Everly Dalton's Dating Disasters

by Claire Kingsley

  “Thank you. And thanks for… this.” I gestured to our opulent surroundings. Dark wood and plush leather. Glittering candlelight. A piano played jazz in the background. The whole place felt very retro-glamorous.

  “Sure,” he said, his eyes darting around for half a second, like he was only minimally impressed.

  I picked up the menu and scanned through the selections. El Gaucho was upscale—and pricey. I knew that, but now that it was time to decide what to order, I was a little nervous. What was he going to choose? Maybe I’d insist he go first so I could get a better feel for what he expected.

  The server came over—a nice-looking man in his thirties with spiky hair and the sleeves on his black shirt rolled up.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Can I start you off with a drink? Wine, perhaps?”

  Stephen’s eyes trailed over the wine list and he rubbed his chin. “We’ll have a bottle of Salishan Cellars Reserve Cabernet.”

  “Excellent choice,” the server said. “I’ll give you some time to decide on dinner.”

  I caught a glimpse of the wine list as the server took it. Had he really just ordered a two-hundred-dollar bottle of wine?

  Stephen glanced at his menu briefly, then put it down, as if he’d already decided. He watched me, his eyes panning up and down, and the corner of his mouth lifted again. The way he openly appraised me with that heated gaze made my core tingle.

  I tried to keep my attention on the menu, but he bit his bottom lip. God, the bottom lip bite. My body instantly reacted—heart beating faster, cheeks flushing. A rush of heat hit me between the legs, so startling I shifted in my seat.

  Wow. I was having a serious physical reaction to this guy.

  But I was still wondering about the wine. And how he’d insisted on picking me up, rather than meeting here. The way he’d paused outside his car before opening the door had made me wonder if he was making sure I noticed he drove a Tesla.

  The server came back with the wine. He poured a small amount in one glass for us to sample, but before he could pour the second, Stephen held up a finger to stop him. He took the glass, lifted it to his nose, and sniffed. Then he swirled the wine a few times and took a tiny sip.

  He set the glass down. “Acceptable. Go ahead.”

  The only reaction from the server was a slight pinching of his lips. He finished pouring Stephen’s wine, then poured mine.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, flashing the server a bright smile.

  It was odd that Stephen hadn’t let the server pour a sample for me first. Although I supposed he was paying for it. At least I hoped he was, if this really was two hundred dollars.

  I picked up my glass and took a sip. It certainly tasted like two-hundred-dollar wine—or what I imagined two-hundred-dollar wine would taste like. It slipped past my tongue and down my throat like silk. The flavor was rich with a spicy note at the end that lingered on my palate. I’d had nice wines before, but this was incredible.

  “Wow,” I said, setting my glass down. “No wonder you chose this one. It’s delicious.”

  He took another sip, then peered at his glass as if he were studying the contents. “It’s not bad.”

  “Are you a wine aficionado?”

  “I know enough to make sure I always get good quality.”

  “Ah.” Unsure of what else to say, I went back to the menu. “It’s hard to decide. What are you thinking?”

  “I always get the steak trio.”

  He made it sound like this was his regular hang-out—like Brody’s for me and my girlfriends—not one of the nicer restaurants in Seattle. And the steak trio was one of the most expensive entrees on the menu.

  “That does look good,” I said. “But it’s probably too much food for me.”

  “Order anything you want,” he said with that subtle grin. There was something in his tone that made my back twitch.

  Talk about mixed signals. I didn’t know what to do with this guy. He looked at me like he wanted me for dessert, and I liked the hints of aggression he was giving me. Like he’d be commanding and bossy—in all the best ways. But I couldn’t get over the sense that he was showing off. There was a thin line between confidence and arrogance, and he was leaning to the wrong side.

  The server came back and asked to take our orders. Although he looked at me, Stephen piped up first, ordering the Dungeness crab cocktail with prawns, a bowl of truffle soup, and the steak trio.

