“No problem. We women have to stick together. Sisterhood and all that.”
They shared a grin, and Haleigh finally found the courage to get out of the car.
Her fortitude didn’t last long. By the time she’d selected a table that had both a good view of the front door, but also wasn’t on full display, she had twenty minutes until Bachelor Number One’s arrival. And Ian was still nowhere to be seen. She started to text him but set the phone back down.
No, she wasn’t going to drive herself crazy worrying.
Even as she resolved to be calm, a familiar weight settled on her chest. Again, Haleigh recognized the symptoms of what would come if she didn’t pull herself together. Raising a glass of water to her lips, she focused on swallowing each sip.
She wasn’t going to have a panic attack. Not right now. She’d gone almost two years without having one. Haleigh wasn’t about to let a first date or two ruin that perfect streak.
Breathing in deeply, she visualized five things that brought her joy. Taking the first sip of coffee in the morning. Seeing a student improve a full letter grade. Going for a walk with Rudy. Binge-watching Doctor Who. Watching anything with David Tennant or Matt Smith at all, really.
By the time she finished the exercise a counselor had given her years ago, she was herself again. But it had been close. Way too close.
The front door flung open, casting a blinding light that left her blinking. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw Ian.
He had come. He was late—really late—but he had come. She couldn’t decide whether to scream at him or give him a hug.
Spotting her, he offered a sheepish grin and crossed the bar in quick strides. “I got caught up in an argument with one of my interns about a bug and . . . things you don’t care about. I should have called to let you know I was running late. Sorry.”
His immediate contrition mollified her enough to drop the subject. This time. Besides, they only had a few minutes to hash out their plan. She didn’t want to waste it with an argument on tardiness.
“How are you feeling?”
There wasn’t time for honesty either. “Good. Great. Excited to do this.”
“Liar.” His lip twitched. “But you sounded like you meant it, which works. You look nice by the way.”
“I . . .” She glanced down at her dark-washed jeans and the fitted knit T-shirt with ruffled sleeves. She’d tried on every shirt in her closet before settling on it. He probably didn’t need to know the backstory. “Thank you.”
Following him to the bar, where he ordered a drink and she refilled her water, Haleigh rattled off the game plan they’d created together through a series of texts.
“When Leo gets here—”
“Which one is he?”
“The financial adviser.”
“Oh good, someone interesting.” He rolled his eyes. “Nothing like starting off with someone who will put you to sleep.”
“Says someone writes code for a living.” She took another deep breath in and let it out slowly. “When Leo gets here, I’ll give him a friendly handshake. Then I’ll wait until we’ve ordered our drinks to make any conversation beyond ‘nice weather we’re having’ and ‘did you find the place okay?’”
“Easy and casual. Then what?”
“I’ll set my phone in my lap so I can read your messages.”
“Good. I’ll set the timer on my phone for forty-five minutes.”
They’d agreed he would let her know when to wrap up the conversation and get Leo out of the building before her second date arrived. They’d scheduled each to last about an hour with thirty minutes in between. If it went any longer . . . they’d have that sitcom moment.
“I was thinking,” Ian continued, “when it’s time to finish the first date, you should pretend to use the restroom. That way you won’t get pulled into a conversation in the parking lot. Those can drag on. Once he’s gone and out of the lot, I’ll give you the all clear.”
“Perfect.” She appreciated that he’d come up with ideas. She hadn’t been sure how she’d politely get the first date to leave short of getting in her own car and driving around the block.
“Now, when it comes to conversation . . .”
“I’ll tell funny anecdotes from my job and childhood. I’ll talk about movies and music. I won’t bring up politics, religion, or money.” Those were incidentally the same rules her mom had given her for family gatherings. “And under absolutely no circumstance will I bring up the reunion, my ex, or how many dates I’ve been on in the past decade. Those are not first-date conversations.”
“Sounds like you’re ready.” He raised his beer in silent toast to her. “Now, all that’s left is meeting the guys.”
“I looked up some icebreaker topics.” She’d done that after she’d punched in “how to dress for a casual date” but before “online dating horror stories.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What did you come up with?”
“A few articles suggested asking how someone ended up in the city rather than asking them what they do.”
It was an instant conversation killer on a first date along with phrases like, “according to my wife” and “the rash is gone now that I’ve finished the antibiotics.” Apparently, asking about a job was too direct or made people feel bad if they hated their job. Or some such. She actually hadn’t been able to find a good explanation for why it was such a buzzkill, but it was a no-no on every list. Lesson learned.
“O . . . kay.”
“They also suggested bringing up movies. Like ones we might have seen when we were kids.” If done correctly, the article said it would answer questions about a person’s upbringing and help the couple find common ground. It could also help establish if they had similar tastes and interests. But the follow-up this article suggested had been ridiculous. “They said you should also reference a sexy scene in a movie. Like if we’ve both seen Girl Next Door, you should say something like, ‘That reminds me of skinny-dipping like they did in the movie. Have you ever done that?’”
