I pulled up Facebook on my Kindle and tapped in Ian Pratchett. He was fifth down on the list, and his profile was public. Jackpot.
His profile picture looked like it had been taken on a boat, off the shore of some Mediterranean country with gleaming white buildings high on the bluff behind him. The water was sparkling blue, and the scenery was truly beautiful, but it wasn’t the locale that interested me. Ian was shirtless and smiling, his broad shoulders suntanned. The dark hair on his chest was sprinkled with gray, and I saw no evidence of the “gory wreck” he’d claimed his body was. Sure, he had a little tummy, but seven days out of the month I did, too. It wasn’t my place to judge.
Under “relationship status” it said, “single,” and I breathed a sigh of relief. Not that people didn’t lie about that sort of thing, but Sophie had said Ian was in the process of divorcing his wife. If he hadn’t changed his status, I would have questioned that.
His wall was full of birthday wishes from July fifteenth. I flipped through my mental calendar. So, he was a Cancer with a Pisces influence. His cute, considerate manner hadn’t been an act. I wished I knew his middle name. Or if Ian was his birth name, at all. I would love to figure out his lifepath number and how compatible it was with mine.
I tapped my way into his photo albums, and immediately wished I hadn’t. The first album was titled, “Greece, 2013”. The display photo was of Ian and a gorgeous, full-figured redhead in a playful embrace by the Acropolis.
That was his ex-wife. She looked like a 1950’s movie star. I looked like a dollar store Barbie knock off.
Nope. I wasn’t going to do this. They were divorced, and he seemed like he really liked me. This woman was no competition to me, and there was nothing to compete for. I’d been on one date with the guy.
Well, one date, and there was that fortune cookie.
But I wasn’t going to bank on that until after Labor Day.
* * * *
My favorite part of Sunday is my run. I love to run, and I’m good at it. I ran track in high school, but in college, I’d gotten invested in long distances. The longest race I’d ever done was a half-marathon, and I was super proud of myself. But after college, I somehow had even less time to indulge. I’d thought when I’d broken free of papers and late night study sessions, I’d have a lot of free time, but now I only got a few days a week in, and only three and a half miles most mornings. Sundays, though, I was free to do my long run, and it was epic. I was guessing it was around eight miles; despite all the free apps out there, I’d never wanted to make it that strict. I just ran where I wanted, for as long as I wanted, and if I went too far, I’d get on the subway and go home.
My preferred route took me across the Williamsburg Bridge and back, then east again to run through East River Park, which had awesome pavement. I’d just reached the north end of the park and turned around when I spotted someone I thought I recognized.
Oh, fudgesicle. It was Ian. In a suit and tie, doing that hot over-the-shoulder-jacket thing, again. And I was wearing a running bra and a pair of spandex shorts, both of which were soaked in sweat, and absolutely no makeup. So, basically, the complete opposite of how hot I’d looked on Friday night.
He was walking beside someone else, so I kept my head down and hoped he wouldn’t notice me, but I looked up at the last moment, and we made eye contact. His face lit up as he recognized me, and I slowed my steps and popped my earbuds out.
“Penny,” Ian said with a big smile. “This is an unexpected surprise.”
“All surprises are unexpected,” the guy next to him said. “That’s why they’re surprises.”
At first glance, I’d been too focused on Ian to really get a look at the man next to him. Now that I was closer, I could see that it wasn’t a guy in a black t-shirt, but a priest in a short-sleeved black button down with a Roman collar.
So, I was now half-naked and sweaty not only in front of the man I had been wanting to go on another date with but his priest friend, as well.
Ian frowned at his friend’s remark. “This sarcastic bastard is my nephew, Danny.”
“Oh.” I reached for the hand Danny offered and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”
Ian gestured to a bench and said to his nephew, “Why don’t you fuck off over there and give me some privacy?”
“Nice to meet you, too. He’s been talking about you all day,” Danny said, a hint of retaliation in his statement.
It worked, because Ian turned bright red and told me, “Well, not all day.”
