Wrong Number, Right Woman Read online

  Wow?

  Yeah. Wow. I never thought you of all people would feel like that too.

  Truthfully, I think most women do. Few of my female friends are completely happy with every aspect of their bodies. It’s because we’re so used to being judged by how we look instead of what we accomplish. After a short pause, Eliza sent another text. Wait, what do you mean, me of all people?

  Shit. Denny couldn’t tell her how beautiful she thought Eliza was, could she? What if Eliza thought it was creepy or awkward?

  But Eliza had a lesbian best friend who probably paid her compliments all the time. Nothing creepy about that. She gave herself a mental kick in the pants. Well, because you’re really beautiful. Objectively speaking.

  Eliza sent back a blushing emoji. And you’re really sweet. Objectively speaking.

  There. Eliza hadn’t taken offense. She even thought Denny was sweet. Denny fought a very un-butch giggle and tried to finally relax. Today, all her insecurities seemed to be raising their ugly heads at the same time.

  “What’s up with you?” Salem squinted at her over the top of her gardening catalog. “Are you blushing?”

  Denny firmly shook her head. “No, of course not. Why would I be blushing?”

  “You tell me.” Salem waved at Denny’s phone. “Are you talking to Sandal Girl?”

  “I already told you her name is Eliza.”

  Salem shrugged. “I think Sandal Girl is more fun—and it’s fun to tease you by calling her that. So, are you talking to her?”

  “Yes, I am.” Before Salem could say anything else, Denny rounded the dining table and held out the phone. “Could you take a photo of me?”

  Salem gave her a knowing smile. “Ah, so that’s why you’re blushing. She talked you into sending her a photo!”

  “I said I’m not blushing.” Denny willed her cheeks to not flush again. “And she hasn’t talked me into anything. Well, not really. I just think it’s time to return the favor.”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you for weeks.” Salem took the phone, tapped the camera icon, and aimed the lens at Denny.

  Denny waved at her to lift the phone higher. “Shoot at a higher angle. I don’t want to have a double chin.”

  “Jeez, relax. And smile.”

  Denny forced the corners of her mouth up into a smile, but she doubted it came across as relaxed. A casual look was hard to achieve while sucking in your belly.

  “Breathe, sis,” Salem said. “I don’t want to end up taking a photo of your passed-out body.”

  Trying not to grit her teeth as her tension rose, Denny drew in a quick breath.

  Salem chose that moment to tap the trigger.

  Great. Denny groaned. She probably looked like a puffer fish in defense mode. But she didn’t have the nerve to have Salem snap another picture, so she took the phone from her and didn’t allow herself to glance at the photo as she sent it to Eliza.

  The second the word delivered appeared beneath the picture, she dropped onto a chair. Okay, it was done. No big deal, right?

  Eliza sat up on her couch and frowned at her phone.

  Denny had dropped out of the conversation after she’d called her sweet. Most of the time, Eliza found her shyness simply adorable, but sometimes, it made it hard for her to judge what was okay to say and what wasn’t. Had she crossed a line without meaning to?

  But they had told each other things they likely hadn’t told anyone else. It had been many years since Eliza had confided in anyone about her struggles with her lack of a bust as a teenager, much less admitted she sometimes still had moments when she looked at other women with envy.

  She knew Denny would understand and not judge, and she hoped Denny trusted her the same way.

  But now Denny wasn’t responding. What did that mean?

  Her phone chirped.

  Eliza blew out a breath. Denny had answered. She hadn’t chased her off.

  And it wasn’t just any reply.

  “Oh my God!” Denny had sent a picture.

  Eliza clutched the phone with both hands as she stared at the photo, taking in every detail of the person she had wondered about for the past month.

  The first thing she noticed was Denny’s smile. It was a little crooked, as if her lips were hesitant to form a grin. But fine lines around the corners of her full mouth showed she normally loved to smile.

  It made Eliza grin in return.

