Three Last First Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  I sucked in air. That had to hurt!

  I looked at the hair attached to the watch and noticed it was a hair extension. She’d pulled one of her hair extensions off her head. How embarrassing for the poor girl!

  “Oops!” she cried, lowering her hand to hide it under the table. She yanked desperately, eventually loosening the extension from the watch with a thud when her fist hit the underside of the oak table.

  I caught her eye and mouthed, “Are you okay?” and she nodded back, clearly humiliated.

  “Thank you, Antoinette,” Cassie said, coming to her rescue. “We’re glad you’re here. I’d like you to shadow someone for the next few weeks to learn about our solutions and see how we interact with our customers.”

  “That sounds great,” she simpered, her hair now successfully detached from her watch. Her head looked a little lopsided now.

  “Kieran, Marissa, Jason, and Sally?” Cassie said, naming the most experienced members of the team. “Can one of you please take Antoinette to your meetings for the next few days? I’d like her to see you at work.”

  “I’d be happy to,” Jason said immediately, almost before Cassie had finished speaking.

  “Me, too. I’ve got loads on. You could watch how it’s done,” Kieran said eagerly.

  I noticed Sally stayed quiet, echoing my own silence. Antoinette seemed sweet enough, but I had things going on right now and could do without the added responsibility.

  “Thank you both so much, Kieran and Jason. You’re both so wonderful to me, and I really appreciate all the help you’ve offered me since I joined.”

  She was being so sickly sweet, I could vomit.

  She turned her attention to me. “I think I might go with Marissa, if that’s okay with you?”

  My eyes got huge. “Me?” I questioned. I glanced at Cassie. Her eyes gave her away, but her face was as calm and in control as always. “Would you be happy with that, Marissa?” she questioned.

  I shrugged. “Sure, Antoinette. That’s fine.”

  She beamed at me. “Thank you.”

  I may have to shove a few of my male customers’ tongues back in their mouths when she walked through the door with me, but I was certain I could manage that. What harm could it do to have her tag along?

  * * *

  No harm at all, as it turned out. That afternoon, I only had to do one tongue shove at the start of the meeting, and the others on the Pukeko team seemed impervious to her charms, much to my relief. I had a job to do and business to close; I didn’t need any distractions.

  As I stood at the front of the room with Bryce, wrapping up the reasons why choosing AGD Telecommunications over our rival was the best decision Pukeko Chocolates could make, they were utterly riveted.

  I knew it had gone well. They had asked the right questions, and between Bryce and me, we answered them all, dispelling their concerns.

  On the way back to the office, Antoinette peppered me with question after question about our pitch and the customer. She didn’t let up, even once I was back at my desk.

  She was eager, I’d give her that. Surprisingly so for someone who got her position because of a family member on the executive team.

  “And that was why you decided to go with that particular solution?”

  “It was. You see, I think it’s always best to get to know a customer and their needs before you even get to pitching.” I placed my laptop on my desk and plugged it in.

  “Exactly,” Antoinette said with a smile. She took my hand in hers, training her (unnaturally) blue eyes on mine. I wondered what her actual eye color was. “Marissa, thank you so much for this. I’ve learned so much from you.”

  “You’re welcome, Antoinette.”

  Antoinette looked from one side to the other, then leaned down toward me. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked in a hushed tone.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think I’m right for this sort of place? I mean, a lot of people look at me funny.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She screwed up her face. “I mean . . . the men.”

  “Oh.” I tilted my chair back. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” Hell, I would have to be blind not to have.

  Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, and I instantly felt bad for her, despite the fact I knew she played the “damsel in distress” with the men in the office half the time. Really, she could single-handedly set the women’s movement back a decade with the amount of eyelash fluttering and hip swinging this woman did around the office.

  “What I mean is, I think a lot of the guys here think you’re very attractive.”

  “Oh.” She nodded, biting her lip. “Is it the way I dress?”

