Three Blind Dates

by Meghan Quinn

  Dylan covers her mouth and snorts. Her shoulders shake with her silent laughter. I know she means well, hell, I would laugh at her if she were in my place, but right now all I want to do is bleach the hell out of her nostrils.

  I sigh and rest my hands on my bathroom counter. “I really want this to work out, Dylan. I miss being in a relationship, being able to rely on someone, connecting with someone. I miss intimacy. And hell, I miss sex.”

  Sensing my seriousness, Dylan places her salt-covered hand on my back—thankfully I’m wearing my robe. “You’re getting yourself worked up, sweetie. You need to relax. If this guy isn’t the guy, it isn’t the end of the world.”

  “But Lynn said my first match is the match I’m meant to be with . . .”

  “She said that?” Dylan’s questioning look tells me she doesn’t quite believe that statement.

  I nibble on my lip. “Well, something like that.” Going back to my tub, I start to shave the other leg. “According to the program, he’s supposed to be the best match for me.”

  “Yeah, within the program right now. There might be others who give it a try later, too. There are millions of guys who aren’t doing this Going in Blind thing, just remember that.” She has a valid point. “If you go on these three dates and nothing happens, then nothing happens. It’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re destined to a life of solitude and loneliness. It means the right guy might be later in your future. Don’t put too much pressure on yourself over this, okay? Kevin can’t interfere, but he’ll prod you afterward, and as this is for fun, enjoy it. And hey, if you get some free meals out of it, that’s a score in my book.” Dylan reaches into her bag of chips and stuffs her mouth. If only the viewers knew the real Dylan. She seems so refined on television, but in person, she has no qualms about picking her teeth with a toothpick at the dinner table. Believe me, it’s a nighttime ritual. And weirdly, her candidness is what makes us such great friends.

  Settled slightly, I continue to shave my leg. “Will you help me get my hair back in gear? I don’t want to be late.”

  “Sure.” She wipes her hands on her yoga pants and reaches for the hair dryer.

  “Hold up.” I turn toward her, razor in hand. “Wash your chip-covered hands first, and please don’t bring that hair dryer near me while I’m in the tub shaving my legs.”

  Playfully, Dylan chuckles at her mistake. “Not into getting electrocuted today?”

  “Not so much.” My phone beeps on the counter. I nod at it and say, “Can you see what that is . . . but wash your hands first.”

  Dylan unabashedly rolls her eyes. “So particular.”

  “Use soap,” I say as the water is turned on.

  “I’m not a child.” Dylan washes her hands quickly, snags my phone, and says, “It’s a notification from your Going in Blind app.”

  “What?” I wash the soap off my leg and dry myself off. “Is the guy cancelling? I bet he’s cancelling. Is that what it is? Just tell me and end my misery.”

  “Good God, woman. Get a hold of yourself.” Dylan presses on my phone a few times and smiles to herself.

  Eagerly and nervously I ask, “What is it?”

  Smile plastered across her face, she turns toward me and leans against my bathroom counter. “It’s a message from WindsorKnot. He says, ‘Can’t wait to meet you in an hour. Hope you’re as nervous as I am.’”

  Rays of heat course up my back as my stomach does a little flutter. That’s cute and exactly what I needed. There’s nothing worse than being a fumbling mess next to an overly confident person. “That’s . . . kind of cute, isn’t it?”

  “Very cute. He even used a smile emoji.”

  “Did he really?” I snag my phone. And there it is, a smile emoji. “You know, there’s something to be said about a man who doesn’t mind using a smile emoji. Makes him seem like he has a sensitive side.”

  “Chad uses emojis. The pointing finger one and okay sign, which indicates his intentions for the night.”

  “That’s . . . sweet?” Staring at the message, I ask, “Should I send him something back? I said I wouldn’t partake in talking before the date.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t want to be rude. Just send him a quick message, especially since he said he was nervous.”

  I flatten my lips. “You’re right.” Thinking for a second, I quickly type something as I read it out loud. “Can’t wait to meet you. Might be beating you in the nerves department. Wink emoji.” I press send and take a seat at my vanity. “Short and flirty, right?”

