12 Steps to Mr. Right

by Cindi Madsen

  “That’s me,” I said, flashing her my most reassuring smile. Most people were a bit nervous about the initial meeting, so I exuded as much confidence as possible and made sure to mix a lot of encouragement into the meeting to help them relax. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  I settled into the cushy chair across from her—these two wingbacks were the most coveted spots in the place. You could say the coffee shop was my second office, with my living room being the first. Since conducting official business in my living room was a no-go, I often met clients here or at Azure, depending on what we were discussing, or if we needed to do a rehearsal date and practice-run flirting.

  Abigail had signed up for my Gold Package, which included the works. Five consultations, dating profile revamp, wardrobe edits or overhaul, and unlimited phone call and email support. She bit at her thumbnail. “Um, how do we…?”

  “I think we should start with your dating profile.” I eyed her MacBook. “If you’ll go ahead and log in, we can discuss my suggested changes.” I’d looked at her profile this morning, but naturally there were things I didn’t have access to, and I wanted to see how many hits her profile got, and what kind of messages she was getting.

  From the questionnaire I had her fill out, I knew she was an introvert who referred to herself as quirky and chronically single. The questions also helped me assess what exactly she was looking for—both in a relationship and by coming to me. She said she was sick of being lonely, and right now, she’d consider it a success if she ever got to call a guy her boyfriend.

  Nice, really, because that was in the realistic and manageable range. Once in a while, a woman’s expectations were so grand I didn’t think Prince Charming himself could fulfill them.

  Abigail swiveled her computer screen to me, and I asked for permission before looking at her messages and interactions. There weren’t many.

  “It’s kind of sad, I know,” she said.

  “That’s why I’m here to help, and I do have some advice right off the bat.” Abigail seemed a bit fragile, and from some of her questionnaire answers, I gathered she was on the high-anxiety side, so I needed to put this delicately. “You have three pictures…”

  Abigail nodded and clicked the scroll pad to open them up.

  “In two of them, you’ve got your pet chinchilla on your shoulder.”

  She blinked at me through bangs that were a bit…misguided, and definitely too long, considering they curled over the top of her glasses. When she shook them off her face, I got a better look at striking blue eyes. A quick trip to the salon and we’d be able to better highlight one of her best features. “That’s Princess Bubblegum—I named my pets after characters in my favorite cartoon.”

  I’d helped a lot of women, but I’d never heard that one before. Instead of stepping on that cartoon trivia landmine, I pointed at the orange striped furball in the third picture. “This one’s just of your cat.”

  “Did you read the caption, though?” She gave a little snort-laugh and shoved the computer toward me. I took it, even though I had, in fact, read the caption. “It’s of Me-Mow trying to figure out how to attack Princess Bubblegum.”

  Riiight. Looks like it’s tough love time. “While it is a rather funny cat picture, guys aren’t trying to date your cat.” And if that’s what they notice about your profile, we’ve got bigger issues to worry about.

  Her shoulders slumped. “I thought it displayed my humor.”

  “We want your humor to come through, but I think there are better ways.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t come through when I meet with guys. Mostly I just freeze up and say stupid things. I get so nervous and…” She bit at her thumbnail again. “I’m not good at small talk. Or big talk. Or talk at all when it comes to a guy I find attractive. That’s why I thought internet dating might go better.”

  “I’m positive we can find a way to make it work for you, with only a few tweaks. I’d like to get a couple more pictures up, sans pets. You can put one with the pets toward the end.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about the last guy you went out with? How you met. What you did on your date or dates. How long ago it was.”

  Abigail told me about a guy her sister had set her up with four months ago. He took her to dinner, and when she hemmed and hawed as she tried to respond to his questions, he’d carried the rest of the conversation. To her surprise, he asked her on another date.

  “We went bowling on date two. When he tried to help with my form, my hands got all sweaty and I dropped the ball right on his toe.” Abigail’s cheeks flared pink. “Then I dropped my pizza, greasy side down, on my white T-shirt—it was a disaster. I seriously wanted to launch myself down the alley and disappear into whatever dark place the pins do.”

  I turned the laugh that wanted to come out into a smile, because I didn’t want her thinking I was laughing at her. “You do have a good sense of humor,” I said. “Did you say that to him?”

  “Of course not! I told him to just take my turns after that, and I sat there with my arms and legs crossed so I wouldn’t do any more damage.”

  Keeping my expression carefully neutral, I prompted her to keep going. Already I could see she’d need ways to deal with her anxiety and shyness, as well as a lot of confidence boosting.

  “He didn’t run, though—he was actually nice about it, although he asked me, like, a hundred times to try to bowl again. But there was no way…” She shook her head. “When he dropped me off, I invited him up, although I honestly had no idea what I’d do once we got into my apartment. Mostly I was just thinking I needed to change my shirt and then maybe I’d feel less weird and know how to fix it.

  “When I came out from changing my shirt, though, Me-Mow was hissing and growling and all…” She put her hands up at the top of her head and then flattened them, demonstrating her cat’s angry posture. “Me-Mow’s an excellent judge of character, so that really worried me.”

