by Vi Keeland
“But what does he expect to happen?”
“If he expects anything to happen, he’s an asshole and not worth your time.”
“Maybe it’s too soon.”
Eve popped her head out from my walk-in closet and spoke to me sternly, not unlike how I might’ve warned my son at times. “You’re going.”
My shoulders slumped. “Yes, Mom.”
“And don’t sneeze on the poor guy!”
Oh God. What if I do sneeze on him? I hadn’t thought of that. Ever since I was a little girl, I sneezed when I got nervous. It had been in check for years—probably because my mundane life didn’t have anything going on in it to get excited or nervous about—but lately I’d noticed it happening again.
Eve had disappeared into the closet, but she came back out. “And stop worrying about sneezing on him now!”
She knew me so well.
It took another forty-five minutes for us to agree on what I should wear, and in the end, almost the entire contents of my closet were in a heap on my bed. I had on a red skirt, cute, strappy, high-heeled sandals that I’d bought but never had occasion to wear, and a form-fitting black top that showed off a hint of my cleavage.
“You don’t think this top is too tight?”
“You look sexy, yet classy.”
I reached for a sweater, even though it was a warm evening. Eve swiped it from my hand. “You don’t need a sweater. You just want to cover up.”
She was absolutely right. I sighed, pushing out a nervous breath. “Fine.” We left the bedroom a disaster and walked to the kitchen.
“What time is he picking you up?”
“He’s not. I’m meeting him.”
“He didn’t offer to pick you up? Wait, let me guess. He did. But you told him you would rather meet him somewhere instead.”
“It’s safer that way.”
“And you can’t chicken out if you give him your address.”
That, too.
“I’m not chickening out.”
Eve opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. Uncapping it, she pondered something before speaking. “Why don’t I drive you and pick you up? I can wait outside and make sure he isn’t a serial killer or anything.”
“You just want to make sure I go and check him out in person.”
She guzzled half her water. “Where did you say you were meeting him? Tom and I were talking about going out to eat. Maybe I will come spy on you, tell you if he’s worthy of seeing your panties on the first date.”
***
I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, and yet I was still sitting in my car fifteen minutes after the time I was supposed to meet Donovan. I’d never had a panic attack, but I was pretty certain that’s what was happening. My palms were sweaty, my heart was racing, and I had the uncontrollable urge to flee to the safety of my home—although there was no way I could possibly drive in this condition.
When my phone buzzed with an incoming text, I hesitated to look at it, knowing there was a good chance whoever it was would make me deal with my current situation. By ignoring it, I could buy more time. So that’s what I did for another five minutes.
The next time my phone buzzed, it was a phone call instead of a text. I peeked at the caller ID. It was Donovan, and I was twenty minutes late. He had been such a nice guy so far. He didn’t deserve me standing him up. Taking a deep breath, I swiped and answered.
“Hello.”
“Valentina? Is everything okay?” His voice was deep and raspy. Really manly and really sexy. Something else I didn’t expect.
“Yes. No. Yes. I mean, no. I’m sorry, Donovan. I’m not going to be able to make it tonight.”
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I am. It’s…it’s…I didn’t realize I wasn’t ready until now.” Just then, a horn blared off in the distance. I had my car window cracked open to get fresh air.
“Where are you?”
“I’m…I’m…sort of in the parking lot.”
“Of the restaurant?”
“Yes.” I felt like an idiot admitting it.
“Nervous?”
“You might say that.”
“Want me to come outside?”
“Not really.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I know this is ridiculous. I’m acting like a teenager, and I’m so embarrassed.”
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“Please don’t come out and get me. It’ll make my humiliation even worse.”
“I won’t come out unless you want me to. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I drive a silver Routan. But I’m fine. I just need to sit here for a while.”
“Okay. Stay on the phone with me. Maybe it will help you relax. You shouldn’t drive if you’re nervous anyway.”
Here I am jerking this poor guy around, and he’s offering to keep me company on the phone while I stand him up. “Thank you.”
“So I probably shouldn’t tell you this if you’re already nervous about meeting me, but it’s too odd of a coincidence to keep to myself.”
“What?”
“You need to come inside because an old lady I know had a dream that I met my future wife today.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Peabody. It’s a long story, but I sort of have a friend who’s older, and she sometimes has these premonitions and weird dreams. This morning she randomly called me and said she woke up at two in the morning knowing I was going to meet my future wife today.”
“Oh really?” I chuckled. “Did she say anything else?”
“No. Well, except that she smelled cinnamon buns in the oven and then vomited right after.”
“She what?”
“She threw up. But that’s normal. She always throws up after her premonitions.”
I shook my head. “I think you’re right.”
“So you’ll come inside?”
“No…” I laughed. “I meant you shouldn’t have told me, because now I’m afraid you might be a little crazy.”
