by Tina Martin
“Huh?”
He refocused his eyes on her. “I asked how you found this restaurant.”
“I make it a point to try a new restaurant once a month. A year ago, I stumbled upon this one and I’ve been coming back ever since.”
“Nice. Don’t know if I believe you though.”
“What’s there not to believe?” she asked.
“That you float around the city trying new restaurants all by yourself.”
“What’s wrong with that? Oh, let me guess—I’m supposed to be dining with a man. Otherwise, people look at me like I’m crazy.”
“Exactly. You’re too beautiful to be eating dinner alone.”
Felicity crossed her legs beneath the table. “We didn’t come here to discuss me, so Mr. St. Claire—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I think we should keep this as professional as possible.”
“Here’s the thing, Felicity—you already know me.”
“—still doesn’t mean we can’t be professional with each other?”
“We can. However, there’s no need for formalities.”
“Okay, then. Let’s work out a compromise. I’ll call you by your first name if, and only if, you stop calling me WB.”
His smile turned into a big open expression of elation. “No deal.”
“Why not?” she asked, reaching for the wine as soon as the server lowered it to the table.
“Because I don’t want to stop calling you that. That’s my name for you. You’re my WB.”
“I’m not your anything.”
“You’re my certified matchmaker.”
“I’m not that either.”
He only grinned. Unchallenged.
“As I was saying earlier, I didn’t have time to review your questionnaire, so I brought it with me. Do you mind if we discuss it over dinner?”
“Not at all. Go for it, baby. After all, you are my certified matchmaker.”
Ignoring him, she said, “Okay…section one asks that you introduce yourself and you wrote…” She cleared her throat then read his introduction out loud:
Hmm…about me. Well, what can I say that you don’t already know, Dub? Your boy is the ish.
Regal chuckled when Felicity glanced up at him after reading the first few sentences. “What’s wrong with that?” he had the gall to ask.
“You know what’s wrong with that. This questionnaire can be reviewed by my entire staff.”
“Who? You and Zimbabwe?”
“Her name is Zandra.”
“Close enough,” he said nonchalantly.
Felicity reached for her wine glass again, took a quick sip and plastered a smile on her face. “Let me put this a different way—your questionnaire is not for my eyes only. Whoever works in my office can see it, too, so you should not be tailoring your answers as if you’re talking directly to me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her. “But what’s done is done so shall we get on with this?”
Her mouth twitched. “Sure.” She looked at the rest of his introduction and picked up where she’d left off:
Your boy is the ish. If you don’t know, ask around, baby. I’m a thirty-six-year-old who plays golf, have a six-figure career (almost seven) in which I love and lives in a five-bedroom house on Lake Norman. I’m a true believer in health and wellness. I workout five days a week. I love to try new things. I think you’re either stagnant in life or moving forward and progressing. I’ve always operated on a glass-half-full mentality and the woman for me will need to have that same positive outlook.
“Boom, there it is,” he said gesturing with his large hands. “Now tell me what’s wrong with that?”
“It wasn’t bad, Mr. St. Claire, but it wasn’t what I would consider good either,” she scrutinized.
Regal crossed his arms. It annoyed him to hear her call him that.
“I was impressed by some of it, actually.”
“By what exactly?” he asked, taking a sip of wine this time as he examined her for a response. Her answer would tell him some things about her. That’s why he wrote his answers the way he did – to see how she would decipher them – which would, in turn, reveal what kind of person she was.
“I particularly like the parts where you started to sound like an intelligent male with substance—like the part about health, trying new things, progressing in life, having a positive outlook—those things. Everything else—the stuff about you having a six-figure income and a big house shouldn’t come into play when you’re looking for a marriage mate. Don’t you want a woman who wants you for you and not what you have?”
“That’s exactly what I want. Is that what you want, Felicity? A man who wants you for you?”
“I’m the one doing the interviewing here. I’ll ask the questions.”
“Oh, so I can’t know anything about the woman who’s trying to match me with the woman I’ll potentially spend the rest of my life with? That’s not fair, now is it?”
“I—” She hesitated. Choose your battles wisely, Felicity. You weren’t supposed to let him get to you, remember?
“If I was looking for a man, yes, I would want a man who wanted me for me. I firmly believe that you shouldn’t have to change who you are to get someone to love you.”
“But people do change over the years. Their tastes change. Outlook on life—”
“Yes, but those are normal changes with progression, not deliberate changes to one’s physical self or personality solely to attract the attention of or impress another person.”
Regal nodded silently.
Felicity was waiting for a witty comeback but to her surprise, he said nothing. “Hey, aren’t you warm in that suit jacket?” she asked.
A smile came to his face. “I know what you’re up to, Dub…trying to get a glimpse of these guns,” he said, flexing.
“I can assure you, I’m not. I’m warm so I thought you would be, too.”