  “Perfect. Now, let’s do a low bun with your hair, because I don’t think we have time to curl it all.”

  “Work your magic, Dyl. I’ve got to get out of here in fifteen.”

  Chapter Four

  NOELY

  I didn’t realize how close I was to the restaurant because I’m ten minutes early. Does that make me seem desperate? No, I chastise myself. It shows that I respect the other person’s time . . . right?

  God, dating is the worst. There are so many unspoken rules you have to follow to not look desperate, or to not look like a psycho, or a creep, or horny, or—

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  Straightening up, I turn toward the hostess stand, which is a beautifully carved piece of wood. Standing behind it is an exotic, tall woman with long black hair, stunning grey eyes, and a massive engagement ring on her hand. Please tell me she got that rock from dating someone in this program.

  Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that happiness for my life is dependent on getting married, but to see a success story in the flesh—particularly for me—would be encouraging.

  “Hi, yes, I’m Noely Clark. I have a date at seven tonight with”—I lean forward, feeling silly and whisper—“with WindsorKnot.”

  Her smile is kind and reassuring, making me feel a little calmer. “Yes, Miss Clark, I have you here for seven. You’re date hasn’t arrived yet, so can I show you to the bar for a drink while you wait?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  With my clutch tucked under my arm, I follow tall, dark, and beautiful to the bar where a very handsome Asian man is standing with a towel draped over his shoulder and a bright grin on his face. He’s wearing a button-up shirt with rolled sleeves, a brown vest covering his chest, which totally channels his inner Justin Timberlake.

  “Danny, this is Miss Clark. She has a reservation at seven. Would you be so kind to make her whatever drink she would like?”

  “Of course.” He winks at the hostess who presses her warm hand on my arm.

  “Enjoy, Miss Clark. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask. My name is Veronica, this is Danny, and we will be happy to serve you in any way.” With a parting grin, she moves back to her hostess spot.

  Well, she’s nice.

  “Miss Clark, please take a seat. What would you like?”

  My tight, formfitting red dress makes my hop onto the bar stool a difficult task, but with a pleading prayer to the dress gods and a swift jump, I situate myself, only breaking a minor sweat.

  I let out a sigh of relief and place my hands on the bar in front of me, scanning the glitzy bottles of “muscle relaxant.” “Hmm . . . how about a Moscow Mule?”

  “Coming right up.” He gets to work and I watch as he magically floats around the bar, pulling the ingredients. “We recently bought new copper mugs, and I’ve been dying to use them.”

  “Yeah? Am I the first?”

  Winking, he says, “You are.”

  If I didn’t know any better, I would say Danny is a bit of a flirt. Either that or he’s super friendly. Or simply made to be a bartender.

  From beneath the bar, Danny pulls out a shiny, hammered-copper mug, and I’m instantly taken by the design. So sleek, just like its surroundings. The restaurant, with its white exposed brick, natural wood features, electric colors, and stone tabletops, is sexy, yet inviting. The friendly waitstaff is an absolute bonus. Every table is cornered off in its own spot, never getting too close to the
other tables around it, and the mood lighting is on point with dim Edison bulb lights hanging from the ceiling and tabletop candles. I’m feeling the mood.

  Despite the welcoming atmosphere, I can’t help but feel nervous, even after my brief exchange with WindsorKnot. There’s something to say about a blind date: the anticipation, the unknown, the knowledge that you’re having dinner with someone to possibly form a romantic relationship. It’s intimidating, but exhilarating all at the same time.

  Could this be the last time I ever go on a first date? Will he like me? Will he want to get to know me?

  Butterflies float around in my stomach and my cheeks heat as Danny places a napkin in front of me, topped by my drink with a lime slice on the side.

  “Here you go, Miss Clark. Please enjoy.”

  I smile politely. “Thank you.” When I take a sip, I’m instantly assaulted by the ginger-lime combination. Perfect. “This is fantastic.”