  In my experience, cats hated everyone they didn’t know. Hell, sometimes they didn’t even like their owners all that much.

  “So that was that,” she said with a shrug.

  “Wait. What do you mean, that was that?”

  “I asked him to leave, and I didn’t return his next call—I can’t date someone who doesn’t get along with Me-Mow or Princess Bubblegum.”

  Okay, I got that her pets were her family, but… Actually, I didn’t really get it. They’d be her only family if she marked off every guy her cat sneered at. “So you took your cat’s hissing over your sister’s judgment about someone who might be right for you?”

  I know I said lottery odds for set-ups by well-meaning relatives, but that was aunts and parents. Brothers and sisters were usually closer to your age and knew the parts of you that you hid from your parents and other relatives. They upped the odds quite a bit. Like scratch ticket range. Sure, you didn’t always hit a jackpot, but you won at least a dollar or two with every few.

  “I did feel really bad about it,” Abigail said. “Not only was he nice despite our disastrous bowling game, he’d also been so understanding when I told him I was still recovering from my last relationship.”

  I felt myself cringe for a second before reining it in. Talking about an ex on the first few dates was a shoot-yourself-in-the-foot maneuver. The guy was practically a saint, and she kicked him out because of her grouchy cat.

  Okay, I’ll file that information away for later. First I better find out what happened with her ex. Destructive relationships left deep scars, and if we didn’t get a balm over them and get to the heart of the damage they’d done, they rose up and ruined other chances at happy, functional ones.

  I softened my voice and gently placed my hand over hers. “Why don’t you tell me about your ex? The one you told him about?”

  After a few minutes, it became clear the guy had used her as a dirty-little-secret booty call. He never took her out and only called late at night, when his other plans fell through. But she d
idn’t see it. Not until her sister—the same sister who set her up with the nice guy—pointed it out. Then she’d asked him to take her out on a real date or forget it, and he… Well, the jackass forgot it.

  Abigail blinked back tears. “I thought I’d finally found someone who saw me and wanted me. Instead he was”—her chin quivered—“embarrassed he liked me at all.”

  I wrapped my arm around her in a side hug, my heart going out to her. I fought the urge to ask for the guy’s name and address so I could hunt him down and make him pay for taking advantage of such a vulnerable girl. “You deserve a lot better than that. I’m going to help you see guys for who they really are so that never happens to you again.”

  I turned my attention back to her computer screen, and I swore that cat’s angry glare was on me. “We need to discuss your feline situation, though. Me-Mow might need to be eased into a new relationship, just like you.”

  “But you think you can really help me?” She punctuated her question with a sniff.

  I pulled out the assuring smile. It’d take work, but I could hear the longing in her voice, and she deserved someone who’d treat her like a prize instead of a secret. I’d had plenty of clients with similar hurdles to get over before, so I didn’t have to think twice about looking her in the eye and saying, “I know I can.”

  …

  “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Ivy Clarke in the flesh.”

  Ivy and I agreed to meet at our usual spot in Piedmont Park, and while the sun would keep us plenty toasty, a cool breeze did its best to make the temperature bearable. I’d gotten there about ten minutes early so I could enjoy the calm before the sucky.

  “Girl, don’t get me started on how crazy the past few days have been.” Ivy sat on the park bench I was using to stretch my legs. “Make that weeks. And I can’t believe I agreed to run before my shift—I’m going to be tired before I have to be on my feet all night.”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to get back in the swing of things.” While I’d been dressing like I was forever ready for a workout, I’d let the actual working out slip with everything else.

  Ivy wrinkled her nose. “I forgot that included making me run.”

  “If being naked in front of anyone is an eventual option, it’s a necessary evil. And if I’m going to force myself to get back into an exercise routine, I figured it’d be slightly less miserable with you by my side.”

  Ivy pushed herself to her feet and pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She jogged in place for a couple of seconds and blew out a long exhale. “Let’s go, then.”

  We jogged toward the trail and found a nice steady pace. “So, spill it,” I said. “Everything I missed hearing about these past few crazy weeks.”

  “My cousin Linc moved back to Atlanta…”

  I tilted my head and shot her a dirty look to show her how unamused I was. “So funny.”

  “I really am sorry about not telling you sooner. He had his first shift at the bar yesterday, though, and he said you two were going to start hanging out again.”

  “In theory. He wants to go back to being friends.”

  “And you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Honestly?” I shrugged, which wasn’t easy while swinging my arms. “I have no idea. But I’ve been thinking about it the past few days, and before everything got all screwed up, we were really good friends.” Since our chat in front of my building, more blips of our good old days played through my head, things that’d been overshadowed by the way it all ended. “He got me through a lot of stress freak-outs and boring nights.

  “And yes, he kept me up thinking about him a lot of nights, too, but it’s not like he did that on purpose. Don’t get me wrong, the urge to ask him why he left me the way he did after such a great night together was still strong, but I figured bringing up something from so long ago would make it look like I was hung up on him.

  “So it’d look like the truth.”

