by Susan Hatler
“You’re welcome.” The last of my irritation melted away and I turned to leave. “Best of luck.”
“Before you go, can I buy you a coffee?” When I gave him a skeptical look, he raised his palms. “Just as friends?”
Deciding he was a decent guy with a few insecurities, I sat back down. “Sure.”
Geoff ordered at the counter, returned to the table, and began fiddling with his stir straw. He appeared lost in thought as he twirled it again and again.
I sipped my latte and the hot liquid rolled down my throat. “Something wrong?”
“What you said before? About a person liking me for who I am?” He bent the straw, then straightened. “There’s this girl. My neighbor, actually.” A smile played at his lips. “I’ve been wanting to ask her out for a while, but my brother thinks she’s out of my league . . . ”
Nice sibling. No wonder Geoff was insecure. “Really?”
“I think about her a lot.”
“Do you think she likes you back?” My voice had an encouraging tone. “You know, likes you exactly the way you are?”
“I’m not sure. She offered to help me with my laundry last week. Yesterday, she stopped by to see if I needed anything from the store. She smiles a lot.”
“Sounds like she’s got it bad for you.” Wait . . . he liked her and she felt the same, but he didn’t ask her out? It made no sense. “Don’t let your brother’s negativity influence you. Ask her out.”
He fingered his straw. “But Sean, my brother, fell hard for a girl last year. When he built up the guts to ask her on a date, she laughed in his face. It crushed him.”
“Wow. That’s a shame,” I said, thinking how brutal that girl had been, with lasting effects on Sean and now his brother. “Geoff, you can’t avoid asking her out because some other girl was rude. Just because it didn’t go well for Sean, doesn’t mean it won’t be great for you. Every relationship is different. You should follow your heart and give this person a chance.”
His eyes lit up hopefully. “You think?”
“Absolutely,” I said, excited for him, and nervous for me. I’d given him such optimistic advice when all my life I’ve favored the practical approach. What was happening to me?
He smacked his palm on the table and nodded. “All right. I’ll do it.”
“Good for you.” My mouth curved upward even as I realized something had changed inside me.
We talked for a bit longer before I thanked him for the coffee and headed home. The entire drive, my words echoed through my mind. “Every person is different. You should follow your heart and give this person a chance.”
Maybe I ought to take my own advice. Maybe things would be different for me than they had been for my mom.
As with every night since I’d met him, I went to sleep thinking of Henry. This time I didn’t force my thoughts away. Instead, I let my dreams run wild. As I drifted off, a smile spread across my face as I pictured a white dress, two beautiful children, and a life filled with laughter.
CHAPTER FIVE
I arrived at Rachel’s twenty minutes before obedience class on Thursday, excited to take a chance on Henry and not so enthusiastic to break things off with Craig tonight. I mean, dumping someone ranks about as fun as getting dumped. It would’ve been easier to cancel with an email, but ending things via the internet seemed cold.
As I walked up the path toward Rachel’s apartment, I found her slumped in the wicker chair on her tiny front porch. Chester was cuddled in her lap, sucking on the head of a stuffed bear like it was a pacifier.
My pace slowed as I approached. “What’s going on?”
She set her beloved dog gently on the ground, then lifted her sunglasses to reveal red-rimmed eyes. “I’m done with men.”
My eyes widened. “I thought you had another date with George’s friend Dillon tonight.”
“Ha!” She said it as a joke, then she started cackling as if the joke were on her. “You were so right about everything, Ellen. I should’ve listened to you.”
Uh-oh. “What happened?”
“I took a chance. That’s what happened.” She threw her arms in the air to express just how stupid she’d been. “You said compatibility is the key. You warned me not to go out with someone just because he looks hot with his shirt off.”
My eyes narrowed. “Did he do something to you?”
“You mean Mr. Octopus Hands? Yeah, he tried.” She smiled, sweetly. “He came by after work, was all over me, then had the nerve to be annoyed when I slowed things down.”
My eyes narrowed in disgust. “What a dirtbag.”
She inhaled deeply. “After our night at The Oasis, it felt like we were connecting, you know? So, I let my guard down.”
I nodded. It hadn’t been an official date, but I’d felt that way yesterday with Henry as we’d talked before, during, and after class. I’d told him personal details that I rarely shared with anyone and I sensed it had been the same way with him.
“Tonight, Dillon was a completely different person.” Her face scrunched up. “Why didn’t I listen to you? I should’ve had him fill out a dating application to see if he’d mark the box ‘sleaze-ball temporarily disguised as a nice guy’.”
“Oh, Rach.” I pulled her stiff body into a hug. “You couldn’t have known. Next time will be different.”
She leaned against me, sniffled, then drew back. “Exactly. Because there won’t be a next time. If I ever get the absurd notion to date again, I will let you screen him thoroughly before I invest one ounce of feeling into him.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
“Me, too.” She checked her watch. “Do you want me to take Chester to class for you tonight so you can get ready for your second date with Craig? He sounds perfect for you and I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go after that other guy. Nothing came of that, did it?”