I blushed, too, ridiculously pleased with myself. I was glad I was already red-faced, so he wouldn’t be able to tell. I gestured to his shirt and tie. “So, do you not have any other clothes? Or is this your park-going suit?”
“What?” He looked down. “Oh. No, I just came from mass. I’m feeling a wee bit overdressed, now.”
His nephew was a priest, and they’d just come from mass. That was interesting new information.
I didn’t want to make him feel like he had to stand there talking to me, so I pointed to the heart rate monitor on my arm. “Well, I’d better—”
“Yes! Sorry. I didn’t mean to imperil your cardiovascular fitness.” He put his free hand in his pocket. His sleeves were rolled up, yet another item on my hot list, and the dark hair on his arms was an added turn-on. “But while you’re here, uh, I was planning to call you tonight. I thought it would look desperate and uncool if I called you yesterday, but now it’s day two and I don’t have to look desperate and uncool, because you’re here and I can just ask you now.” He stopped, made an expression that was more of a wince than a smile, and looked out over the river. “Would you like to go on another date with me? If you aren’t busy on Saturday, I was thinking we could go on a picnic. A legal, daytime picnic.”
I laughed, because I had to do something about the hysterical elation that swelled up in me. Combined with the endorphins I was already rushing on, my rapidly increasing crush on him was threatening to crack all my ribs from the inside out. “I’m totally free. And I would love to go on a picnic with you.”
“Great. I’ll call you this week, and we can hash out the details.” His look of profound relief made me melt.
“Great,” I echoed him. Then I gestured over my shoulder with my thumb. “I’m gonna…”
“Yeah. Have a good one. I’ll call you.”
As I jogged away, I mentally counted to ten, making a bet with myself that he would still be watching me. I looked over my shoulder. Sure enough, he was watching. I gave him a wave, which he returned with a nod, and when I turned back, I made a triumphant fist that I totally did not throw into the air.
On my run home, I couldn’t stop smiling like a doofus. My ponytail swished a little more than usual behind me, and I’m sure people thought I was on a really cheerful brand of cocaine or secretly filming a tampon commercial. A day date? For a second date? He was definitely into me.
It was a general agreement among my friends and I that a day date meant that the other person wasn’t trying to set a time limit. A day could turn into an evening, and an evening could turn into a night. If someone wanted to go on a day date with you, they wanted the option of spending a lot of time with you.
Normally, I wouldn’t have agreed to a daytime meet up for a second date, but I hadn’t wanted Friday night to end. The odds seemed good that we would hit it off that well again.
Unfortunately, it might also mean telling him about my no-sex policy. But I’d found through trial and error that it was better to share stuff like that right at the beginning, so neither of us would be disappointed if it wouldn’t work out. But he was Catholic, so maybe he’d be cool with the virginity thing.
They were big into my kind.
Chapter Four
As much as I loved my job, I usually dreaded Monday mornings, but I knew Sophie was going to have questions about my date, and Monday was one of the days she was in the office. Tuesday through Thursday she worked from home, which was fine by me because that meant I h
ad only one editor-in-chief to assist.
I arrived at eight and slid Sophie’s usual coffee order—small sugar-free vanilla cappuccino—onto her desk in anticipation of her arrival. Then I sat down and opened her schedule and Deja’s. Deja was my other boss. She’d founded the magazine with Sophie and was one of those people who were so cool they would be intimidating if not for how nice they are. She has dark skin, with a gorgeous glowing tan, probably from laying in the sun at Sophie’s seaside house in the Hamptons. Her hair is always changing; currently she was sporting a short bob that tapered to the back of her head on one side, while the other was shaved super close. She was the first to arrive, coming in with her stylish navy linen jacket already off. She lunged for a hanger on the coat rack.
“That’s my job!” I jumped up like I was going to rush her for it, and she held out a hand.
“Get back or so help me god, you’ll never hang up a coat in this office again!” she warned. “I will throw this coat rack out!”
