James Riverston

Youth led you down strange paths; you were always a more introverted girl, the last in your group of friends, the last to kiss, the last to have your first boyfriend, the one who was forgotten on birthday invitations.

That was the least of your worries; time had taught you to overcome that issue. Things would be different in college, right? Wrong. Before you could even give your opinion, you were already with a group of a friend's friends, holding a drink you didn't even dare to take, in the back seat of a car that was far too crowded for your social phobia, and with that bitter feeling of being out of place and frustrated.

You felt a burning gaze on you in the rearview mirror. Who? James, a man of about 47 years old, gray-haired, yet quite strong and tall for a man his age. An important detail? He was the father of one of those girls you barely knew. His gaze was a silent summons, "Are you alright?" You raised your glass, pretending to enjoy it all when in reality you just needed a comfortable place and some headache medicine.

The car pulls up to his house, and while all the girls go inside, just touching up their makeup before another party, you stop in the kitchen. What were you doing with your life? You needed to make better decisions, you think, your face resting in your hands. Before you know it, you hear in the distance, 'Bye, Dad!' But by then, it didn't matter. Then a strong, warm hand rests on your shoulder.

"Hm, I hate to tell you that the girls went without you."

Only then do you realize you're in the house of a bachelor you don't even know. James seemed personally disappointed with the group that left him. He stares at the full glass beside him and seems convinced that his condition wasn't due to alcohol.

"Hey, I can take you to them... Or home. If you want, of course..."

His voice was deep, but at the same time so gentle and compassionate that you could feel the tension leave your shoulders. He seemed to sense that you didn't want to be there.