  Then her gaze veered to Denny’s eyes, which looked back at her from behind dark-framed glasses that gave her a geeky Rachel Maddow vibe. Eliza dragged her fingers over the screen to enlarge the photo so she could make out their color but still wasn’t sure if they were brown or had an olive tint. They, too, had fine lines around their corners that indicated Denny smiled a lot.

  Her face was lightly tanned, probably from the hours she had spent in the community garden lately, helping to build the high beds. A strand of her sandy-brown hair fell onto her broad forehead. Eliza guessed it might get some blonde streaks in summer. It was cut short along the sides and back but was slightly longer on top. Did Denny run her fingers through it when she got nervous?

  Eliza could see why Denny had trouble fitting into menswear. She had broad shoulders but also wide hips and full breasts, with not much definition at the waist and some softness around the middle that would probably make her a world-class hugger.

  Her broad hands were pressed to the outer seams of her pants, as if she was trying not to fidget.

  Her body language screamed how uncomfortable she was, yet she had bravely stood still while someone—her sister?—snapped a photo because Eliza had requested one.

  God, Denny. Eliza wished she could hug her until all her insecurities melted away and that forced smile turned into a real one.

  Eliza? Denny texted. That didn’t make you run, did it?

  Damn. Eliza had been so focused on the photo that she had forgotten Denny was waiting for a reaction. You look great! she typed.

  You really think so? Denny answered. I still need to hem the legs.

  Of course Denny assumed the compliment was meant for her clothes, as if she couldn’t believe Eliza liked the way she looked—but she did. Somehow, that strong but soft body and the vulnerable expression in her eyes fit the person she had been getting to know in the past five weeks.

  I’m talking about you. Although… She took in the gray chinos Denny was wearing. They were clearly a men’s cut, but they didn’t bunch up in the crotch or gape at the waist. They looked as if they had been made by a tailor who knew what they were doing. The pants look great too.

  You really mean that?

  Which of the two statements was she referring to? Knowing Denny, probably both, so Eliza simply answered, Of course I do. She watched the bubble with the three dots appear, then disappear.

  Finally, Denny typed, They’ve got nice, deep pockets too. Not those tiny ones women’s clothes usually have.

  So Denny had chosen to take the compliment as referring to her pants, not her looks. Eliza let it go for now. God, yes! I hate that. Are you taking orders?

  Seriously? Denny asked. You want me to make you a pair of pants?

  Of course I’m serious! And I bet I wouldn’t be the only one who’d want a pair. My crafter friends would pay good money for women’s jeans with real pockets. You could make some money if you wanted.

  Denny sent back a wide-eyed emoji. Do you honestly think the stuff I sew is good enough to sell?

  Totally. If you want me to put some of your creations on Etsy, just send me a couple of photos.

  Etsy, No More Frogs… Before I know it, you’ll have me on TikTok and Instagram!

  Eliza smiled. It was so typical of Denny to react to a compliment with a joke. Nah. I think two new platforms at a time are enough for a senior citizen like you. Have you given No More Frogs some more thought?

  You mean in the two minutes since I last told you I’d think about it?

  Yep. So? While she didn’t want to pressure Denny, a sweetheart
like her deserved to have someone who appreciated her.

  This time, she had to wait a minute until Denny’s answer came.

  Okay. I’ll give it a try. But if the women on No More Frogs are as bad as the men, I’m outta there.

  Deal. If her own streak of bad dates didn’t improve anytime soon, they could leave the dating platform together. Eliza took her laptop off the coffee table and entered the No More Frogs URL into the browser bar.

  Photos of happy couples popped up on her screen, each with a man and a woman sharing a candlelight dinner, walking hand in hand, and feeding each other wedding cake. As she did any time she visited the site, she wondered whether they were real or hired models.

  So, what do I need to do? Do they really want to know my turn-ons and turn-offs?

  Denny sounded a bit scared, which made Eliza grin. Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to list your sexual preferences. It’s more about the must-haves and deal breakers when it comes to dating. What are you looking for in a woman?