The article’s writer had phrased it more coolly, but the meaning was the same. And so had her chance of doing it: zero. She’d pass out from embarrassment before she’d finished asking the question.
“Please don’t do that.” His brow creased. “Someone actually suggested that?”
“Right? It’s completely ridiculous.” It was oddly comforting to know he found it every bit as odd as she had. But since it was out there, and he’d probably think it was funny. “Have you done anything like that?”
“Have I ever asked a date if they’ve gone skinny-dipping? Absolutely not.”
That wasn’t what she’d meant. Her cheeks darkened, but she refused to clarify. Then he chuckled before sipping his beer. Oh. He’d understood. The joke was on her.
Willing her embarrassment away, she checked the clock. Only two more minutes to go. Give or take, depending on how prompt this guy turned out to be. Her pulse sped up again.
“Ian. I can’t do this. I—”
“Look at me.” He grabbed one of her shoulders and tipped her chin up with his other hand. “I’m only going to say this once, and I need you to pay attention.”
She gave a small nod.
“You’re a smart, funny, beautiful woman. Any guy would be crazy not to enjoy spending an hour with you.” He gently gripped her chin when she tried to shake her head. “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous. Everyone gets butterflies before a first date.”
His thumb lightly ran across her chin, sending a shiver down her spine. Almost like he’d been jolted by the same bolt of electricity, Ian released her and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Just take a deep breath and try to have fun.”
Her heart rate picked up again. This time it had nothing to do with nerves. At least, not the bad kind. No. It was purely a physical reaction. It had been way too long since she’d been touched by a man in such an intimate way. Surely that was why she had this sudden urge to throw her arms around Ian and find out wha
t it would be like to kiss him.
Trying to dismiss the visual as quickly as it had sprung up, she straightened and said simply, “Okay.”
“You’ve got this.”
“I do.” Taking a step back to add more space, she returned to her table. “I’m ready.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” he called out.
The door opened again. This time, the man she recognized as Leo, Bachelor Number One himself, walked through. Dressed in a suit and tie, he instantly overshadowed her casual ensemble. She wished she’d worn one of her dresses.
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced down.
Don’t worry. You look beautiful.
She was still smiling when Leo arrived at the table. Standing, she offered her hand as they made quick introductions. “Did you find the place okay?”
“I’ve been here once or twice before. Back in college maybe.”
He settled in his seat and ordered a whiskey sour when Sidney arrived at the table. She inadvertently wrinkled her nose. Her ex used to sneak his dad’s whiskey. One time he’d taken a little too much, and she’d spent an hour rubbing his back while he’d hung his head over the toilet. Recovering, she asked for a pinot noir.
Sidney quickly returned to the table with their drinks and mouthed “he’s cute” over his shoulder. He was. The tailored suit fit his tall and slender frame well. The nondescript black tie might have been dull, but it brought to mind FBI agents rather than financial advisers, which gave him an interesting air at least.
Alone with their drinks, he started the conversation. “What did you do over the weekend?”
She gave a nervous laugh. Normally that would be a good question. Not this time around, when she’d spent most of her past weekend exploring a dating app and learning how to date as an adult.
“Nothing too exciting. I went to yoga on Saturday. My dog and I went for a run yesterday. And I went over my lesson plans for the week. Nothing else.” She gave another stifled laugh. “How about you?”
“Met a client for a drink. Watched golf with a few of my buddies. Now that football season is over, our viewing options are a little lighter.”
“Who’s your team?”
“Vikings. Are you a fan?”
She shook her head. She didn’t mind football, but she hadn’t watched a Vikings game since she’d split with Greg. His whole family was fanatical about Minnesota everything. In their three years together, she’d sat through hours of sporting events and discussions.
Leo said she probably slept better at night, given their inability to win the coveted Super Bowl trophy, and she laughed again. Her phone buzzed.
Cool it on the laugh. He’s not that funny. It sounds like you’re compensating.
If Ian only knew.
“Read any good books lately?” he asked.
She listed off a few titles of fantasy books she’d finished over winter break. On impulse, she added a memoir she’d skimmed. It was stupid, but she didn’t want him to think she was one note when it came to her reading.
“I mostly read the newspaper—Wall Street Journal for work. But I finished a book by Milton Friedman . . .”
Shifting in her seat, she tapped her fingers on the table while Leo explained the book. It reminded her of several of the conversations she’d had with Greg during his first economics class freshman year of college. In an effort to be a supportive girlfriend, she’d feigned interest. It hadn’t always been easy. Even a person who worked with math every day, like her, could only listen to theories on supply and demand and inflation for so long.
The phone buzzed again.
You’re fidgeting. Relax.
When Leo finished giving an explanation of something to do with sequential sampling, she asked what he liked most about living in the Midwest. The next thirty minutes carried on like that. One of them would ask a question, and the other would give their question. More often than not, his reply reminded her of Greg. As time went on, she realized he might even resemble her ex. From the thin frame to the dark, serious eyes and perfectly trimmed hair. The resemblance wasn’t close enough to worry she might be dating his cousin, but it still made her stomach churn.
