Nine First Dates

by Jennifer Ryder

  Don’t get your hopes up.

  “He paid for dinner, which was nice. Unexpected.”

  “So he should.” Will reaches across and squeezes my shoulder. “Did he smooch you goodnight?”

  I cross my arms beneath my chest. “Not telling you if he did.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.” We pull up to a red set of traffic lights near McDonald’s. “Hey, have you got any money on you? I was gonna grab a Big Mac meal and I left my wallet at home.”

  “Sure. It’s the least I can do for you picking me up.”

  Will pulls into the drive-through lane and places his order.

  When we arrive at the payment window, I open my purse.

  There are no notes.

  “Come on,” Will chimes, holding his open palm towards me.

  “I was positive I had cash. I put it in here just before I left the house.”

  The only place my bag has been since is …

  My stomach sinks.

  Under the table. In Eric’s care while I took a call.

  Surely not.

  A car horn blares behind us.

  “Relax, dipshit,” Will says, looking in the rear-view mirror. “Just give me your credit card then, Abs.”

  I unzip the side of my wallet. Fork me. There’s no sign of my credit card or debit card.

  “Mother-effer,” I growl.

  The car horn blares again.

  “Hurry,” Will squeaks.

  “I think my date robbed me.”

  “He what?” Will cancels the order and plants his foot. The car swerves out of the driveway and back towards the restaurant. We search the surrounding streets until we give up.

  There’s no sign of Eric.

  Eric, whose favourite pizza is supreme with extra jalapenos.

  Eric, who thinks pineapple on a pizza is a crime.

  Eric, who apparently has no problem stealing from a date.

  Turns out I paid for dinner after all.

  “Un-fucking believable,” Will says as we approach home. “Call him. I wanna speak to this dick.”

  “He doesn’t have a phone,” I say.

  Will grunts. His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. “Are you serious?”

  I shake my head. Is this his way of not being contactable after he’s robbed someone blind? “It’s getting repaired or something.”

  “Abs, you have to be smarter than this.”

  He’s right, but how was I to know I was meeting up with a thief? “I know, but he seemed so nice.”

  If he couldn’t afford dinner, he should have said.

  “You’ve gotta be careful. It’s a jungle out there.”

  I scrape my hand down my face. I’m too trusting. It’s always been my downfall. “I’m sorry.”

  Will reaches over and taps my knee. “Hey, don’t apologise. Just chalk it up to a lesson.”

  “Ha, some expensive lesson.”

  I open up Facebook Messenger to send Eric a message. I search for his profile.

  We are no longer friends.

  Son of a monkey. He’s blocked me.

  When I get home, I open the Westpac Bank app on my phone to cancel my cards.

  Since I left him, there are eleven transactions on my credit card—all thirty dollars or less. Woolworths, Caltex service station, BentSpoke Brewery Co., and even McDonald’s. Was he watching nearby, waiting for us to leave?

  How can somebody be so daring?

  I message Delta Construction through Facebook and tell them I need to get in touch with Eric. The next morning, I receive a response:

  We fired Eric a few months ago. You’re not the first girl to message us. Sorry, love.

  What a welcome back into the dating world.

  Chapter Two – CAMERON

  End of January

  I’m a foodie—there’s no hiding it. Any potential partner needs to know this. I’m a queen at making anything sweet and struggle in the savoury department. What I appreciate is how your local café can take something simple, like an apple cinnamon muffin, and turn it into tastebud orgasm material with a tweak of ingredients.

  I am a super active member of a local Facebook page, Canberra Foodlovers Forum. It’s awesome for my addiction to good food and certainly helps when organising events and supporting the local community. I think it gives our functions an edge, because everyone wants to try the next new thing—the cronut, turmeric and beetroot lattes, the gelatos with edgy flavours, the burgers that go to the next level of ridiculous, and the Bao buns. Everyone wants a taste.

  I’m drooling just thinking about it all.

