emails, I’m also aware that I’ve had to reach the same conclusion, and to do so on my own terms.



Carly is the past. She’s not my present, and she’s not my future. I can’t let whatever mistakes she or I made then dictate how I live my life now.

And how I love.

I can’t give the past that power.

And I won’t.

That knowledge fills me with a newfound certainty as I read through a few more emails.

Most of them make me smile.

But then I come across one that’s not quite so smiley face.



Chris:

Your new segment sux. It’s boring AF and obvious you just put your GF on the show to get into her pants. Go back to game talk. Not the dating game.

David





Ouch.

That hurts.

I set the page down and shift my gaze to the wall and a framed photo of a surfer gloriously riding through the barrel of a fifty-footer. The waves curl over him majestically, threatening to take him under if he doesn't ride it just so.

Just right.

Just like he knows how.

Because this guy knows balance.

I take the paper, crumple it up, and toss David’s note into the recycling bin. I’m sure it was an oversight that Bruce’s assistant printed this email for me.

Just as I’m sure that it doesn't bother me.

A couple weeks ago—hell, a few days ago—it would have gnawed away at my confidence, made me wonder if I was giving my all to Geeking Out, or if I was getting distracted by a girl.

Now?

I want the perfect girl more than I want a perfect show.

The show is good enough. Hell, it’s great most of the time. It doesn't have to be perfect, and it doesn't have to be everything to everyone.

I’m doing my best, and that’s all I can do.

As I turn to my computer to work on the lineup for the next episode, my phone buzzes on my desk.

Grabbing it, I find a message from my buddy.



Cooper: Yo. Karaoke tonight with the crew. You still in? You bringing your new woman?





Chris: I’m down. Let me check with her.





Cooper: Ah, so you do admit you’re into her.





Chris: Yeah, the cat’s out of the bag on that.





Cooper: I knew it. I’m always right.





Chris: If you’re always right, tell me you’ll win next weekend in Baltimore.





Cooper: I’ll own Baltimore. Also, I’ll see your skinny ass tonight. I’m thinking Foreigner’s “Feels Like the First Time” ought to bring the crowd home.





Chris: You should have been on a Broadway stage. You’re such a performer.





Cooper: I believe you mean in a stadium. Since I was clearly a rocker in my other life.





Chris: Such an active imagination too.





I’m about to text McKenna when I decide I’d rather hear her voice.

She answers on the first ring. “Hey! What are you up to?”

Like the wave just crested, I slide into the barrel, going for it. “I got this note from a viewer. It was all about how he doesn’t like the segment we do.”

“Oh, that sucks,” she says, sounding disappointed.

“That was the gist of it. But here’s the thing. A few months ago, it would have gotten in my head. One little email would have made me doubt my commitment to the show. Today? I don’t give a shit.” I lean back in my chair and grin, feeling like all is right in the world.

“You don’t?”