  I pursed my lips and thought for a moment. Would Antoinette appreciate me suggesting she tone her look down, perhaps lose the hair extensions that seemed to have a life of their own? Maybe even go so far as to wear clothes in her actual size? I decided, yes. If I were new here and asked someone’s advice, I would want to hear the truth.

  I cleared my throat. “Look, Antoinette. Have you ever thought about maybe, I don’t know, changing the way you dress?”

  She stood up straight, pulling her hands defensively around her small waist. “What’s wrong with the way I dress?”

  I took in her loose hair, falling in soft curls to her elbows, her tight, low-cut, sleeveless top, her short black skirt, her sky-high heels. Really, she didn’t look too dissimilar to a lady of the night. “I don’t know, maybe cover up a bit? That way the guys won’t gawp at you so much.”

  She nodded, slowly. “Okay. I might try that.” Her face broke back into a smile. “Thanks, Marissa. You’re a real friend.”

  I glowed. I’d gone from thinking Antoinette was some silly girl, riding on her aunt’s coattails, to realizing she was just as insecure as the rest of us and trying to find her place in the world.

  It was quite a turnaround.

  “Now, I need to get back to my desk to write this all up. Can I grab you a coffee?”

  I smiled at her. Perhaps I’d misjudged her? She was interested and keen to learn. Perhaps I’d been as bad as the guys on the team who treated her as nothing more than a sex symbol? “That would be great. Milk and no sugar, please.”

  “Coming right up!”

  I sat down at my desk and pulled out my phone. A smile spread across my face as I noticed a text from Nash.

  Just checking in. Hope no freak-outs occurring. If so, text immediately. xx

  I held the phone against my chest for a moment, grinning like a Disney princess in love. Not only was Nash cute and funny and quite possibly the best kisser on the face of the planet, he signed his message with not one but two kisses. I fired off a quick message in response.

  No freak-outs. Thanks for today.

  I paused, my finger hovering over the keyboard, then added “xx” to the end, hastily pressing “send” before I had the chance to delete it. I waited, sitting at my desk, holding on to my phone like it was a lifeline. I didn’t have to wait long for a reply.

  Looking forward to Saturday. Pick you up at six?

  I replied in the affirmative, texting him my address. I placed my phone back on my desk and let out a contented sigh. Eddie’s engagement to that ice queen may have put me in a tailspin at the time, but now that I’d been on two dates with Nash, I knew in my heart I did want to find The One.

  And I had a pretty strong feeling I had.

  Chapter 8

  Patience never being my strong suit, Saturday could not come around fast enough for me. I had put my head down and worked my buns off for the rest of the week, glad of the distraction. Antoinette had continued to shadow me, and we had been getting on nicely. My experience with her was a lesson for me to give people more of a chance in the future. She had even taken my advice and worn skirts for the rest of the week that almost met her knee—give or take three inches. It was baby steps, but that was better than nothing.

  Once again, I had carefully planned my outfit for my
date with Nash. This time there was no instruction to “wear sensible shoes,” so I went a little wild with it and wore my favorite pair of pale pink strappy heels, teamed with a white slim-fitting skirt and a floaty, sleeveless blouse done up to the neck. I was a great follower of the “less is more” approach, erring on the side of classy, with perhaps a smattering of sexy.

  A spritz of Calvin Klein and one final check in my bedroom mirror and I collected my purse from the end of my bed, ready for my date. I went out into the living room where Ryan was almost prostrate on the sofa, watching a rugby match on TV, a beer in his hand.

  I surveyed the room, my formerly gorgeous living room, with its soft white sofas, hardwood floors, and exposed brick walls—fake, of course, Auckland was on a major fault line—now littered with empty packets of chips, takeaway boxes, and Ryan’s discarded clothes. It even smelled of boy.

  “What are you up to tonight?” I asked him with a wrinkled nose as I plumped the cushions on the sofa he wasn’t currently lazing on. And when are you moving out?

  “Not much,” he harrumphed, not taking his eyes from the screen.

