I tense momentarily, picturing my ex.
Seeing her face.
Feeling the gut punch of her news that she was leaving on a jet plane.
But I don’t want Sandy to infect this night.
I hoist those thoughts right out of my mind.
We stop at a light, and I put a hand on Olivia’s arm then run my palm down her skin. “I hope I’m not being too forward by touching your arm.”
She gazes at me. “You can definitely touch my arm. In fact, I hope I’m not being too forward by saying it gave me the shivers.”
“Good shivers?” I ask as a cab screams by.
“Definitely the good kind.”
“I can work with good shivers.”
The light changes and we cross. “Good shivers are another item on the checklist,” she says.
I mime checking it off.
She flashes a smile that ignites me, and I wonder why I took so long to say yes to Evie. But then the last time I felt this way was Sandy and—
Nope. Not going to do it. Not going to let her ruin the best night in ages.
No. Years.
Just focus on tonight.
When we arrive at the warehouse, the gamemaster opens the door and lets us inside, his tone that of a clandestine fellow from decades ago. “Hello, my secret agents. Welcome to the 1940s. We have your escape room ready for you.”
The gamemaster ushers us down to a basement room, tells us our fellow agents were wrongly taken into police custody, and if we can find the clues and crack the case, we can set them free.
The clock is ticking.
I turn to Olivia. “Do you agree it would be completely embarrassing if we don’t find our way out of here? After we both talked about our skill with puzzles?”
“Failure is not an option,” she says, her tone intense.
Quickly and methodically, we survey the room. There are wigs, trench coats, mustaches, and maps of the world that look like they belong in an old-time professor’s office. A framed portrait hangs behind a large oak desk with a green lamp.
The portrait features a stern-looking man. “His left eye is wonky,” I say, pointing to the picture and the way the eye seems askew.
She peers more closely. “It sure is.”
She spins around, counting quietly. “And there are nine mirrors in this room.”
I catalog the reflective surfaces—mirrors hanging on walls, one standing on a desk, another next to a globe.
“Mirrors and a wonky eye,” I say, tapping my skull.
We spend the next thirty minutes with a laser focus, gathering clues, solving riddles, and cracking codes. We’re nearly there. I can feel it. We stand at the desk, poring over one of the last clues, tossing ideas back and forth.
“This is so cool,” she says. “If we’re good at this, can we make it a thing?”
I laugh, loving that she’s already decided we’re having another date. “We can definitely make it a thing. We’ll tackle all the escape rooms in New York City. How many do you think there are?”
“Thousands,” she says softly, tilting her face toward me.
I hold her gaze, not wanting to look anywhere else but into her sparkling blue eyes.
“Olivia,” I say, stepping closer to her, a rush of warmth skating over my skin, “are you telling me one hour into this date that you’re having such a good time you want to go on a second date?” I don’t know why I’m being so forward, yet I know exactly why I’m being so forward. Because she’s fascinating. She’s interesting. I’ve never felt this kind of instant, quick, sharp, spicy, tangible connection with somebody. Rather than run away from it, I don’t want to let it go.
A lock of her hair is out of place, so I brush it off her shoulder. Her breath seems to hitch. “Yes. I do want to go on another date.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m vaguely aware of a ticking clock. But I want this more. I run the back of my fingers across her cheek. “Is kissing on your checklist?”
She gasps softly. “I would say kissing you is on my checklist, but you have to be a really good kisser to stay on my checklist.”
I move my hand to her face, sliding my thumb along her jawline. “It’s on mine too.”
“Let’s check it off.” Her eyes flutter shut.
I lean closer to her and brush my lips over hers. I feel a whisper of breath that seems to ghost across her lips, and then the slightest gasp.
She trembles. I’m not even holding her or touching her, I’m just kissing her lightly, softly. And she’s shuddering.
It’s beautiful and too good to be true.
But it’s all true, and it’s happening.
I want to know what else makes her feel this way.
I want to be the one to make her feel this way.
The intensity of those twin thoughts shocks me, maybe even scares me a bit, given my past experience.
But everything feels so right about tonight.
And I know that we could easily spend the whole night in here kissing, but I also suspect she’ll be ticked if we don’t get out of here before the clock.
I separate.
She blinks. “Wow, now my head is foggy. I don’t know if I can concentrate.”
“I don’t know if I can either. But you know what I like more than kissing you?”
“I can’t believe there’s anything you like more than kissing me,” she pouts.
I loop a hand around her hip, my thumb stroking against her. “I like getting to know you.”
She practically purrs. “Herb, let’s get the hell out of here, go to a diner, and get to know each other more.”
We work, solving the final clue when we position all the mirrors in the room so that they’re shining into the portrait’s eye. As soon as they do, his eye works like a laser, then opens the door to the escape room.
We laugh and tumble out of the warehouse. The gamemaster tells us that was one of the fastest times that two people have actually executed an escape.