  I met Cameron in the forum. He’s pretty active in the group, and we tend to comment on the same posts.

  He’s twenty-seven, lives about forty minutes from me, and really has his eye on the prize when it comes to the best eggs Benedict in Canberra. He even has a blog about it: www.camseggsbenny.com.au. The website is kind of cute. He rates his meals on a scale of one to five chickens. For a rating of five, the hollandaise has to have the right level of acid to cut through the richness of the sauce, and the eggs must be cooked to perfection. He’s a hard marker with only a few five-chicken ratings on his website.

  Two weeks ago, he sent me a private message. “I think you might love doughnuts as much as I do.”

  I left the message unread for a few hours before writing back. I didn’t want him to think I was too keen.

  Because I am.

  I’m not so sure. I don’t think you can really grasp the full expanse of my infatuation.

  We’ve talked online for almost two weeks now. I’ve stalked his blog and the few photos of him on Facebook.

  Cameron is cute, in a nerdy kind of way. He loves wearing beanies and dark glasses.

  He’s always polite and asks how I’m going.

  He seems interested in my replies.

  He doesn’t look like a thief, but I’ve been duped before.

  Today we’re meeting for brunch down by the lake. It took us a few days to decide on where to go because he has high brunch standards, understandably, and I have high barista standards.

  ***

  When I walk into the Brindabella Café, a young guy is sitting in the far corner, back to the wall, eyes on the silver laptop open in front of him. His hair is shorter on the sides and longer on top and he’s wearing dark square-rimmed glasses. It must be Cameron.

  Is he preparing to blog about today’s brunch experience?

  If so, he really does take his blogging seriously.

  Butterflies swarm in my stomach as I approach the table.

  Our eyes connect.

  He smiles, revealing a beautiful white set of teeth.

  He brushes. Probably flosses, too.

  Cameron closes his laptop and stands. Somehow his leg gets caught on his chair and he’s thrust back into the seat. His cheeks turn a dark pink. He tries again. This time, he manages to move around the table without getting tangled.

  “Cameron?” I say when I step closer.

  “Abbie. Nice to have you.” He shakes his head. “I mean, nice to see you.”

  I smile in an attempt to ease his nerves. “Nice to see you in the flesh.” I fiddle with my bag strap, which divides my chest. Not letting my money out of sight this time.

  “You can call me Cam if you want.” He leans closer and wraps his arms around my shoulders. His touch is featherlight, as if he’s afraid I’ll break. He sniffs.

  Did he just smell my hair?

  I withdraw from his embrace and sit opposite him. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No worries. I was just wasting time online.”

  I laugh because I do the same thing. “In the forum?”

  He grins. “Yeah.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  He pushes his glasses farther up his nose. “Just the usual.”

  “Ah-huh. We should order soon. They look pretty busy.” I scoop up the menu and run my eyes over the breakfast options. “It all looks pretty good.”

  A
young girl comes to the table and places a slim metal jug of water and two glasses in front of us. “You ready to order?”

  “After you, Abbie,” Cam says, moving his open palm towards me.

  I scan the menu again. There’s one dish I can’t go past. “Um, can I please have the brioche French toast and a flat white?” It’ll be about twenty-five dollars, and this time, I’m paying my way.

  “No problems. And for you?”

  “A regular cappuccino and eggs Benedict with bacon, wilted spinach, avocado, and a fresh lemon wedge if you can manage it?”

  A man who knows what he wants. I like that.

  The waitress furiously writes our orders down on her pad. “Sure thing. It won’t be long.”

  She leaves us and I find Cam staring at me.

  “Have you been here before?” I ask.

  “No.” Still staring.

  “Hmm. Me either. French toast looks good.”

  Staring. I guess it’s different having someone sitting right in front of you. You can’t hide behind your profile pic.

  “I thought you’d pick it,” he finally says.

  “Yeah? How come?”

  He licks at his lower lip. “You like sweet stuff.”