“Guys!” Sophie came through the door, balancing a square pink box on her arm. “I got cookies. You don’t get cookies for fighting.”
Sophie sported a totally weird Marc Jacobs sundress that looked like a wadded up army tent with black shoulder straps. She had paired it with a bright yellow crop top, and pulled her sleek dark hair into a high ponytail. She wore a lot of strange stuff, but she was the editor of a fashion magazine, so she knew better than me what was fashionable.
Deja pulled the tail of her ruched-sided black blouse from the back of her skinny jeans and cracked her neck. She was the only person who could dress like a rock star in dark colors in the summer and pull it off. “All right. What are we doing today?”
“Staff is coming in at nine—you had to cut hours from payroll after last month,” I reminded them, tapping the wireless trackpad for the Mac on my desk. “Deja, you have a ten o’clock with a representative from Illamasqua. Sophie, you’re interviewing Grace Smith from Barneys for your editorial feature at nine-fifteen, and both of you are supposed to be in the conference room at ten-thirty for the October pitch meeting.
“In the meantime, Sophie has to approve the photos for the tights piece, and you both have calls to return.” Before they could ask, I added, “I’ve forwarded their messages.”
“Oh.” Deja looked at Sophie and shrugged.
“Yeah, we’d better get to it,” Sophie said, and they both headed off to their offices.
I rolled my eyes and waited. They only got a few steps before they dissolved into laughter.
“Okay,” Deja said as she turned back. “Obviously we want to know how it went.”
“I have seriously been dying.” Sophie grabbed a chair from another desk—our office is open floor plan—and practically used it as a scooter to pull up beside me. “How did it go?”
“It went…really well.” My smile grew as I once again pored over the evening in my mind. “It started off just horrible. Sophie, why didn’t you tell him I was twenty-two?”
“Because I thought he might not show up if I did,” she said defensively. “And he would have been missing out on some primo Penny.”
“You didn’t tell him?” Deja exclaimed in disbelief.
“He totally freaked out. I think he was looking for the To Catch A Predator guy to pop out from somewhere.” I shot Sophie a pointed look. “But we ditched the restaurant, got some takeout, and ate it in a park.”
“See?” Sophie said triumphantly. “I bet it was really romantic.”
“It was!” I agreed. “Until the cops showed up and thought he was trying to buy sex from me.”
I watched as the color drained from both of their faces. “He handled it like a pro. Almost too good. Do you think he solicits sex from women in the park a lot?”
“I’m guessing probably not,” Sophie assured me.
“Okay, so, how bad are your other dates, if you would describe this one as going well?” Deja asked dryly.
“It was so bad it was funny. And…pretty fun.” I sighed and told Sophie, “Yes, I liked him. A lot.”
“Are you going out again?” She asked.
I nodded. “We ran into each other yesterday in East River Park. I was out for a run and caught him after church—”
Sophie sat up straight, her eyes wide. “Ian? Goes to church?”
“I guess so.” It made me a little bit happy that I knew that and the person who was friends with him didn’t. It made our connection independent, somehow. “He said he would call me about going on a picnic on Saturday.”
“And he was okay with the whole…” Deja gestured at me like I was wearing a big red V on my chest.
“I didn’t tell him. It’s not exactly something you tell a guy on a first date.” People who knew I was a virgin always seemed to think I started every relationship with a disclosure. The way I saw it, sex was no guarantee for anyone. It wasn’t an obligation. If Ian found out that “go slow” might mean “go nowhere”, it was up to him if he was willing to walk away. “If a guy can’t be happy with me without having sex with me, then I’m never going to be happy with him.”
“Good for you.” Sophie lightly tapped my arm with her fingers. “And I bet he really liked you.”
Hopes I didn’t realize I’d had fell a little. Now that I thought about it, maybe I’d been expecting some intel from Sophie regarding how Ian felt about me. “I think he did. He tried to kiss me, but my breath was so bad, I turned him down. I really regretted that.”