Which was why Ian had to remind her at least five more times to stop fake laughing, twisting her hair, or kicking the table.
After she said her good-byes to Leo, and received the all clear from Ian, she rejoined him in the bar. She almost hated to ask.
“Well?”
“Not bad. You stuck to the talking points. You were friendly. But . . .”
“The fake laugh and fidgeting.” She gritted her teeth. “Sorry. I was nervous.”
“That’s okay. I told you that’s normal. You’ll get used to it.”
“I hope so. I also hope the next guy isn’t like a clone of my ex. I’m not sure I can handle another Greg doppelganger. Nice as Leo was, I don’t think either of us will be in touch any time soon.”
Ian frowned. “He reminded you of your ex and you didn’t like that?” When she nodded, he let out a low whistle. “Then your taste must be improving.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The guy was boring. If you hadn’t been kicking the table and laughing like a choking hyena, I would’ve passed out from that lecture on floating exchange rates.” He cringed. “No wonder he spends all his time with clients and co-workers. It’s the only place outside of a classroom you can talk like that.”
The disgust in Ian’s voice made her laugh. And with the first date out of the way, she found herself more at ease by the time Date Number Two arrived. Whether or not she made a connection with the guy, at least she knew she could get through it and survive.
Chapter Eight
Unfortunately, the first couple rounds of dates left plenty to be desired.
Date One Point One (that’s how he and Haleigh were categorizing the men—organization was crucial with their tight deadline) had been a bore, and she’d nixed him. Ian had been relieved. He couldn’t spend another hour listening to someone rattle on and on about free markets and the federal reserve.
Date One Point Two had shown more promise, but not much. He could actually carry on a conversation that didn’t involve percentages and interest rates. Still, Haleigh had crossed him off the list within fifteen minutes—when he’d gone outside for a smoke. That was one of her deal-breakers.
For a brief moment, Ian had worried something was wrong with the program. Smokers weren’t supposed to be set up with people who didn’t like it. Heart racing, he’d waited for an intern to dig into the guy’s quiz results on their server. Within a minute he had the results: Mr. One Point Two had claimed to be a nonsmoker.
Lying, data-screwing jerk.
The vindication didn’t last long. The second night of dates turned up a real, honest-to-God glitch.
Date Two Point Two was a disaster. No job, no ambition, lived in his mother’s basement—the total cliché—the guy also had a penchant for “telling it like it is.” Nothing about his personality seemed to match Haleigh’s. They weren’t even twenty minutes into the date when Haleigh was ready to call it.
Which is how they’d ended up at the Link Digital offices after eleven on a Saturday night. On a lark, he’d invited Haleigh to accompany him while he checked the code. He hadn’t expected her to say yes. Then again, she had to be curious. So much of her life had become wrapped up in this app.
While he dived into the murky depths of XO On Demand’s infrastructure, she nibbled on one of the complimentary cookies from their kitchen and explored the office.
“You have a lot of space,” she mused. “I hadn’t expected it to be this open.”
“It used to be a warehouse.” He found what might have been the offending glitch. Staring at the screen, he squinted his eyes like that might somehow be all it took to figure out a resolution. “For a candy company. Among other things.”
“A candy company. That’s a pretty whimsical start for your company’s headquarters.”
“That’s LD.
Nothing but whimsy.”
“You should put that on your business cards.” She traced a hand over the exposed brick that had a dartboard affixed to it. “Is it hard working with a bunch of people in a big room?”
“It took some getting used to. But there’s been a lot of research about the benefits of open workspaces encouraging creativity and teamwork.”
“I could see that.” She paused in front of the vintage jukebox one of the founders had discovered in a vintage marketplace on a trip to San Francisco. It had cost more money to ship it across the country and get it to work again than it probably would have to build from scratch. “It’s kind of an interesting mix you have here of the old and new.”
“The founders have eclectic decorating taste.”
“It’s not just the decorating.” Hesitating a moment, she pressed a button and let out a gasp of delight when it flipped the page to reveal another set of songs. “It’s the whole concept. You have all these new ideas and practices. You’re creating products that are revolutionary. But you work in an old candy warehouse in the middle of the Haymarket.”
“Like I said, nothing but whimsy.” But her words gave him pause. “What did you expect?”
She pursed her lips to consider, then shrugged. “I guess I’m not sure what I expected. But I like it.”
He was about to ask if she wanted a quarter to pick out a song, but he stumbled on the glitch. “Gotcha.”
Correctly interpreting his remark, Haleigh moved to another side of the room, giving him time and space to do his repair work. Long minutes passed before he finished his rewrite and refreshed the page. When he updated her profile, he let out a sigh of relief to see that Two Point Two no longer appeared as a compatible option.
“That’s taken care of.” He pushed himself away from the desk to join her by the soda fountain. “Much as I’m sorry you had to go out with a dud, I’m glad we found that error now instead of next month.”
“Isn’t that what guinea pigs are for?” She flashed him a grin and watched as he filled a cup with lemonade. “Do you think there are any other glitches?”
Counting on You (Amarillo Sour, #1) Page 8