  I wink and make a clucking noise with my tongue. “You got me there.”

  He grins. Still staring.

  I reach forward and fill both of the glasses. I take a few gulps to ease my dry mouth.

  “Have you, um, eaten any good doughnuts lately?” he asks after a beat.

  I glance up to the ceiling, trying to think of one of the more outstanding ones I’ve had. “There are these stuffed apple custard ones at Wildflour with a crumble topping. Pretty amazing.”

  “You posted that one in the group. It looked good.”

  He remembers my post out of the onslaught of daily pics. That’s cute.

  Our coffees arrive, and I’m grateful for the distraction. I swipe the sugar bowl and set about filling my teaspoon.

  “Wait,” Cameron says in a deep voice.

  I freeze. My spoon was a second away from dumping sugar into my drink.

  He grabs his mobile phone. “I need to take some shots for the blog.”

  “Oh, of course. Sorry.” Not really knowing what to do, I tip the sugar back in the bowl and place the spoon back on the saucer.

  Cameron reaches over and moves my coffee closer to the middle of the table and slides his coffee cup a little to the right. He takes a few pictures from different angles, and then stares at me with his grey eyes. “Would you be okay with being in a pic?”

  I suppose it’s not the worst thing ever. “Sure. Just makes sure it’s a good one.”

  His face turns serious. “I can’t imagine any photo of you would be bad.”

  I chuckle. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen any photos of me from high school.”

  His cheeks flush a deeper pink.

  Oh my gosh, he’s stalked me online. Totally something I would do. “Unless you have. Have you, Cam?”

  He tips his head to the side and bites his lower lip. “Guilty.”

  “It’s fine. Hurry up and let’s get this over with.”

  He takes a few shots and then pushes my coffee towards me.

  I get back to the business of sugar. “If it makes you feel any better, I checked you out online too.” Although there weren’t many photos on his profile. I should take a leaf out of his book and cleanse my public photos.

  The waitress sidles up to the table. “French toast for you,” she says as she places a dish in front of me. It looks pretty as a picture with golden eggy bread, chopped banana, and strawberries dusted with icing sugar. “And eggs benny with all the bells and whistles for you.”

  Cam licks his lips as he eyes our dishes. “Damn,” he says under his breath.

  “I sense a potential five chickens coming on,” I joke.

  “Hmm, we’ll see how the hollandaise stacks up,” Cam says with a straight face.

  The man takes this stuff seriously. I get it.

  We go through the process of photos once more, and again, he asks if I can be in one.

  When he finishes taking some shots, he flicks through them on his phone, and shows me one of me with a stunning plate of food front and centre.

  “Nice one,” I say.

  “You’re much prettier in person. Photos don’t do you justice.”

  My cheeks prickle with heat. “Thanks.”

  We barely say a word as we eat our meals. From the crinkle in Cam’s brows, I’m guessing his mind is racing, and on his upcoming blog post. Still, his eyes rarely stray from mine. Even when a stunning blonde with long legs sits at the table beside us, it’s as if she doesn’t exist.

  Cam makes me feel like there isn’t anyone else in the room. It’s certainly nice to have his attention. Although I wish he’d ask more about me.

  “What’s the verdict?” I sip at the last of my coffee.

  Cam puts down his knife and fork and dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “You know, it’s got to be one of the best breakfasts I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Yeah?”

  His eyes drill into me and he smiles. “I think that has more to do with the company, though.”

  I swallow. He’s really into me. Not sure if I feel anything yet, but we’ve just met. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And how about the eggs benny?”

  He tilts his head to the side. “It could be close to five chickens. The hint of tarragon in the sauce has taken it to a whole new level.”

  I bite on my lower lip, trying not to giggle. It’s not funny. He really is serious. “That’s great. So, what are you up to now? I thought maybe we could go for a wander around the water?” I need to walk off my meal.