  “Good.” Danny winks again and like an old-time bartender, starts drying a tumbler with the towel hanging over his shoulder. Eyeing me for a second, he asks, “A little nervous?”

  After taking a sip from my drink, I lick my lips and nod. “Just a little.” I scrunch my nose, squinting ever so slightly. “Is it obvious?”

  “Nah, you look pretty chill compared to a lot of blind daters I see come through the door.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you see a lot of different reactions to these dates.” I lean forward, the cold wood of the bar cooling my sweaty hands, and whisper, “Any good stories you can tell me?”

  Danny chuckles quietly and leans forward himself, taking a look from side to side before answering. “Plenty, but looks like your date just arrived.”

  My date just arrived?

  The temperature in the room seems to go up a thousand degrees as my body seizes and my shoulders tense. “Oh God, can you see him? Is he hot? What does he look like? Should I turn around? No, I shouldn’t, he would know I was checking him out.” Whispering a little louder, I ask again, “Just tell me, is he cute?”

  Danny’s eyes scan over my head and his smile stretches across his face. “That’s for you to judge, not me.” Damn you, Danny.

  Oh Christ, I’m not ready.

  That’s right, I’m not freaking ready for this.

  I get it, I know I said I was ready, that I wanted to do this, that I was all-in, that I wanted to find my soul mate, but now that I’m here, seconds from meeting “the one,” I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up. Yep, I’m going to throw up. I can feel it rising.

  Oh God, I’m going to retch all over him, right on his shoes. I know it. It’s bound to happen.

  “Relax, you’re going to have fun,” Danny whispers before he turns to the bottles behind him.

  As if the light hairs on my arm can sense it, they stand at attention as the sound of faint footsteps come closer.

  Click, click, click. The cement floor leaves zero room for sneaking up on anyone.

  Don’t throw up, don’t throw up. Think compliments, think pleasantries, think—

  “Hello.”

  Smooth molasses drips over my shoulders as the most velvet of voices I’ve ever heard echoes behind me, pulling me away from the death grip on my copper mug and turning me in my seat to face one of the most handsome and polished men I’ve ever seen.

  Immediately I’m drawn to his dark-chocolate eyes, so shadowy I’m having a hard time deciphering where his irises begin and his pupils end. His strong, square jaw is peppered in well-maintained scruff, and his hair is just long enough to show how thick and full it is. And his style? Impeccable. A navy-blue suit wraps around his broad shoulders and long legs, while a white-pressed button-up shirt shows off a triangle of tan skin below his neck.

  Sexy.

  Handsome.

  Everything I could ask for.

  Clearing my throat, I awkwardly wave and say, “Hi.”

  Smiling sincerely, he holds his large hand out to me and says, “I’m Jack, also known as WindsorKnot. Veronica told me you were ShopGirl.”

  “Yes, that’s me, but you can call me Noely.”

  “Noely,” he repeats, as if testing the sound on his tongue. “Beautiful name.”

  Yep, hearing him say my name and beautiful together, makes my cheeks flush. I’ve barely said a word to this man and I’m already blushing madly.

  “Thank you.” I hold back the giggle that wants to escape.

  He motions to the bar stool next to me. “May I join you?”

  “Oh, of course.” I move my clutch to the other side of the bar, making room for him.

  Motioning to the bartender, he politely shakes the man’s hand and says, “Jack.”

  “Danny. What can I get you, sir?”

  Jack eyes the drink in my condensation-covered hands and says, “I’ll have what the lady is having.”

  “Right away.”

  Danny gets to work once again as Jack turns in his stool to face me, one hand on the back of his seat, the other on the bar to his side.

  A casual pose for someone comfortable with his surroundings.

  Not to mention, he’s giving off a confident vibe, a vibe I couldn’t have predicted from the man who messaged me earlier while I was getting ready. I half expected for him to show up, already sweating with a nervous shake in his hands. But not Jack, not the man in front of me. He’s stoic almost, comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the situation we’re in.

  Unlike me.