“Guess we had something we wanted outside of the room,” I say, glancing at Olivia, who smiles back at me. We want to keep getting to know each other.
I thank the man and turn down the street, reaching for her hand.
She links her fingers through mine.
And am I ever glad I’m moving beyond the past.
Maybe this is insta-like. Heck, maybe it’s insta-falling. But screw it. I’m feeling it everywhere.
We wind up at a nearby diner ordering burgers, French fries, and iced tea, and talking. We both agree Madison Square Park is our favorite park in the city, declaring the bench near the MetLife Building a great spot for kissing, then I tell her I like rock, and while she prefers pop, we agree we can coexist on the music front, since everything else is in sync. We chat until we close the place down.
At the end, it feels like we’ve been on three dates.
“Does this kind of feel like we’ve already hit the trifecta of three great dates?” I ask.
“It kind of does.”
“And each one has been better than the last.”
“They’re all so good . . . it’s almost as if it’s too good to be true,” she says, her tone light and breezy.
I stop, tug on her hand, and pull her flush against me. “But it’s real.” My voice is serious.
“It is?” Her tone is pocked with nerves. She looks unsure.
I nod, then cup her cheek and kiss her lips once more, savoring her taste, learning the flavor of her kiss, taking mental snapshots of how she feels in my arms.
Like she’s giving herself to me.
And it’s entirely what I want.
One freaking date, and I’m sold.
“It’s not too good to be true,” I say as we break apart, and I walk her home. But along the way, something seems to shift in her.
Her stance is stiffer. Her eyes are cooler. Her tone reads distant.
When we reach her place, I squeeze her hand. “You okay?”
“I’m great, but I’m so t
ired, and I need to go. Bye.”
She spins around, heads up her steps, and darts inside without a parting glance.
I stand on the street wondering what the hell went wrong.
5
Olivia
Misery is my companion.
It trips me up on the racquetball court the next morning.
With an unladylike grunt, I lunge for the ball, and I smack it wildly. It screams across the court, missing the mark by miles.
Flynn thrusts his arms in victory.
I’m not annoyed he won. I’m simply annoyed. With myself. My thoughts are only on Herb Smith, and how badly I botched last night.
“Rematch?” Flynn asks, eagerness in his eyes.
I don't have the energy to attempt to even the score with my brother. “Nah.”
He sets down his racket on the bench. “Clearly something is horribly wrong. Confession time.” He pats the wood. “Tell me how you messed up last night.”
I can’t pretend I didn’t. Misery slithers down my spine. “We were having the world’s most perfect date,” I say, forlorn.
“Yeah, yeah, skip over the sex part.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
“Okay, you didn’t have sex, so how could it have been the world’s most perfect date?”
I swat him with my towel. “Things do not have to have sex to be awesome.”
“But sex does help to make things awesome.”
“You know how you didn’t want to talk about how I look good in clothes? I don’t want to talk about sex with you.”
“Okay, fine, so you’re having an awesome date.” He makes a rolling gesture for me to keep going.
“We hit it off, Flynn. We had insane chemistry. We talked about everything, including how much we liked each other already. That’s what freaked me out. We liked each other from the beginning.”
His brow knits. “So you’re worried it’s insta-love?”
“But I don’t believe in insta-love.”
“Except you felt insta-love for him?” he points out gently.
My stomach flips with the sweetest memories of Herb’s kisses, his words, his easy way with me. “I did. That’s the thing. I felt insta everything for him.” I toss up my hands and look to my brother. “Clearly, there’s no way that can work. It’s impossible, so I took off at the end.”
“That’s real mature,” he deadpans.
“I couldn’t fathom that it was all real . . . And then, what if I’d invited him up?”
“Let’s play this game,” Flynn says, thoughtful and logical. “What would have happened? What were you so scared of? Having real feelings for someone you truly like?”
A movie reel plays before my eyes. “I would have had hot, dirty sex with him, and I would have said, ‘Let’s get married and make babies,’ and he’d have said yes, and it would be too good to be true.”
“Wait. I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about sex. You just said you had hot and dirty sex.”
“In my dreams. Yes, it was going to be the hottest sex of my life because I’m that attracted to him. He kissed me in the middle of an escape room, and it was incredible. My toes are still tingling from it.”
“Why are you standing here with me, then?”
“I don’t know. That’s a good question.” I swallow hard, my throat burning.
He sighs, shaking his head. “Olivia, you’re doing it again.”
I sigh. I don’t fight the truth this time. “I know. I’m sabotaging it. Because I’m afraid.”
“And you like this guy. So, woman up and un-sabotage it.”
6
Herb
The morning brings no more answers.
Only a gigantic question mark when I check my phone and find zero messages from her.
Then again, I didn’t text her either.
I don’t need to have her reject me again. Doing it to my face last night was all I needed, thank you very much.
Still, the clinical part of me wants to understand what went down.