  His brows pull together. “Yeah, we can do that.” He pulls out his phone and taps at the screen as if he’s sending a text.

  “Are you sure?” Did he have other plans?

  His head jerks up and he grins. “Absolutely.”

  “Okay, well let’s go.” We walk over to the counter and he requests the bill.

  I place down twenty-five dollars in notes on the counter. “This is for my share.”

  “Abbie. No, you don’t have to pay.” He picks up the notes and offers them to me.

  I slide my hands into my jean pockets. “Na-ah. Please just take it.”

  Cam shakes his head and chuckles as he pays the bill. He opens the door for me. We make our way closer to the water’s edge.

  “Not many girls do that,” Cam says, after a while.

  “What? Pay their way?”

  “Yeah.” He turns to me and reaches for my hand. “Abbie, I have to say something.”

  I gulp. What could it be?

  My mind races. Maybe he’s sick. He looks a little pale, and he seems very into me. Or maybe he’s got a weird food fetish and wants to put doughnuts in places they shouldn’t go. Or maybe—

  “I think I love you. Actually, I don’t think. I know.”

  Holy shit. How on earth can he love me? How can he even like me? Apart from my love of food, he has no idea about who I am, what I stand for, or what my bad habits are.

  “Cam,” I say, and exhale. How do I express this gently?

  His eyes widen. “Yes,” he whispers.

  I take my other hand and place it over our joined fingers. “We’ve just met.”

  He shakes his head. “I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.” Probably because you’ve stalked me back to my high school days.

  “Okay, that’s nice, but it takes a while to really get to know someone.” I pull to release my hand. He grips it tighter.

  “When it comes to love, Abbie, they say when you know … Well, I know.”

  Dear God. How do I get out of this one?

  Someone walks up beside us. “Cameron?”

  I turn to see a smartly dressed older lady with curly grey hair.

  “Oh,” Cam says and releases my hands. He gives the woma
n a hug and then turns to me. “This is my mother, Marion. Mother, this is Abbie.”

  I clear my throat. How is this possible?

  “Um, hi.” I reach out my hand.

  She slips her dainty fingers in mine and shakes. “The Abbie?”

  Goosebumps crawl over my skin and my French toast drenched in maple syrup is no longer sitting so well. Oh, God. How much has he said about me? Has he mentioned to her that he loves me?

  A nervous laugh leaves my lips. “I guess so.”

  “Mother, we were just taking a walk. Would you like to join us?”

  My feet root to the ground. Cam, who just so happens to love me, or perhaps the idea of me, has just suggested to his mother, who happened to be in the area, to join us on our date. Is it simply a coincidence that she’s here?

  “That’d be lovely,” Marion says and hooks her elbow around Cam’s arm.

  They start to walk in the direction we were travelling. They look like a cosy couple. Cam glances back at me and jerks his head towards his mother. “Come on.”

  Because I’m not one to be rude, I order my feet to move, even though they want to run a mile in the other direction.

  I grip the bag strap tight with both hands, drag in a deep breath, and step into line with them.

  I keep my hands to myself. There’ll be no more hand holding. Certainly not with his mother on his arm. Gross.

  Marion talks with such high regard for her son—who is doing a service to the public with his blog. She’s a walking, talking character reference as to why Cameron James Marchant is a real catch with real prospects and financial stability.

  I can’t help myself. I have to ask. I need to know if I’ve been set up for a personal once-over by mother dearest.

  “It was so strange to bump into you, Marion. I mean, what are the odds? Do you live close by?”

  “No, I’m on the Southside. Cam messaged me and told me what you were doing today. I wanted to meet the girl who’s stolen his heart.”

  Well, crikey. “I’m not so sure I’ve stolen anything. We’ve just met.”

  Marion halts. Cam follows. She turns to me and smiles, however it doesn’t meet her eyes. “I knew my husband two weeks before he proposed, and we were wed two months later. We’ve been married for twenty-seven years.”