The weekly appointment that had nothing to do with my nails

The first time Ryan touched my hand, we were both reaching for the same dumbbell at the gym.

Our fingers bumped, and he pulled his hand back so quickly that I laughed.

A month later, I was sitting across from him every week, paying for manicures my nails did not need.

My name is Jasmine. I am 41 years old, Black, curvy, and living in Auburn, Alabama.

I had seen Ryan at the gym before, but we had never spoken. He was 31, Vietnamese, quiet, and usually kept his headphones on.

That day, he offered me the dumbbell even though he had reached it first. We started talking while taking turns with it.

He told me he worked as a nail tech nearby. I was surprised because I had never met a male nail tech before.

He showed me a few pictures of his work on his phone. He was especially good at detailed designs.

A few days later, I searched for his salon.

I told myself I needed a manicure for work. That was partly true, but there were several salons closer to my house.

I chose his because I wanted to see him again.

Ryan looked surprised when I walked in.

He asked whether I had come to make sure he really worked there.

I laughed and told him my nails needed help.

During the appointment, we talked more than we ever had at the gym. He asked about my job, my family, and how long I had lived in Auburn.

He never made the conversation feel forced.

I also noticed how careful he was with my hands.

I have always been a little self-conscious about them. My fingers are thick, and an old boyfriend once joked that bright colors made them look bigger.

Ryan helped me choose a warm brown shade with a little gold. He said it looked good with my skin tone.

When he finished, I actually loved my nails.

I planned to return in three weeks.

I went back the following Saturday.

Nothing was wrong except one tiny rough edge that I could have fixed myself.

Ryan filed it in a few seconds and told me I was done.

Instead of leaving, I asked for another color.

He smiled but did not question me.

After that, I started booking every week.

Sometimes I got a manicure. Sometimes I asked for a simple design. Once, I changed a perfectly good color because I claimed it did not match a dress.

The truth was that I liked sitting with him.

I liked how he remembered small things I had said. I liked hearing about salon customers and his plans to have his own private nail studio someday.

I also liked watching him work.

My friends started asking why my nails suddenly looked different every week.

I said I had found a new hobby.

I did not tell them my hobby was a man ten years younger than me.

That age difference stayed in my mind.

Ryan was friendly with every customer. Women laughed with him all day, and some of them were younger and thinner than me.

Whenever I started thinking he might like me, I reminded myself that being friendly was part of his job.

Then one evening at the gym, a man made a rude comment about my size.

It was not the worst thing anyone had ever said to me, so I ignored him.

Ryan did not.

He calmly told the man there was no reason to comment on someone else’s body or workout.

It did not become a fight. The man walked away, and Ryan returned to his exercise like nothing had happened.

I thanked him.

He said he knew I could defend myself, but the man still needed to hear it.

That was when my feelings became harder to ignore.

At my next appointment, I asked whether he ever dated customers.

Ryan stopped working for a second.

He said it was usually not a good idea.

I felt embarrassed immediately.

I acted like I was only making conversation, but the rest of the appointment felt awkward.

After that, I stopped going to his salon.

I also changed the time I went to the gym.

I told myself I needed to get over a silly crush.

Two weeks later, Ryan sent me a message through social media.

He asked whether he had done something wrong.

I almost lied, but I was tired of wondering.

I told him I liked him and had probably misunderstood his kindness.

Ryan replied that I had misunderstood, but not in the way I thought.

He said the salon owner did not want employees asking customers out while they were working. He had been afraid I would feel pressured because I was sitting at his station and paying for a service.

Then he admitted he had noticed my weekly appointments.

He knew my nails did not need that much work.

I wanted to disappear from embarrassment.

He said he never mentioned it because he liked seeing me too.

Ryan asked whether I wanted coffee somewhere outside the salon.

I agreed.

Our first date was simple. We met at a coffee shop and talked for almost two hours.

I finally asked why a 31-year-old man wanted to date a 41-year-old woman.

He said he had never looked at me and thought only about my age.

He liked that I was confident, funny, and direct. He also liked that I never acted differently around him because he worked in a nail salon.

I asked whether my body bothered him.

He looked genuinely confused by the question.

That made me realize most of the problem had been inside my own head.

We started dating slowly.

I still worried about the age difference, but Ryan never hid me or acted embarrassed in public.

The salon workers figured it out almost immediately.

One of them joked that I had spent enough on unnecessary manicures to help pay Ryan’s rent.

She was probably right.

We have been together for a little over a year now.

I no longer book weekly appointments. Ryan says my nails need time to recover from the months when I kept inventing reasons to see him.

Sometimes we still use the same gym.

Whenever we reach for the same dumbbell, he lets me take it.

He says the last time we shared one, it became the most expensive piece of equipment he ever touched.

He is talking about all those manicures.

I still think they were worth it.