“No.” Only that I’d let myself fall for him, pictured our life together, and felt blissfully happy all day long at the thought of seeing him tonight. But, Rachel’s tear-streaked face proved what happened if you took a chance on a guy who wasn’t compatible. Ouch. My heart sank as I decided not to risk it with Henry. “You sure you feel up for taking Chester?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to.” She grabbed his leash. “He’s the only male worth spending time with anyway. Er, except for Craig. He sounds nice and not like he’d maul you on the second date. Plus, you know his history and what he wants for the future. He’s not someone just looking to hook up.”
“Right,” I said.
Then, I went home to get ready for the date with the man who I knew wanted the same things I did. I told myself over and over that this was the right thing to do. Unfortunately, it didn’t help the emptiness I felt inside, missing my last chance to spend time with Henry.
****
Since Craig was venturing out into the wild world of ethnic cuisine, I met him for dinner at an Indian restaurant in downtown Sac near the state capitol building. Thirty minutes into our conversation and his notepad made another appearance. Not just to check stuff off this time, either. We’d apparently graduated into actual note taking.
“What is your stance on public education?” Craig poised his pen above the small lined pages. “Do you plan to send your children to the local school or are you thinking a private education would be better?”
“I don’t have any kids,” I said, wishing I could eat my samosas without an inquisition.
“Of course you don’t have children yet. I’ve read your Detailed Dating profile multiple times,” he pointed out patiently. “I’m forecasting for the future. Trying to assess any potential conflicts we might have in child rearing.”
I shrugged. “As long as it’s a good school, I’d be fine with either.”
“Very flexible.” He sounded impressed as he scratched something off his list and then wrote a word with an exclamation point after it.
I reached for my water, drained my glass, and couldn
’t help feeling like I’d stood up Henry. Had he been disappointed that I’d skipped the last class? Had he been up all night again doing whatever caused those dark circles under his eyes? Had he asked Rachel about me? Had he asked Rachel out? The thought made me sick to my stomach.
“Ellen?”
Craig’s confused tone brought me back to the table and the fact that I was on a date. “What did you say?”
His brows furrowed. “How much did you miss?”
“The whole thing,” I admitted, wondering if Kenzie had mastered her “special project” today, whatever it was that Henry had chosen for that. I’d been hoping to cure Chester of his destructive issues, but, in actuality, I didn’t think anything in the world—not even the peppy and perfect, Abby Wilson—could rid the chew monster of that habit.
“Hello? Ellen?”
Oh, man. Had I missed what he’d asked for the second time? Focus, Ellen. “I’m so sorry, Hen—I mean, Craig. Would you mind repeating that?”
He took a deep breath, wrote something down (not flattering, I presumed) and then cleared his throat. “I asked what you would do if you’ve been married ten years and . . . ?”
I waited, but he didn’t finish. “And what?”
“Just making sure you were listening this time.” He seemed relieved that I had been. “If you’ve been married ten years, your husband was in an automobile accident—through no fault of his own, mind you—and he became crippled.”
A horrible image popped into my head of Henry riding his bike and getting hit by a speeding car. I flinched. “That’s a terrible thought.”
He lifted his fork, eyed his masala suspiciously, then set it back down again without taking a bite. “Unfortunately, we can’t predict what life will throw at us, but I think it’s helpful to know how you would handle something that tragic.”
The thought of Henry losing the use of his legs made me ill. But he’d survived losing his parents and I knew in my heart he could survive anything life might hand him. “When I get married, it will be for better or for worse. If there’s a worse, I’ll do everything in my power to help my partner.”
“I completely agree.” Craig smiled, then made a check mark in his notes. “What are your thoughts on—”
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t working.” I signaled the waiter for our check.
Holding the pen between his fingers, Craig scratched his temple. “Did my scenario upset you?”
“No. Yes . . .” I splayed my hands on the table and leaned forward. “This is only our second date and you’re asking me how I’d handle a horrible accident if we were married when the truth is, we don’t even know each other yet.”
“What do you mean?” He unfolded what appeared to be my completed Detailed Dating questionnaire and gestured toward the pages in his notebook as if to prove the point. “I feel I know you quite well and I’d be happy to answer any questions if you need more information about me. Complete and total honesty is important to making a relationship work.”
“That’s the thing, Craig. We’ve gathered a bunch of information about our likes and dislikes by exchanging emails for over a month, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. Not really.” I thought about Henry and how much I’d learned about him in our few exchanges. “You and I have no idea what jokes make the other person laugh. If there’s chemistry and vibe when we touch. How important our families are to us. Or, what the other would do if we saw a dog stranded by the side of the highway, hungry and malnourished . . .”
“Let me reassure you on that last one.” He nodded and clasped his hands together on the table. “I would call animal control or the SPCA immediately, give the location and unless I was in a hurry, I’d wait near the dog until the proper authorities arrived.”
My throat closed up. It’s not that Craig wasn’t nice, it’s that the only thing that had ever intrigued me about him was our high Detailed Dating score. “You’re a good guy, Craig.” As the waiter was about to set the bill on the table, I handed him my credit card, and couldn’t believe what I was about to say to my perfect match. “We’re just not . . . compatible.”