  “Well, whatever you do, have fun. I’m off out.”

  He turned his head slowly to look at me, raising his eyebrows when he saw my serious date ensemble. “Going somewhere fancy?”

  “Actually, I have no idea where I’m going. Nash is picking me up in a few minutes. I figured, since it’s almost six, we’ll be going for drinks and dinner.”

  He pushed himself up from his spot on the sofa onto his elbows. “Isn’t this the guy who took you to a dog park for your first date? You might want to grab a pair of rubber boots on your way out the door.”

  “Oh, very funny, brother. He didn’t say anything about sensible shoes this time, so I can’t imagine it will be a dog park,” I replied with significantly more confidence than I felt. I glanced down at my white skirt and strappy, completely impractical shoes.

  “Yeah, well, whatever you do tonight, you know it’s all doomed, right? You’ll end up a sad old sack, just like your brother here.” He took a slug of his beer and returned his attention to the TV.

  My brother, the positivity coach.

  Truth be told, he hadn’t always been like this. In fact, up until his ex, Amelia, dumped him, he’d been . . . normal. Now, all he did was mope around my apartment, eat junk, drink beer, not shave—or, I suspected, wash—and watch TV. I hoped it was a short-lived phase for his sake, and because I wanted my living room back.

  Right on cue, the buzzer sounded.

  Nash.

  “I’m coming down,” I said into the speaker. The last thing I wanted was for Nash to meet my “oh, woe is me” brother. He might have a freak-out, and there could only be one person in a relationship who did that.

  I said goodbye to Ryan, who grunted something about inevitable heartbreak to me without budging from his spot on the sofa, and sashayed down the stairs and out onto the street. I was greeted by Nash, standing on the sidewalk in front of a white pickup truck with “Campbell Construction” emblazoned on the side. He was wearing jeans, a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned, toned arms, and a smile that could light the entire street.

  “Hey, you,” he said with a grin that was impossible to resist. I stepped into him, and he slid his arms around my waist, planting one of his miraculous kisses on my lips.

  “Hey,” I responded, stars dancing in front of my eyes.

  If this happened every time we kissed, I was going to turn into an astronaut.

  “You look amazing, by the way.”

  I beamed at him. “Thanks. Not so bad yourself.” I glanced down at his jeans. This was the first time I’d seen him in something other than a pair of shorts. He looked somehow more grown up, but just as hot—perhaps even more so.

  I could barely believe I’d had second thoughts about this guy. He was . . . perfect.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  “I think we shall.”

  He opened the passenger door for me to slide in, which I did as elegantly as I could in my slim-fitting skirt. He jumped in the other side and flashed me that knee-weakening grin as he turned the ignition.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ve got a date plan. You’ll just have to wait and see. First stop is my place. I have something I want to show you.”

  A six-minute drive later, Nash pulled his truck into his driveway—the scene of our almost-kiss. I pushed the memory from my mind as best I could.

  We got out of the car and walked to the front door.

  “Ladies first,” he said as he opened the glossy blue door.

  “Thank you.” I stepped over the threshold and into a long hallway with polished hardwood floors, and a single pendant light, hanging from the ceiling. The white walls were covered in framed photographs. A handful were of happy, perky dogs, and there was one of an older couple, smiling out at the camera. Nash’s parents, I assumed. They weren’t hung in any particular design, seemingly added to the collection as time went by. The overall effect was warm, inviting, just the way I’d always hoped these cottages would be.

  “Prepare yourself,” Nash said, his hand on the knob of a door to my right.

  “What for?” I asked as he swung the door open, and I had my answer immediately as I was virtually bowled over by a pack of happy, lick-y, excited, squirmy puppies.

  “The kids,” Nash said way too late.

  “Oh, my god. They are adorable!” I squealed, crouching down to pet them as they squirmed all over the floor at my feet, trying to climb onto my lap. They had black faces, trimmed with brown, their ears sticking up in the top of their soft, fluffy heads. “Yes, you are. You’re adorable.”