“We’re all a little crazy, Val. What fun would it be if we only filled our life with normal things?”
That was a question I could answer, since my life had been boring as hell the last few years: no fun at all. Maybe I needed a Mrs. Peabody in my life.
“You’re right.”
“What’s your favorite drink, Val?”
“I usually drink wine, but my favorite mixed drink is a dirty martini.”
Donovan sounded amused. “Not what I was expecting.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Some frou-frou drink.”
“They’re a waste of calories.”
“Well, I’m going to sit at the bar and order two dirty martinis. If you decide to come in, yours will be waiting for you. I’m in no rush. Why don’t you take a few minutes, put your seat back, shut your eyes, and relax. I’ll call back in a bit to check on you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
A few minutes later, a knock at my window startled me. I nearly froze, expecting it to be Donovan. But it wasn’t. Instead, it was an older man wearing a white dress shirt, black vest, and black slacks—a waiter and not my date. In one hand, he held a dirty martini, and in the other he had an antipasto plate.
I rolled the window down the rest of the way. “Hi.”
“From the gentleman at the bar.”
Smiling, I accepted the delivery, took a healthy gulp of the martini, and hit Call on my phone.
Donovan answered without saying hello. “This counts as a first date now. We’re having a drink together. Mine’s delicious. How’s yours?”
I settled back into my seat. “It’s yummy. Very dirty. I like a lot of olive juice.”
“As long as you brought it up, I like it dirty, too.”
I chuckled. “Is that so?”
“It is. I’m sorry. Hang on a second. I have someone beeping in, and I need to ta
ke it.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll just sit here and enjoy my cocktail.” The line went quiet for a moment, and then he came back.
“Sorry about that. I should tell you that there’s another woman in my life, a very demanding one.”
“Oh?”
“She’s a giant pain in the ass, but I can’t seem to figure out how to ignore her calls.”
“Your ex-wife?”
“Worse. Little sister. I’m always afraid it will be that one time something is really wrong and I don’t pick up.”
“Did something happen?”
“She’s upset at the painter who’s working in my apartment at the moment.”
“What did he do?”
“He arrived at 9 a.m. this morning…on a Saturday.”
“Okay…”
“She doesn’t get up until at least one.”
I chuckled.
“By the way, your drink only has one shot of alcohol. It’s mostly olive juice. But maybe you should only drink half, in case you decide not to come in and want to drive in the near future.”
God, this man was so damn thoughtful. The way he made everything easy for me made it harder at the same time. We stayed on the phone talking for another half hour. Considering our current predicament, the conversation focused on bad first dates. Since I hadn’t really had any in twenty years, Donovan did most of the talking. He told me he despised when people ate off of his plate, yet it seemed to be a frequent occurrence. His last three first dates had all ordered salad, drank too much, and then proceeded to pick at his plate of food.
“I wanted to stab my last date’s hand with my fork every time she reached over. I don’t get it. Order your own food if you’re hungry.”
“They’re probably self conscious about ordering a big meal in front of their date.”
“Why?”
“Because almost all women are self-conscious about their weight.”
“Are you?”
“I used to be. But as I came into my thirties, I learned to accept that I was never going to be stick thin, and instead, now I love my curves.”
“I love your curves, too.”
“You haven’t even seen my curves yet.”
Donovan went quiet.
“Did I lose you?”
“Nope. I’m still here.”
Then he was quiet again. We’d never had an awkward moment before, and I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. If he was half as smart as he seemed, he was probably thinking What the hell am I doing talking on the phone with this nutcase?
I spoke quietly. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
“Nothing to be sorry about, Val.”
“That’s not true. But thank you for saying that.”
Again, he went quiet. He was probably regretting the day he messaged me, and I couldn’t blame him.
After a full minute of dead silence, we both went to speak at the same time. Oddly, we said the same words. I said, “Listen, Donovan,” just as he said, “Listen, Val.”
“You go first,” I offered.
“Ladies first.”
“I—” When I opened my mouth to begin to thank him and say goodbye, I noticed the waiter again walking to my car. This time, he was carrying a piece of cake. “The waiter is walking my way with a huge piece of chocolate cake. Is that for me, too?”
“I had to buy you dessert. Can’t have your first date in twenty years suck now, can I?”
The waiter smiled as he approached. I began to roll down my window to accept what looked to be a delicious slice of molten chocolate lava cake, then realized just how insane I was being. “Can you hang on one second?” I asked Donovan.
I pressed mute before getting out of the car. I thanked the waiter and stood outside with my cake in hand. After a minute, I took a deep breath and headed to the restaurant door to have dessert with my date. In person.
Inside, the bar was almost empty. Even though his back was to me, it wasn’t too hard to figure out which man was Donovan. There was an older couple sitting at one end of the bar and two girls who looked barely legal sitting a few stools away from a man holding his phone to his ear.