  My nerves ratchet up all kinds of embarrassing reactions caused by the gorgeous man in front of me. I can feel it, there’s no denying it, especially by the way I’m tongue-tied, unable to say anything . . . I’m awkward.

  Ah, I’m awkward!

  I’m the antithesis of who I wanted to portray. I’ve thought about this moment, this date, the first one, in my mind . . . God, was I sexy and smooth with hair flipping, chest puffed out, and a stray finger grazing my date’s arm.

  Instead, I’m clammed up like a fetus, hair pulled behind my neck leaving me with a twitch instead of a hair flip, and my fingers, let’s just say they’re glued to my copper mug right now. There is no finger running, and my smile? There is no ease in my lips. It’s more like my brain is telling my lips to show off my teeth rather than look like a prize to be won.

  I blame Going in Blind! They set me up with someone entirely too good-looking. How is a girl supposed to function when Mr. Impeccably Dressed with the Strong Jaw is staring into your eyes, studying your every move? It’s impossible.

  Leaning forward, Jack brings his head closer to mine, enveloping me in his fresh scent. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really nervous right now.”

  “Really?” I ask, swallowing hard from how close he is. “You don’t look like you are.”

  He chuckles. “After many years in the boardroom, hiding your external reaction to situations becomes second nature. Believe me, the moment I saw you, my stomach started flipping.”

  Handsome and suave. Okay, where did they find this man and what the hell do we have in common—besides Tom Hanks—that could possibly have matched us? I’m feeling like Kraft Singles compared to his Camembert.

  Trying to pull myself together and act like somewhat of an adult and not a sputtering barely blossoming tween, I ask, “Boardroom. Does that mean my assumption of you being a businessman is true?” I lift an inquisitive eyebrow at him right before I take a sip from my drink, holding the mug with both hands to avoid revealing the unsteady shake roaring through my bones.

  “I guess I didn’t do a good job hiding it, did I?” The boyish charm that follows his statement is endearing, especially the little peek of dimples in his cheeks. Dimples, the kryptonite for every woman.

  “Not so much. I don’t think you can deny it with the handle WindsorKnot. Not sure there was a lot of competition with that name choice.”

  Danny hands Jack his drink, which he takes with a grateful nod in Danny’s direction. In fascination, I watch his lips wrap over the ledge of the cup, soft an
d wet. Sexy, so, so sexy.

  After he swallows, the liquid falling down the thick column of his neck, he asks, “What, you don’t think WindsorKnot is a popular name choice?”

  “Not even in the slightest.” I chuckle. He joins me, and the sound mixed with mine sounds harmonious, like the two noises were meant to be mixed together. Oh, I want to hear him laugh again . . . badly.

  “All right, what about your name? ShopGirl. Does that have anything to do with your profession?”

  I should be slightly insulted that he doesn’t recognize me from my morning show, but then again, if he’s a businessman, my nine o’clock airing time doesn’t necessary mesh with his schedule.

  Shaking my head, I take a quick sip from my drink and set the mug on the bar, letting my hands defrost from the chill of the copper casing. “Not even in the slightest. Let me ask you, Jack . . .” Did I mention I really like his name? It’s strong, yet traditional. “Have you ever seen the movie You’ve Got Mail?”

  A slow, knowing smile starts to unfold over his lips. Casually, he sips from his mug, his eyes trained on me, his gaze unfaltering. Oh boy, he’s dangerous. With those eyes and that look, yep, I’m surprised I haven’t pulled a Dylan yet and ripped my bra off in public.

  When he pulls his mug away, he asks, “Have you failed to remember what’s on my profile? Tom Hanks, he’s my main man. I’ve watched every single one of his movies more than once, You’ve Got Mail being in my top-five Hanks movies.”

  I mentally applaud Going in Blind. No, an applaud is to tame, I need something more meaningful. I mentally ass slap them, right on the glute, hand to skin, leaving a red mark, a red mark of love. Nothing says thank you like a branded red-slap to the old buttocks.

  “So then you know about ShopGirl?”

  He nods. “It makes so much sense now.” He pauses and then asks, “Would you say You’ve Got Mail is your favorite movie?”