“Nah. I’m fine. Besides, it’s dangerous enough to be a black man in America. I can’t have these people looking at me walking around with these guns out, girl.”
She didn’t want to laugh so her whole face turned red as she fought to withhold a smile.
He got a kick out of seeing her struggle to decide which reaction best suited the situation and her mood. It let him know she wasn’t as uptight as she tried to present herself. She had a sense of humor somewhere buried under all that beauty. Why she’d elected to keep it hidden was the question.
“Okay, let’s move to section two—hobbies and special interests. You wrote:
I answered that already. See section one. Oh, and eating. I love food.
She looked up at him, raising a brow.
“What? I did answer that in section one. I play golf and exercise.”
“O-kay…I guess exercising could be considered a hobby for some people. How good are you at golf?”
“You should come to the course with me sometime and find out.”
“Why would I do that?”
“For research. That way, you can report back to your Wedded Bliss chicks about my skills, girl.”
Felicity reread his statement. “I don’t think women will be too interested in golf. It’s a tedious, boring sport.”
“It’s not boring. It requires patience and skill which most people don’t possess.” He swished his wine around in the glass. Smelled it. Sipped.
“Let’s agree to disagree on that.”
“Let’s not. Are you telling me patience is not a good quality to have?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then what are you saying?” His question sounded challenging, but he hadn’t meant it that way.
“That most women don’t like to play golf because it’s boring, and they’d rather be doing something else with their time. Do women like patient men? Of course! Do they like boring men? Heck-to-the-nah.”
“I’m not boring, but you’ll have to get to know me to find that out.”
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“You mean your match—the woman I set you up with—she’ll have to get to know you.”
“Yeah.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Her.”
Their food arrived. Felicity started on her kale berry salad and he started on a juicy steak and collard greens.
A few bites in, Regal glanced over at her plate and asked, “What in the Bugs Bunny are you eating, girl?”
“It’s a salad.”
“A salad with strawberries in it?”
“Yeah. It also has blueberries.”
“Since when does fruit belong in a salad?”
“Since forever,” she said gathering some salad on her fork. “Tomatoes are fruits. People put those in salads all the time.”
“But they don’t put tomatoes in fruit salads because they don’t fit, just like strawberries and blueberries don’t belong on a salad with onions, cheese and what’s that lime green stuff? Is that avocado?”
“Here’s an idea—why don’t you keep your eyes on your own plate and leave my food alone?”
He picked up a clean fork and said, “Nope, I gotta try this.”
“Regal, don’t you put that fork in my salad,” she protested.
He laughed. “All of a sudden, I’m not Mr. St. Claire anymore, huh?” In a gutsy move, he reached across the table, anyway.
Felicity managed to bat his hand away the first time, but he went for her salad again and managed to get some kale, strawberry and onion on his fork. Then he quickly went to his mouth with it.
After chewing for a moment, he said, “Mmm…not bad.”
“I cannot believe you just did that.”
“What? It was a clean fork. Why are you frowning?”
“Because this is my food.”
“Okay, let me make it right.” Using his fork, he stabbed a piece of steak and reached across the table attempting to feed it to her. “Open up.”
“No, thanks,” she said.
“What’s the problem? You want some sauce on it or something?”
“No, I don’t want no sauce. I’m not eating steak off of a fork that’s been in your mouth.”
“Yeah, because my tongue has never been inside of your mouth, right, so the notion of me offering you my fork would be totally absurd…”
Dang. He had her in a corner. His tongue had been inside of her mouth when he stole a kiss from her that day in the parking lot. Still, that didn’t mean she was comfortable sharing eating utensils. Maybe in his world that was acceptable. In hers, it wasn’t.
“Going forward, don’t take anything off of my plate or the women I place you with. I promise you they won’t like that.”
“They probably will. You just don’t like it. You’re wound up too tightly. You need to loosen up.”
“Regal, I’m telling you not to do that. If you want me to be your certified matchmaker, you need to pay attention and listen to me.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, palms up. “Duly noted.” He ate the piece of steak that she’d turned down.
Felicity wiped her mouth and said, “Let’s get back to this questionnaire. Section three—qualities. You say you’re strong-willed. Determined. An analytical thinker. Hard worker.”
“I am.”
“You are,” Felicity said.
“Was that a question?”
“No. I was agreeing with you. I know you work hard. I haven’t seen you in action, but I know.”
“How do you know? Have you been checking me out?”
“No, I—” Felicity took a breath. This was the most exhausting interview she’d ever done. “Moving right along…section four is the section where you describe your perfect woman. You say:
My perfect woman would be about her business. Smart. Sexy. Ethical. I like a woman who doesn’t think too highly of herself. One who knows how to be kind to people and who has a sense of humor. A big butt and a smile wouldn’t hurt either (wink).