  Someone who’s honest yet kind and caring. Denny’s answer came fast, as if she had spent a lot of time thinking about it. I’d like to meet a woman who appreciates me for me, without me having to lose weight, buy a fancy car, or start a glamorous career. Someone who gets me and who laughs at my silly attempts at being funny. Oh, and she has to like my family, of course. Denny paused before adding, Does that sound too cheesy?

  Maybe it did a little, at least it might to other people. But Eliza knew it was exactly what Denny needed. No, that sounds perfect.

  Phew. Anything else?

  Eliza scrolled down the page on her laptop. Yes. There are about two dozen questions total.

  Two dozen? Jeez, are they planning to write my biography?

  Eliza laughed. Stop complaining, or I’ll tell your future soul mate once I meet her.

  Okay, okay. So, what’s the next question?

  Finish this statement: On a typical Friday night, I am…

  Texting you, Denny answered.

  Warmth spread through Eliza’s chest, but she doubted anyone else would find that answer as endearing. I can’t write that.

  Why not? That’s what you’ll find me doing on a typical Friday night. Any night, really.

  Because you want your profile to stand out and sound interesting, Eliza answered. And while I think texting me should be the highlight of anyone’s day, others might not share that opinion. So how about: having fun with friends?

  That doesn’t stand out either, Denny replied. But I don’t want to pretend I’m someone I’m not. That will only result in women being disappointed when they actually meet me.

  Eliza slowly shook her head. You know what? The better I get to know you, the less I understand how that could ever happen.

  Denny didn’t answer for a full minute or two. When a message arrived, it was a blushing emoji. Um, thanks. Okay, next?

  Smiling, Eliza scrolled to the next question. Your three best adulting skills. And don’t say helping me pick after-date snacks.

  Bummer. There goes my fabulous adulting skill number one.

  A chuckle rose up Eliza’s chest. Filling out Denny’s profile was way more fun than filling out her own had been.

  It had taken three hours to complete Denny’s profile, mostly because they had bantered back and forth and kept getting sidetracked discussing each of the questions and exchanging stories about their lives.

  Eliza didn’t mind at all because it had revealed interesting insights into Denny and had given them a chance to get to know each other better.

  Finally, they reached the end of the questionnaire.

  What do I do now? Denny asked.

  Go to bed, Eliza answered. It’s nearly eleven, and if I’m not mistaken, you have to work tomorrow.

  No, I mean, yes, I do, but… What happens now that we’ve set up my profile?

  You could look at other people’s profiles, and if anyone sounds interesting, you could send her a message, Eliza typed.

  Or I could just wait to see if someone messages me, right?

  Oh, Denny. Eliza shook her head but smiled at the same time. Yes, you could do that.

  Okay, great. Thanks so much for helping me. Still can’t believe you talked me into this.

  You’re welcome. Just name your firstborn after me, and I’ll consider us even.

  I’m forty-one, Denny replied. I don’t think kids are in the cards for me. But we could name Bella’s budgie after you, if she gets one.

  Eliza imagined Denny’s niece talking to the budgie. “Why did you poop all over my homework? Bad bird, Eliza.” She grimaced and typed, Don’t you dare.

  Denny sent a grinning devil emoji. We’ll see. But first, I need some sleep, or I won’t like you at all when my alarm goes off tomorrow morning.

  Sleep tight.

  You too. Talk tomorrow.

  They exchanged hugging emojis—a relatively new thing—and then her phone went silent.

  Eliza considered reading for a while or catching up on the new season of Central Precinct but then decided to go to bed too. She trudged to the bathroom.

  Her phone pinged.

  With her toothbrush in one cheek, she crossed her studio apartment. It wasn’t the first time one of them had picked up the conversation after they had said good night. In fact, most nights, they said goodbye at least three times before they really stopped texting each other one last thing they wanted to say.

  But just as she reached the phone, she realized it hadn’t been the chirp associated with Denny’s texts.

  She unlocked the screen.

  It was a text from Heather. You awake?

  Yes. What’s up?

  No answer came. With the phone in one hand and the toothbrush in the other, she wandered back to the bathroom.