  When he finished, his eyes rested on me, although he was still talking to the server. “And whatever my lovely date wants.”

  There was that tone again. It wasn’t gracious. He didn’t sound pleased because he was treating me to a nice dinner. He was smug, like he wanted both me and the server to know this was nothing to him.

  Well, then. If he wanted to show off, perhaps I’d let him.

  “I’ll take the sea scallops to start. Then the delicata squash salad. And the filet medallions.” My dinner alone would be over a hundred dollars.

  “Excellent,” the server said.

  After the server left with our orders, I sipped my wine while Stephen launched into a story about his latest vacation—private surfing lessons in Costa Rica. No wonder he was so tan. At first, picturing him wet in nothing but board shorts was a nice image. But he had to emphasize the fact that he’d hired one of the best—and most expensive—surfing instructors in the world.

  The appetizers came, and the scallops were melt-in-my-mouth amazing. I had more wine, then started in on my salad while Stephen talked about work, and some of his other exotic vacations. He asked a few questions about me, so at least there was a little give and take. I found myself bouncing back and forth between being interested and feeling that tickle of annoyance at his arrogance.

  But it was a first date, and maybe he was just trying to make a good impression.

  The server brought our entrees. I was already full from my appetizer and salad, and feeling a little silly for having ordered so much food.

  Stephen dug right into his meal. I took my knife and fork and cut a small bite.

  “Greece is really amazing, though,” he said, picking up the thread of conversation from before our entrees arrived. “There’s a villa overlooking the Mediterranean that’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.”

  “Sounds lovely.” I took another bite.

  He grinned again. “I’m planning another trip there in a few months. Maybe I won’t have to go alone this time.”

  I started to swallow so I could reply, when my throat suddenly tightened. My chest contracted painfully and I covered my mouth to keep from coughing.

  It was then I realized I couldn’t breathe.

  I clutched my throat, my eyes widening. Oh my god, I was choking on a piece of steak.

  “Everly?” Stephen asked. “Are you all right?”

  With my hand still on my throat, I shook my head. I got a thin wisp of air in and out of my lungs—my airway wasn’t completely closed off—but my chest burned and panic started to rise.

  “Are you going to be sick?” Stephen asked, leaning away from the table.

  I shook my head again, faster, and pointed to my throat.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his expression marred by disgust. He glanced around. “Can you just… go to the bathroom until you feel better?”

  I took another gasping breath and tried to cough, but the steak wouldn’t budge. Why wasn’t he helping me?

  Stephen adjusted his cuffs and glanced around at the other diners again. “Everly, this is a little much. You’re going to cause a scene.”

  I let out a little squeak—it was all I could get out—and the people at the table next to us looked over.

  “Miss, are you okay?”

  “Jesus,” Stephen said, putting his napkin on the table. “I can’t believe you’re going to just sit here and vomit on the table.”

  I shook my head yet again, pointing to my throat. I’m not going to puke, you asshole; I’m choking!

  �
�Miss?”

  Turning toward the voice, I gestured to my throat again.

  “Oh my god, she’s choking.”

  Stephen stood. Finally.

  A plump woman wearing a shiny blazer and chunky jewelry darted to my side and hauled me out of my chair. Her arms went around my ribs and she clasped her hands against the base of my sternum. I grunted as she rammed her fists into the base of my chest. Once. Twice. Again.

  The piece of steak dislodged and flew out of my mouth. It bounced off the center of our table and rolled onto the floor.

  Clutching my hands to my chest, I sucked in a deep breath. In, out. Precious oxygen filled my burning lungs.

  “Oh sweetie, are you all right?” The woman stroked my back, like a mother comforting a sick child.

  I sank into my chair, wishing I could crawl under the table. All eyes in the restaurant were on me, and some of the wait staff had gathered around our table.

  “I think so.” My voice came out raspy.

  “Here.” She handed me a cloth napkin from the table—maybe it had been mine—and pulled Stephen’s chair around so she could sit. “Take your time.”

