“Because well what?” Cris doesn’t date. Or she hasn’t dated since she started working for me, anyway. Now I’m frowning.
“I worried you’d lecture me. I don’t want a lecture. I want to go on a date without anyone offering their opinion. Except for Vivian. She helped me pick out a dress for tomorrow.”
That was the errand she ran today?
“You took her opinion,” I say, stung.
Further avoiding my eyes, she rests one heel on the bench and reties her shoelace. I’m still wrapping my head around her not mentioning—even in passing—having a date tomorrow night. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t standing right next to her in the kitchen this morning. She had ample opportunity.
“You go on lots of dates. I reserve comment all the time.” She holds up both hands in her own defense.
“You don’t have to comment since I can read your expressions. I know when you don’t like who I’m seeing.”
What might be panic briefly crosses her pretty face. “Like who?”
“Trish.”
“I liked Trish!”
“Your voice goes high and squeaky when you lie, by the way.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You laughed during the word ‘lying’ which further indicates you’re lying.” I stand and offer my hand. She slaps her palm into it and I admire the way we look together. Her small, pale, pink-hued skin against my large, long-fingered golden brown. A fierce protectiveness rears up inside of me before I can question it. Whoever she goes on a date with better be a gentleman or I will dropkick him into the stratosphere.
“Tell me about this dude—your date.” I let go of her hand and walk with her to the car, irked and not entirely sure why.
“I don’t know. I’ve only messaged him a few times on the app.”
“You used an app?” I regard the sky. “A little help?”
“Who are you talking to?”
I look at her. “The Universe. Have you recently consulted your spirit guides?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I do almost nothing but work and hang out with you.”
“Yowch.” I rub my chest like she just shot me.
“You know what I mean.” She rolls her eyes, not indulging me. “Timothy’s gone. The house is empty. It was easier when he was at home waiting for me to help him with something. It’s like he doesn’t need me anymore, and I—” Her voice cracks the slightest bit, revealing the tender emotions she tries to hide from me.
“You’re lonely.” I wrap my hand around the back of her neck. Her skin is damp with sweat but not in a gross way.
“A little.” She glances to the side like she had a hard time admitting the truth.
And like that, I can’t fault her for going on a date. I know what it’s like to be lonely. I’ve felt lonely since I was ten years old and heard my parents were in a car accident and wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas.
Ever.
I was lonely even surrounded by my giving, loving, adoring adoptive family during the very next Christmas. Sometimes I still am. Loneliness, I understand. And dating, I really understand.
Which is why I tell my best friend, “You’re lucky you have me.” Her gaze snaps to mine over the roof of my car. I give her an unflappable, trademarked Benji smile. “I can give you some pointers.”
Chapter Three
Cris
I’m halfway through a glass of wine with my date, and all I’ve managed to do so far is obsess about the “advice” Benji gave me. It wasn’t so much helpful as a hindrance. What he told me burrowed into my brain, which is now an echo chamber of distraction.
Beware small hands.
I’ve been staring at my date’s hands on and off while he’s been talking. I haven’t been able to stop myself. I’m sure he thinks I have some strange fetish.
Do not let him choose the restaurant.
I was too late on that one. My date—Clark—chose an Indian restaurant and I agreed. I love curry, but this place isn’t as good as the restaurant at Grand Marin. I should know since Vivian and I ate there last week. I’m already obsessing over what to order from the menu, and praying I don’t hate it.
And whatever you do, don’t mention you haven’t dated in a while.
After dispensing that piece of advice, Benji narrowed his eyes, gave me an accidentally sexy head-tilt, and asked, “You haven’t dated in a while, have you?”
I flubbed over my answer which was something like, “No, of course not!” followed by a dismissive, “Who has the time?” Now I’m here with Clark, undecided on my dinner, after having blurted the very phrase I was tasked with keeping to myself. “It’s been a while since I’ve dated.”
I actually said that.
My smile is frozen in place as I simultaneously wait for him to react, and consider running out of the restaurant before he can.
His eyebrows are sitting atop his forehead, which is a little too large for his face. He’s pleasant enough to look at, but he’s no Benji.
Not that I’m comparing them.
“How long’s it been?” He casually lifts his draft beer to his mouth. His chin is sort of small. I’ve heard the phrase “weak chin” before, but never understood it. I think Clark is suffering from the condition. I stop staring at his chin, rerouting my attention to his mouth when he licks his lips. His lips are nothing like Benji’s. They lack the fullness I’m so fond of. Clark swipes his mouth with his fingers, and I can’t help noticing his hand is a little small. Also unlike Benji, there is no smile lurking behind that hand. Rather than slanting me a warm smirk that lights his eyes, Clark merely gives me a bland blink.
Anyway. I’m not comparing them.
“Long enough I can’t recall the exact date.” Well, that’s a lie. I’m not even sure why I lied. Maybe nerves? I remember the exact date of my last date. It was the day of my mother’s wedding. One of her weddings. I didn’t go to her last three weddings. Including the most recent, which was not in Vegas like the last two, but in California at a vineyard. She didn’t invite me, and I didn’t offer to show up.
So, I went on a date two and a half years ago. July 2nd. His name was Phillip, and we went to a pottery class. It sounded romantic and sweet but ended up being uncomfortable and inescapable. Either because the class was three hours long, or because Phillip was sculpting the naked torso of his ex-wife and crying about how much he missed her.
Clark blows out a breath, looking bored. “I’m so tired of dating. Tonight is already tedious.”
I blanch.
He catches my expression and smiles. It’s not a warm smirk, but a creepy curl of his thin lips. “No offense.”
“Would you excuse me a moment?” I’m on my feet before I think about it. He waves me off, lifting his beer and draining the mug.
I thank the good Lord the bathroom is by the front door and also behind Clark’s head. He can’t see me when I duck out the exit instead of powdering my nose. Outside, I suck in a gulp of air as relief swamps me.
Freedom.
I walk briskly to my car, looking over my shoulder before enclosing myself inside and taking a deep breath. As I reverse from my parking spot, I send another furtive glance to the door to see if Clark is chasing after me, shaking his fist and demanding I pay for my drink. He’s not there. I drive away feeling as guilty as if I robbed the place.