“I’m sure you’ll get your chance,” Deja said. “Look, we’ve got a busy day. Enough gossip. And Penny? You get four minutes today to sigh dreamily and stare into space, but that’s it.”
“Understood,” I swore, crossing my heart.
I would have to set a stopwatch on my phone.
* * * *
Central Park on a Saturday in August was nuts. It was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas for a date, which seemed fitting; Ian’s fancy restaurant gig was the mythical dream first date, and it had blown up horribly. So maybe having the second one in a bad location would go really well.
I hopped up the steps from the subway and crossed the street, and pulled the map I’d printed off the internet out of my purse. I’d lived in New York for a few years, now, and I could still get lost in the communal backyard. I couldn’t afford to go unintentionally exploring in the shoes I was wearing.
Yes, it was stupid, beyond stupid, to be wearing strappy high-heeled sandals to a date in Central Park. But I didn’t care. I wanted to look hot. I wanted Ian to be interested in me.
I just wanted Ian.
Over the week, we’d talked on the phone four times. They were short conversations about the logistics of our picnic, but both of us lingered at the end of them, like we didn’t want to hang up.
“This whole thing shouts mid-life crisis,” Rosa had warned me before I’d left the apartment. “And a quarter-life one for you. You’re both acting like middle schoolers.”
Maybe that’s what made it so fun.
My heart was beating like crazy by the time I reached Turtle Pond. I stepped to the side of the path so as not to be run down by cyclists, put away my map and found my phone, all while juggling the handled paper bag full of highly bruise-able fruit over my arm. I dialed up Ian’s number, scanning the area. There were so many people around, but my eyes zeroed in on him. Who was I kidding? Everything zeroed in on him. He was wearing jeans—an odd choice, considering how hot it was, but at least they weren’t Obama jeans—and a casual white button down with the sleeves rolled up. He was also standing with his back turned to me. I could have just told him I saw him and headed on over, but I had a much better, much sillier idea.
“I have managed to get us the perfect spot,” Ian answered, instead of a hello. I noticed he had a habit of just picking up in the middle of a conversation we weren’t having. “But you’ve got to act fast. There are some sinister-looking hipsters nearby, and they’ve got anti-capitalist literature.”
What a dork.
But the cute kind of dork. “I am in the general vicinity. Stand up, so I can find you.”
I picked my way across the lawn, wobbling a little in my stupid sandals as I passed a guy in a Papa John’s delivery uniform napping on the grass.
I’d almost reached Ian by the time he said, “I am standing up. Where are you?”
Just before he could turn, I tapped him on the shoulder. He startled and fumbled his phone as he turned, and his shock and annoyance vanished as I smiled at him. “Fruit and water, as requested.”
He pointed to the blanket he’d promised to bring and said, “Something so you don’t have to touch the grass.” Those were the exact words I used when I’d requested it. He added, “And sandwiches.”
His gaze strayed obviously to my bare shoulder. I’d gone out and bought a new sundress for our date, because I got stupid when I came down with a crush. The fabric was pale daisy yellow and light as a breeze, with spaghetti straps that tied at my shoulders. The bodice was blousy and pintucked above the vintage high waist, so it disguised the ruffle on the bandeau I wore to restrain my breasts. I wanted to look good, but there was no way I would have worn an actual strapless bra outside in this sweaty heat.
But I doubted Ian was appreciating the structure of the garment, so much as he was imaging untying the long, loopy bows on my shoulders. I’d spent the entire train ride alternately fearing that a stranger would pull one and fantasizing about Ian doing it. So I recognized the sort of dazed look in his eyes; I’d seen it in my own in my reflection in the train window.
“You look very pretty today,” he said, shaking himself from his momentary trance.
I felt my smile becoming too beauty-pageant for words, but I couldn’t help it. My brain went one hundred percent goofy, too, because when I tried to compliment him, I ended up insulting him. “Thanks. You look good, too. I like that you ditched the undertaker look.”
“Undertaker? That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” He sounded actually hurt a bit.
First Time: Penny's Story (First Time (Penny) Book 1) Page 4