I unmuted my phone and spoke quietly. “The cake looks delicious. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
My feet felt heavy, like my shoes were made of concrete blocks. Staring at Donovan’s back, I was quiet for a moment as I watched him.
“Listen, Val, I would absolutely love to see you in person. But if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you.”
I swallowed. “I think I’m ready.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “I better do this before I change my mind. Turn around. I’m standing about twenty feet behind you.” I held my breath as I watched Donovan turn. Even though his head whipped around, it seemed to happen in slow motion.
My eyes locked with his. He was even more gorgeous than I had imagined after seeing his profile. His dark blond hair was tousled in that sexy I don’t give a shit way, but still looked perfect. Strong masculine features—a rugged jaw coated in day-old stubble on sun-kissed skin, a straight, prominent nose, and eyes the color of honey. His deep blue tie was loosened at the collar, and his wide shoulders filled out his dress shirt, pulling slightly over the muscles of his pecs.
Gorgeous. Yet there was something very familiar about him. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Donovan took a few tentative steps toward me. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was as nervous as I was.
The waiter who had been visiting my car interrupted Donovan’s approach, extending a credit card. “Your card, Mr. Donovan.”
Mr. Donovan?
Donovan is his last name, not his first?
Donovan…Donovan? I knew a Donovan.
My eyes widened.
Oh my God.
Everything clicked into place at rocket speed.
His profile said his happy place was Montauk.
He has a sister about five years younger.
Donovan. Ford.
Ford Donovan.
The boy next door at our summer home.
The one who used to keep an eye on Ryan for me years ago. His little sister had played with my son.
Donovan saw the look on my face.
And then I saw the look of recognition hit him.
“Mrs. Davis?”
My hand flew up to cover my mouth. “Achoo!”
Chapter 5
* * *
Valentina
When morning finally rolled around, I thought I’d get an early start on the day. I’d tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Thoughts about Donovan—Ford—kept infiltrating my brain, even though I tried my hardest to forget the entire nightmare had ever happened.
I vacuumed the house, unloaded the dishwasher, and had started sorting through a pile of mail when my cell rang. Eve’s face flashed on the screen.
“Give me all the details.”
I shook my head repeatedly, even though she couldn’t see me. “It was horrible.”
“What happened? What did the bastard do to you? I’ll cut his balls off.”
Eve’s response made me smile for the first time since I’d laid eyes on my date. “No. It wasn’t that kind of horrible. He was a perfect gentleman.”
“Okay…”
“Very sweet and funny, too.”
“Sounds awful,” she said sarcastically.
“And gorgeous.”
“The balls on him.”
“That’s not the worst part.”
“Let’s see…he’s young, gorgeous, sweet, and funny. What could be worse than that? He’s hung like a horse?”
“I wouldn’t know. And you know why I don’t know that?”
“Because you’re an uptight prude who hasn’t been laid in years?”
“That might be true. But the larger problem is that he is one of Ryan’s friends.”
Eve cackled. “That’s not a problem, that’s fantastic
! Bang his brains out and send him to play golf with your ex. Let him eat his heart out when he realizes what he lost.”
“Ummm…Eve, I wasn’t talking about my ex, Ryan. I was talking about my son.”
“I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”
***
The minute I opened the door, Eve hurried past me without saying a word, whipped up a batch of mimosas, and downed an entire flute before even attempting to start our conversation.
“So he didn’t recognize you online either?” she said as she refilled her glass.
“There really isn’t a clear picture of my face on the dating site, remember? You loaded the pics. Besides, I haven’t seen him in years. And his name is Ford Donovan. I just assumed Donovan620 meant his first name was Donovan, and I didn’t connect the two…at all.”
“Why haven’t you seen him in so many years? You’re always out in Montauk in the summer. Do they rent out his house or something?”
“No.” I swallowed hard. “His parents were killed in a car accident five or six years ago. A tractor-trailer lost control on the LIE during an ice storm. I didn’t find out about it until quite a while after. But the house has sat unused for years now.”
“Oh God. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. His parents were older than Ryan and me. But most people who have kids my son’s age are older. They were a really happy couple—very much in love. High school sweethearts like us, too. I actually remember watching them on the beach the last summer they spent out in Montauk. Ford’s dad would lie on the blanket with his head on his wife’s lap and sunglasses on, and she would read to him. It was really sweet, and it made me realize just how much Ryan and I had grown apart.”
“What did Ford say when he realized who you were?”
“He said it didn’t matter to him. He actually tried to convince me to stay and go through with the date. Can you believe that?”
“Why didn’t you?
I looked at Eve like she had two heads. “Did you miss everything I just said? He’s not only twenty-five, but he used to babysit my son.”
Eve sighed. “Did you have a drink, at least?”
“No. Well, sort of. I had a little meltdown before we even met, and he had a waiter deliver a martini to my car while I was freaking out about going inside.”