  One of them managed to climb up onto my lap where it rolled on its back, ready for a tummy rub, which I gave willingly as the others continued to clamor for my attention at my feet.

  I looked up at Nash who was smiling down at me. “These are your puppies?”

  He chuckled. “If they’re not, we’ve got a puppy house invasion on our hands.”

  I chuckled as I stood up, holding the one that had climbed up on my lap in my arms. “Don’t they just melt your heart?”

  “That they do,” he replied, giving the pup’s head a pat. “I thought you might like them.”

  “Like them? I love them,” I gushed. “What breed are they?”

  “Definitely part German Shepherd, because that’s what mom is, but we’re not sure what they’re crossed with.”

  “Were they abandoned?” I asked, wondering how anyone in their right mind would want to desert such beautiful creatures.

  Nash bent down and picked one of the puppies up off the floor. “Well, their mother was. She was picked up roaming the streets in West Auckland. She was in a fairly sorry state. But the pups are all healthy, and she’s regaining her strength. Want to meet her?”

  “Of course!” I replied, wondering how I had ever been freaked out by dog slobber.

  “She’s in here.”

  Still holding my puppy, who was now attempting to nibble off my earlobe—which was as ticklish as it sounded—I followed Nash into his living room. It wasn’t a large room, but it was thoroughly charming. There was a beaten-up-looking brown leather sofa up against the wall and a couple of corduroy armchairs around a low, wooden coffee table. The sofa faced an open fireplace, which had a large grate in front of it, presumably to stop the puppies trying to become canine chimney sweeps on their adventures.

  Curled up in a cane basket next to the sofa was a German Shepherd. She had to be the squirmy gang’s mom. I looked over at her. Frankly, she looked exhausted, and I couldn’t blame her: five puppies with the combined energy of an atomic bomb would be enough to tire out the best of them. When she spotted Nash, her tail began to bang furiously against the edge of the basket. She stood up to greet him and he patted her from the top of her head right down her back.

  “Hey, Gretel,” he said to her. “Gretel, this is my friend, Marissa.
”

  Friend? I raised my eyebrows, a smile teasing the edges of my mouth. Friends didn’t kiss like Nash and I did. Maybe he didn’t want Gretel to know we were dating? Perhaps she was the jealous type?

  I put the puppy carefully down on the ground and reached out to pat her. The tail kept wagging. “Hi there, Gretel.” I looked at Nash. “How do you know her name?”

  “We don’t. But she looked like a Gretel, don’t you think?” He smiled down affectionately at her. It suited him. In fact, it made him even more attractive. “I mean, she’s a German Shepherd, so I needed a German name.”

  “And you’d read the story about the gingerbread house when you were a kid, right?”

  He shrugged, chuckling. “It was either Gretel or Heidi Klum, and I figured she might be offended if I named a dog after her.”

  “I bet.” I let out a laugh, enjoying the relaxed, easy feeling between us.

  “Will you help me collect the puppies up?”

  “Sure.” We tracked the five puppies down—a harder task than you might think, even in a small living room—and Nash set up a pen around Gretel’s bed. We placed the pups in with their mom, who lay down, looking exhausted once again.

  “You hold tight. I’ll go and get Dex. He’ll be sad he’s missing out on all the action.”

  Nash returned a moment later with Dexter, who bounded into the room and straight over to me, his tail wagging. I gave him a pat. “Dexter! How are you, boy?” I made a conscious effort to push the Slobbergate freak-out from my mind.

  “He likes you,” Nash said, watching me as I patted Dexter.

  “What’s not to like?” I joked, smiling at him.

  “That’s a very good point.”

  I looked into his electric eyes. Those belly hamsters of mine whipped themselves into a frenzy. There was something about this guy, something . . . I struggled to put my finger on it. Whatever it was, it felt big, really big. And it didn’t scare me.

  Well, maybe a little.

  “Dex is pretty happy to be in here. You see, he wasn’t allowed near the pups until they were about a month old.”