  Less than a minute later, a key was shoved into the lock, and Heather burst into the apartment as if the building were on fire.

  Eliza nearly swallowed a mouthful of toothpaste. She spat it out. “Heather! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?”

  “Look what I found!” Heather held out her phone. “It’s her!”

  “Who? What?” Eliza rinsed her mouth and dried her face, blinking water from her lashes.

  “Butch Auntie! I told you about her, remember? The one who was at the bus stop covered in ketchup one day.”

  Eliza remembered that story. “What about her?”

  “She’s on No More Frogs! Look!” Heather thrust the phone at her.

  Eliza took it and glanced at the small screen.

  Denny’s photo—the one she had uploaded to No More Frogs a few hours ago—stared back at her. “Wait. This is Butch Auntie?” She slapped her forehead. Of course! Hadn’t Heather even mentioned the name of Butch Auntie’s niece once or twice? There probably weren’t many kids named Bella with a butch aunt in Portland.

  Heather’s locks bounced as she nodded firmly. “I’m pretty sure it’s her. I mean, her handle is Shy_in_Portland, not Butch Auntie, and she looks different in her profile photo, all dressed up. When she picks up Bella, she’s usually wearing baggy jeans and a faded T-shirt or a cashier’s uniform. But I’m sure it’s her.”

  “It is,” Eliza murmured, still staring at the phone. God, the world really was a small place, wasn’t it?

  “What? You mean, you know her too?”

  “Yeah. This is Denny.”

  “Denny? Butch Auntie is your Denny?”

  “Well, she’s not exactly mine, but…yeah. This is her. I just helped her set up her profile. How on earth did you find it so fast?”

  Heather shrugged. “I was making a wet-molded leather pouch and scrolling through No More Frogs while I waited for it to dry. That’s when I saw her photo.”

  They dropped onto the couch and stared at each other. “Wow,” they said at the same time.

  Heather scrolled through Denny’s profile and smiled at some of the answers. “So she’s single and looking for love, huh?”

  Eliza nodded.
>
  “Do you think it would be a bad idea for me to send her a message? I know I shouldn’t mix work and my private life, but there aren’t many single lesbians—especially not lesbians my bestie has already vetted for me—and she is kind of cute. Maybe a little too introverted for me, but you know what they say about the quiet ones… They usually turn out to be tigers in bed. Roar!” Heather formed a claw with her hand and playfully swiped the air.

  Eliza elbowed her in the ribs. “You read her profile, right? She’s looking for a serious relationship, not a roll in the hay.”

  Heather let her claw-shaped hand drop to her lap. “Hey, no need to get defensive. I was just kidding. What happened to your sense of humor?”

  “Sorry, I…” She knew how hard dating was for Denny, and that was probably why she was a bit overprotective. But she couldn’t violate Denny’s trust by explaining that to Heather.

  Heather studied her. “So you think it’s a bad idea?”

  “I didn’t say that.” It wasn’t a bad idea, was it? At least she was reasonably sure Denny wasn’t a transphobic asshole who would hurt Heather, and she knew Heather wouldn’t make fun of Denny for her extra pounds or being shy. Total win-win situation, right?

  Then why wasn’t she enthusiastically nudging Heather to contact Denny right away? She’d have to examine the kernel of unease that had taken root deep inside her gut—later.

  “Okay,” Heather said. “It’s too late to make any decisions anyway. I’ll take counsel with my pillow for a night or two, maybe talk it through with Benedita to see if she thinks it could get me into trouble with the school.”

  “Yeah, that sounds reasonable.”

  “All right. Sorry for bursting in so late. Sweet dreams.” Heather gave her a one-armed squeeze before getting up and walking to the door, where she turned one last time and pointed back at Eliza. “By the way, you’ve got toothpaste on your chin.”

  The door clicked shut, leaving Eliza to stare after her and rub her chin.

  Two of her worlds were colliding unexpectedly, and it sent her head spinning in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

  Chapter 10

  The next Friday, Denny’s boss let her leave early to get her wrist looked at.