  “Thank you so much. I was choking, and… I don’t know how that happened.”

  “I’m just glad I was here to help.” She nodded toward the empty side of the table. “Especially since your date didn’t.”

  “Wait, where is he?”

  “I think he left.”

  I covered my mouth as I coughed again. “He left?”

  She was right. I looked around the restaurant and didn’t see any sign of Stephen. He was gone.

  “I have so many problems with this, I don’t even know where to begin,” Nora said. “Someone had to do the Heimlich maneuver on you last night and we’re just now hearing about it?”

  I waved her off. “Once it was over, I was fine. My chest is a little sore, but I’m okay.”

  “You should have called me,” Nora said.

  “I told you, I’m fine.” I took another sip of my martini. “By the time I got home, I just wanted to go to bed.”

  “You should consider following up with your physician,” Hazel said.

  “Stephen left?” Nora asked. “You were choking and he left?”

  “Yep. Walked right out.”

  “What an asshole,” Nora said.

  Hazel nodded. “Asshole is a mild word for that kind of deplorable behavior.”

  “Wait.” Nora pointed a manicured finger at me. “Did he stick you with the bill?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Yeah, he did.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Nora said.

  “I couldn’t make this stuff up,” I said. “You know what? I’m done with men for a while. Maybe forever. What kind of jerk walks away from someone choking?”

  “To be fair, Stephen’s actions don’t represent all men,” Hazel said.

  “I know, but I thought I was getting something right this time. He seemed so confident and put together. I wouldn’t mind a guy who’s a bit… commanding, you know? Not controlling or assholeish, but a guy who knows what he wants? That sounded nice. But he bailed when I needed help.”

  “It’s so tempting to camp out in the lobby of your building so I can tell that prick what I think,” Nora said.

  “Oh my god, please don’t,” I said. “It’s bad enough that he works there. How am I going to avoid him?”

  “You’re not,” Nora said. “You’re going to glare at him like he kicked a puppy in front of you and you’ll never forgive him for it.”

  “That’s acceptable advice,” Hazel said, adjusting her glasses again.

  “Thanks, Hazel,” Nora said with a smile. Her eyes flicked past me. “Don’t turn, but someone’s coming to our table.”

  “What?” I twisted around to look. She was right. A guy dressed in a light gray sweater and slacks was approaching.

  “I told you not to look.”

  “You can’t just say don’t look and expect the person not to.”

  Nora put her drink down and smiled at the man, flashing her perfect teeth. He was attractive—almost pretty—with stylish blond hair and blue eyes.

  “Excuse me ladies,” he said with a smile. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

  “You’re not a bother,” Nora said.

  He turned to me. “This is probably going to sound silly, but my friend over there thinks you’re very pretty, but he’s too shy to come over and introduce himself.”

  I glanced over to where his friend stood by the bar. He shook his head and looked away. It was… rather cute. Endearing.

  “Well, that’s… sweet,” Nora said.

  “I’m Jake, and my friend is Preston. I tried to get him to come over and say hello, but like I said, he’s shy. Would you be willing to write down your number? Maybe I’ll be able to talk him into texting you.”

  I peeked at Preston again. It was hard to tell from this distance, but was he blushing? He was tall and lean, dressed similarly to Jake, in a sweater and slacks. Attractive. Nice hair.

  I looked between Hazel and Nora, lifting my eyebrows. Should I?

  Hazel gave me a little nod. Nora nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders, but that was as good as a yes from her.

  “All right,” I said. “My name’s Everly.”

  “Thank you, Everly.” Jake put a business card on the table, back side up, and handed me a pen. I jotted down my name and number.

  “There you go.” I pushed the card back toward him.

  “Thanks again,” Jake said. “You’ll be hearing from Preston, if I have anything to say about it.”

  Jake left and I turned back to my friends.

  “Did that just happen?”

  “Done with men forever?” Nora asked. “Or just for a day or two until the shy cutie calls?”