As the sun rises, I dribble a basketball on the court in Central Park then send it soaring into the net.
“And then she just left,” I tell my buddy Malone, a fellow vet.
“Admittedly, that’s not an ideal ending to a date.” That’s Malone for you. Straight up and to the point. He grabs the ball and whooshes it toward the net.
I snag it on the rebound. “It was literally the definition of a perfect date. Then she said, ‘I’m so tired, and I need to go.’ Boom. She was gone.”
“Ah, now I get it. Sounds like she didn’t want to see your sorry ass naked.”
I roll my eyes. “My ass is spectacular, clothed or naked.”
He shudders, like he’s watching a horror flick. “Don’t tell me anything more about your ass.”
“I’m just saying, it’s a gold-standard ass. She was checking it out.”
He covers his ears. “Stop. Make it stop.”
I shoot the ball, watching it arc into the net. “Anyway, that’s that. She made it clear. There’s nothing more that’s going to happen. I’ll just move on.”
He grabs the ball, stops, and stares at me. “Wait. That’s your takeaway?”
“Well, what should it be?”
“You like this woman, you had a great date, she turned sleepy at the end, and your conclusion is you should just walk away?”
“You said sleepy time isn’t the ideal ending to a date.”
He taps his chest. “I did, and it’s not, because sexy time is the ideal ending to a date. But just because you didn’t get there doesn’t mean you stop shooting the basketball.”
“I should throw a basketball to get to the sexy times?” I’m thoroughly perplexed.
“No. But here’s the thing. You like her, you had chemistry, and you had one weird moment. Dating is weird. It’s like when you put a sweater on a cat and they don’t know how to walk.”
I furrow my brow. “Pretty sure Olivia knows how to walk.”
Malone hums. “But you might need to help her take off the sweater.”
“Man, your analogy game needs work. Are you saying I need to undress her?”
“No. Well, not yet. But soon. What I am saying is you need to try again.”
I crack up, clapping him on the back. “Wow. I didn’t get that at all from the cat sweater analogy.”
“Just try with her. Give it your best shot. Let her know what you want. The worst that’ll happen is you’re back out there on the dating circuit, putting sweaters on cats.”
Maybe, just maybe, he’s right. Maybe I should try to decipher what happened, because that really was the perfect date. And I don’t want to give up this time.
7
Olivia
Later that day, I track down my matchmaker. We have lunch, and I tell her what happened.
“I really messed up.”
Evie pats my hand. “No, sweetie, you didn’t mess up, you got nervous. People get nervous. That’s what happens. The question is—where do you go now?”
“I want to see him again. I think he’s the one.”
She beams. “I believe that too. But you’re going to have to make it clear you’re not a runner. That you’re a stayer. Because I’m pretty sure he wants you to stay.”
“Does he?” Tingles sweep through my body.
“The two of you are meant to be.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Do you believe in that? That people are meant to be together?”
“I do. Now you need to do what you should have done last night.”
And I don’t wait. I whip out my phone at lunch, dial his clinic, and ask to speak to Dr. Smith.
Evie beams the whole time, the proud matchmaker.
“He’s with a patient right now. May I take a message?” The man on the other end of the phone asks.
With a smile, and a belly full of nerves, I give him a message. “Can you please tell Dr. Smith that it’s Olivia and I would like to know if he would want to work on my checklist at Ma
dison Square Park tonight?”
“I’ll give him the message.”
Evie claps.
I set down my phone, catching a glimpse of a message icon in the status bar. With butterflies fluttering, I click it open. It arrived fifteen minutes ago.
Herb: Hey, Olivia, so I’m not really sure what went wrong last night, but I’d like to try again with you. If you’re up for it, maybe we can meet at Madison Square Park after work.
He must have sent it before I even called him. Oh God, I think I’m falling in love. My fingers speed through the fastest reply in the world.
Olivia: YES!!!!!! I’m there!
* * *
We arrive at the same time.
He walks toward me. I walk toward him. I stop in front of the bench, nerves and hope clogging my throat.
“I’m sorry I freaked out last night.”
He sits and I sit next to him. “Are you a runner? Because once I have you as mine, I’m not going to want you to run away.”
I take a deep breath. “I had a bad relationship. He cheated on me with a ton of other people, and sometimes I sabotage dates when it seems like it might work. I especially do when it’s too good to be true.”
He smiles and runs his thumb over my jawline. “So you think I’m too good to be true?”
“You said it yourself last night. Everything seemed that way.”
“And that scared you?”
“It did. But that’s no excuse.” I reach for his hand. When he threads his fingers through mine, I swear all is right in the world. “Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe it’s too much. But I want to know what we can be.”
He sighs, but it sounds like it’s full of happy relief. “Look, I was hurt too. I was in love with this woman, and she took off around the world. I keep waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under me again.”
My heart aches for him. “I don’t want to pull the rug out from under you.”
Too Good To Be True: A One Love novella Page 3