  I gave her a small shove. “What used to be the truth. I know better now. I’d never think a guy would somehow just realize it meant something more to me. So can I really hold his acting like a commitment-phobe idiot against him when I never bothered to tell him how I really felt? When I knew he wasn’t a relationship guy in the first place? It’s kind of like hugging a lion and then being surprised when he claws your face off. As my daddy always says, if you practice stupid long enough…”

  “One,” Ivy said, her voice cut short as we picked up our pace, “you’re not stupid, and you never were. And two, you really shouldn’t go hugging lions.”

  “I’ll make a note.” I moved around a puddle that hadn’t quite dried up from all the rain that’d fallen the other night, but not soon enough to miss it completely. A couple of drops splashed my bare calves. “Part of me still wants to hold on to that sucky morning after and use it as a wall to keep him out—like a double brick, lots of plaster wall…” I’d probably need a two-layer barrier to even stand a chance. Plus, I’d have to avoid Azure, and with Ivy and all the dating demonstrations available there, that simply wasn’t a viable option.

  “But,” I said, “now that I’m older and obviously much, much wiser—”

  “Obviously,” Ivy added.

  “I realize that holding our past against him won’t do me any good. Especially since he probably has no idea how much he hurt me.”

  “That’s very mature of you.”

  “Yeah. That’s me. Mature. Getting my life up and running—literally.” I sucked air. “I know I said exercise was a necessary evil, but I forgot just how evil it was.” Pushing through the stitch in my side, I decided it was time to make Ivy carry the conversation before the sharp pain grew and took away my ability to breathe completely. “What about you? Anything interesting besides work?”

  “I met this really smart guy. He’s totally nerdy cute, too. But he’s also…super sweet.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Right?” She stuck her lips out in a pout. “I’ll eat him alive. He’s already texting a lot, and he’s called me twice since we went out.”

  “Double uh-oh.”

  “I love that I can carry on an intellectual conversation with him—we get into these deep theoretical topics and he can actually keep up. But I don’t want to hurt him, which means I’ve got to stop it before it goes any further.” She groaned. “Why are all the good-looking guys who don’t mind no-strings-attached arrangements so intellectually challenged? Why’s it so hard to find a smart asshole?”

  “Aw, Ivy. I’m sure he’s out there somewhere. You’ve just gotta keep looking.” She seemed so distraught I nudged her with my elbow. “Hey. Maybe I can ask my workshop attendees for numbers of their meanest exes.”

  She threw a hand over her heart. “You’d do that for me? Can you see if they have experience painting, too?”

  I dodged the dog that was doing his best to drag his elderly owner into my path. My stride got off for a second, and once I corrected it, I worked to get words to come out with enough sound behind them. “You’re not done painting yet?”

  “Haven’t even started—I still can’t pick a color.”

  “Big surprise.”

  This time, Ivy was the one who shoved me, which threw my stride off all over again. At least the glassy water of Lake Clara Meere came into view, signaling the two mile—and halfway—mark.

  “You do know that if you change your mind about paint, you can simply re-paint,” I said. “You’re making it out to be a bigger commitment than it is. But either way, I have to warn you that assholes probably won’t help you paint your condo.”

  Ivy gave an exaggerated sigh. “I guess there really is no such thing as the perfect man.”

  I laughed and she laughed, and then we had to slow our pace, because laughing took too much air to keep running.

  A guy jogged toward us, his sleeveless T-shirt displaying ripped arms. It made me pick up my pace again, despite the stupid sharp pain in my side. He grinned at me, and I shot him a smile back, watchin
g as he ran past. He cast a glance over his shoulder and caught me staring, but his grin only widened.

  “Go ask him out,” Ivy whispered. “He’s hot and clearly interested.”

  “But I already have a date with Andrew. I’m going to see where that goes.”

  “Hello? You need to date for a while before you jump into a relationship. Get back in the swing of things so you can remember how to properly judge if you want to settle on one guy.” She shuddered as if it was the worst thing she could imagine.

  “Fair point. But if I ask someone out who I met jogging, he’ll think I actually enjoy physical activity. All our dates will involve cardio.”

  “One can only hope,” she said, waggling her eyebrows.

  I shook my head and the ends of my ponytail brushed my shoulders. “I’m not running for a guy. I mean, right now I kind of am—like the general, someday guy—but it’s more about taking care of my heart. And whichever part of it is responsible for making my pants not so tight.”

  “If we pass him again and he gives you another smile, you need to get his number. Then I’ll feel like this outing was worth getting up an hour earlier than usual.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  We switched to fast walking for a while, but for the last leg, we temporarily lost our minds and decided to jog again. Just short of the entrance, the hottie with the swoon-worthy arms was doing push-ups on the grass. He stood as we neared him, and Ivy stopped jogging and began stretching, leaving me with two options. Be a wimp and run right past him, or stop to stretch and see if he came over to talk to me.

  I transitioned to walking, blew out my breath, and tugged my leg behind me to stretch my hamstring. When I glanced up, the guy smiled and headed toward me.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Nice day for a run, huh? Maybe it’d be nicer without the run, actually, but I suppose if one has to run…” There. Making it clear I’m not Miss Jogging Weekly so I’m not being fake, but not saying running’s the worst, because he looks like he might actually enjoy it, and I can’t argue with the results.