“I know you made the big butt jab from the comment I made to you on Friday so I’ll ignore that. Everything else sounds very nice. Let me ask—how important is it to you to have a woman who doesn’t think too highly of herself?”
“It’s very important. You’ve met my mother. She’s sweet and she always puts everyone before her own needs. She’s never been the type of woman to walk around with her nose in the clouds or be so stuck on herself that no one else matters. I’ve encountered women who only cared about themselves. I don’t like the selfish attitude.”
Felicity nodded, pleased with his answer. “Good and yes, your mother is sweet.”
“Thank you. What about your mother? Your parents?” he asked her.
“What about them?”
“How’s your relationship with them? Do they live in the city?”
“These are all questions you should be asking your potential wife, but this is good practice.”
“Then answer my questions.”
Felicity sipped water this time. “Okay. Fine. I think my parents live in the city, but I can’t be certain.”
“Why’s that?” he asked, paying rapt attention to her every expression, reading her body language. He saw the moment she swallowed hard and frowned a little.
“I haven’t spoken to my parents in almost five years. They’ve been divorced for ten. Um…” She paused briefly. “My mother took it pretty hard because even though the marriage was falling apart and she knew for certain that they were no longer good for each other, she didn’t want to see him happy with someone else. He remarried, and I actually went to the wedding and that angered my mother. She said I was the worst daughter ever. Anyway, my father was supposed to be happy with his new wife but he was always trying to get information about my mother through me. He wanted to know if she was seeing someone like he had a right to delve into her business like that. I got the sense that he wanted to move on and be happy but he wanted her to stay miserable. I guess she was supposed to sit at home, eat and get fat while crying her eyes out and begging for him to come back. The whole thing was ridiculous, and I was caught up in the middle, so I took myself out of the crazy equation.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep. Just like that.”
“Wow. That’s a lot to deal with,” he said softly.
“Tell me about it…”
Regal took a napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth. Right away he could sense that this family dispute had been a source of contention and weighed heavily on her. He watched her stare down at her rabbit food, still thinking about it.
“Do they have dessert at this joint?” he asked her.
“Dessert?” Felicity’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t have any cupcakes left over from Friday? Gianna gave you a dozen.”
“Yeah, and I ate half of them in the car on the way home.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did…ate the last one for breakfast this morning.”
“Jeez. Men are so lucky. If I look upon a cupcake with desire in my eyes, I’ll gain five pounds.”
“Do you exercise?”
“Not as much as you. I do a little treadmill jogging, but you know what they say—you can’t out-exercise a bad diet.”
“That’s true. I still want dessert though.”
As they were both smiling, their eyes met. It actually felt like they were on the same wavelength for once. How’d that happen?
Felicity cleared her throat and looked away from his dark, penetrating eyes. “In answer to your question, yes they have dessert. I’ve tried their chocolate caramel cake. It was pretty good.”
“Don’t know if I’m in the mood for chocolate,” he said.
“Okay, well let me get through the rest of your questionnaire while you think about that. You’ve pretty much answered the relationship question but as for the one about children—”
“I thought I answered that one, too. I love children, and yes I do want some of my own.”
“Okay. If I accept you as a client, would you consider dating a woman who already has children, or is that a
deal breaker?”
“That’s a definite deal breaker. I prefer raising my own children. I don’t want to concern myself with baby daddies and all that nonsense.”
“Right,” Felicity said. His answer made her think of the possible rejections she’d face as a woman whenever she did decide to start dating again. The truth of the matter was, a lot of men didn’t want a package deal. They wanted to create their own families, not have an insta-family, especially professional men like Regal.
“Well, I think that’ll do it for the interview,” she said.
“So, do you want me?” he asked intentionally to rattle her, and he knew that she was aware of that. He just didn’t care.
Felicity felt a surge of heat run through her at his question and at the way he was looking at her. “Um—I—I will have to consider everything we talked about and let you know tomorrow.”
“Why can’t you let me know now?”
“Because I don’t want to make rash decisions.”
He nodded. “Okay. I guess that’s fair.”
“It is,” she told him watching a magnificent smile come to his face.
He sat up straight in his chair and asked, “When can I expect a follow-up?”
“Probably by the end of the week.”
“Give me a definite answer. When? Thursday or Friday?”
“I’m not sure yet, Regal. I’ll get back to you.”
“Come on, Felicity…you’re running a business, so be about your business.”
“I am about my business. Stop being so pushy. Women don’t like that.”
“So you’re not going to give me a day and a time when I can expect my next communication from you?”
“Gee—are you always this insistent?”
“Yes. I am.”
“My goodness.” She nibbled on her bottom lip and drew the attention of his eyes. She immediately stopped when she saw him lick his lips. “How about Friday at two? Will that work?”
“That sounds perfect, Ms. B.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Stop pretending you don’t like it.”