His eyes went wide and his mouth hung open a little. “We’re not a hundred percent, sure, but we have potential that’s worth exploring. Look here,” he opened his notebook, pulled out our profiles and showed me a number at the top of the paper that read, “98% match.” Then, he flipped to the last page of his notes where he’d drafted some kind of spreadsheet, and pointed to the line at the bottom. “According to my own personal observations, it’s 84% likely that you’re the one for me.”
The straight A student in me (yeah, yeah, A-/B+) immediately felt insulted, so I rotated the book toward me and scanned his notes. “Let me see that.”
“The closest any other woman has come is 62% and that was five months ago.” He sounded as if I should be proud.
With an 84%? Yeah, right.
Hmmm. I’d been marked down 4% for making fun of him with the restaurant food critic remark (his loss, that had been a good one), 2% for hesitating between answers, and 5% each time he’d had to repeat himself tonight when I hadn’t been paying attention, which was valid but should’ve put me at the low A range not mid B range. “When, I’d like to know, did I ever hesitate between answers?”
He pointed to the prior page. “First, at the beginning of our meal when I inquired if you cooked.”
My mouth dropped open. “Well, I was trying to decide if microwaving counted.”
His finger slid down the page to a sentence with an asterisk next to it. “Second, when I asked if you set the toilet paper roll facing up or down.”
I squeezed the cloth napkin in my lap. “No fair, I’d been chewing my food.”
“I’ll accept that.” He made some slashes and calculations, then adjusted my score to 86%. “See, we’re even more compatible than I thought.”
Um, somehow we’d gotten off the point. Oops. “You’re going to make some woman very happy, Craig. You really are.”
“I’m willing to improve on areas you feel need work, Ellen. It feels a little early in the relationship, but we can explore the chemistry and vibe thing if you’d like.” He put his hand over mine and . . . nothing.
No zip. No spark. And no wonder . . . he wasn’t Henry. I patted his hand, then signed the credit card slip the waiter had set down. “The truth is, Craig, on paper it does read like we’re compatible. And I can’t explain it, other than to say I know in my heart that we aren’t.”
He bowed his head a moment and then nodded. “I certainly appreciate your honesty. Thank you for getting the check.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, as we both stood. “Best of luck to you.”
“To you as well.” He started to hand me the boxes of leftovers until I waved my hand indicating he could keep them. It was the least I could do. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said.
I smiled and thanked him even though it’d be impossible to find what I’m looking for when I didn’t know what that was anymore. I’d wanted someone compatible and even with a 98% match (the lame 86% doesn’t count) from Detailed Dating, all I could think about was Henry. Checking my watch, I saw that the final doggy class had ended—along with my last chance to see Henry.
I tossed and turned in bed that night, trying to push Henry out of my mind. My head battled with my heart for hours, but eventually my heart won out and I let the few memories we’d shared wash over me. Curled up in my comforter, I replayed our conversations in my head. Every elbow nudge. Every laugh. Every touch. I wished I’d asked outright what he’d been up to that was so “intense.” I wished I’d let him know I was interested. And more than anything, I wished I could see those deep gray eyes again.
CHAPTER SIX
My coffee intake doubled Friday morning and I still barely had the energy to make it to work. Too much tossing and turning all night.
I parked my car and dragged my feet across the employee parking lot, debating swallowing my pride to ask Rach if He
nry had said anything about my missing class. But then, what would be the point? He’d never shown anything other than friendly interest in me, so the logical thing to do was move on. Right? Ugh. Why did dating have to be so complicated?
To distract myself from my dating debacles, I focused on customer reports all morning, and was deep into typing up a customer inquiry for our sales team (it had been a pleasant call for a change) when my phone beeped.
I leaned toward the speaker. “Yes?”
“Hi, Ellen.” Ginger’s perky receptionist voice rang out. “Gilbert Watson would like to see you in the lobby.”
Frowning, I remembered it was Friday and checked my watch. “Didn’t he already meet with tech support?”
“Yes, but he specifically asked to speak with you now.” Her voice lowered. “He’s very insistent.”
Why didn’t that surprise me? “I’ll be right out.”
With a few keystrokes on the computer, I checked Gilbert Watson’s file to see if tech support (aka: Teddy) had solved our client’s laptop issues. No updates. Great, I had to walk out blind.
I straightened my blouse, headed toward the lobby, and prepared myself for another rant from Gilbert Watson on how our software program was to blame for his computer issues and that we needed to pay up.
Pasting a smile on my face, I approached the tall elderly man in the lobby who stood next to a woman with short, curly white hair. “Good morning, Mr. Watson. I’m Ellen, the customer service rep you spoke with on the phone. How was your meeting with tech support?”
He introduced me to his wife, then to my utter astonishment, pumped my hand enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t you know, it turns out I downloaded myself a virus containing spyware that slowed my computer and even made it stop sometimes. Had nothing to do with the software program after all.”
Gee, that’s exactly what I’d tried to tell him. Repeatedly. “I’m relieved to hear it wasn’t our program, Mr. Watson.”
His brows came together suddenly as he felt the empty breast pocket on his collared shirt. “Left my glasses in the restroom.” Then he turned around. “I’ll be right back.”