  I sighed. “I was thinking shy might be a good sign. Stephen was assertive and almost too confident. Even if he hadn’t left me while I was choking, it felt like he was showing off all night. Shy could mean sweet. I could do worse than a sweet guy.”

  Nora shrugged one shoulder. “True, I suppose.”

  “If you didn’t think I should give him my number, why didn’t you say so?”

  “No, I think it’s fine,” she said. “He doesn’t do it for me, but he wasn’t asking for my number anyway. I bet you’re right. Shy Preston might be a sweetheart. Who knows, maybe he’ll romance the hell out of you.”

  “That wouldn’t be terrible,” I said.

  My phone buzzed, so I took it out of my purse to look. There was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

  Hi, this is Preston. Sorry about Jake.

  I glanced up, but Preston and Jake weren’t by the bar anymore. Maybe they’d been on their way out when Jake came to our table.

  Me: Nice to meet you. And it’s fine.

  Preston: So… I’m not very good at this, but maybe you’d like to go out sometime?

  “Is it him?” Nora asked.

  I nodded as I typed.

  Me: Sure, that would be great.

  Preston: I’m busy tomorrow—work thing. How about Friday?

  “Well, there you have it,” I said, putting my phone away after we’d agreed on the details. “I have a date with Preston.”

  “Good for you, sweetie,” Nora said.

  I smiled. A shy, sweet guy. Maybe that was just what I needed.

  Episode 3

  I nestled into the softness of my bean bag chair—it’s super comfortable, don’t judge—with a glass of chardonnay in hand. Hazel and Nora settled onto the couch, one in each corner. Hazel pulled a yellow throw blanket over her pajama-clad lap, while Nora picked a piece of fuzz off her leggings.

  The facial masks we wore made us all look a bit like we were getting ready for a costume party and dressing as geishas. But Nora had assured us our skin was going to glow.

  Slumber party? Not quite. Girls’ night in? Definitely.

  “How do you make that so cute?” Nora asked, pointing at me with a red-manicured
finger.

  I glanced down at my favorite faded t-shirt. It said You See A Glass Half-Empty, I See Room For Vodka with a cute little cocktail glass. I’d paired it with flannel pants that didn’t come close to matching and a pair of yellow slippers.

  “Are you making fun of my comfy clothes? It’s girls’ night in. That’s low, Nora.”

  “I’m not, I swear. I mean it, you’re so adorable even that hideous color combination is cute on you.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Hazel poked an index finger against her cheek. “This is starting to tingle. I’m not certain it’s functioning properly.”

  “No, the tingling is normal,” Nora said. “That means it’s working.”

  “Where’s the package?” Hazel asked. “I want to check the list of ingredients.”

  Nora waved a hand. “They’re all-natural and organic.”

  “Neither organic nor all-natural necessarily equates to safe,” Hazel said.

  “Hazel, it’s not like Nora would give us something that was bad for our skin,” I said. “You know how seriously she takes her beauty regimen.”

  “That’s true,” Hazel said.

  “I’m telling you, these are fabulous.” Nora turned her gaze back on me. “Okay, enough chit-chat. How did things go with Preston?”

  “Right.” I let out a sigh. “About that…”

  “He was a jerk in disguise, wasn’t he?” Nora asked.

  “Oh, no, Preston was very nice,” I said. “But I’m not seeing him again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…”

  Preston sat across from me, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and slacks. His blond hair was neatly trimmed, his face smooth. He was attractive and well-groomed. Polite, soft-spoken. A good listener. His friend had called him shy, but now that we were chatting, he seemed relaxed. A little reserved, maybe, but we’d been having a good time.

  The problem? He wasn’t doing a thing for me in the attraction department.

  As we chatted, I tried to figure out what was wrong with this picture. My last date had been an absolute jerk, yet I’d been undeniably attracted to him. Until he’d left me while I was choking on a piece of steak and stuck me with the bill, that is. I’d never date a man like Stephen—not more than once, anyway—but there had been something appealing about his confidence. His assertiveness.