Home > The Marriage Pact Mistake

The Marriage Pact Mistake
Author: Julia Keanini

Chapter One

 

 

I hated first dates. And blind first dates? Well, those were the worst. The awkward texts leading up to the first meeting that was bound to be uncomfortable, the small talk that no one was actually interested in, and then the uncomfortable final goodbye. It was all terrible.

And yet here I sat in my car, staring up at a brightly lit home, about to embark on another blind date. I was a bit more optimistic about this one, though, because I'd been set up by one of my best friends, Whit. She knew me better than most, so this wouldn't be as horrific as normal, right?

The guy I was supposed to be meeting at the house party he'd invited me to seemed nice. He was polite over text, and we'd even had a phone call that wasn't all that terrible. I counted that as a win.

As I looked into the review mirror before making my way into the big, wild landscape known as the world of dating, I fluffed my shoulder-length, dark blonde hair, which I'd curled for the occasion. I didn't often curl my hair since it liked to be straight, so the amount of product I had to use for curls to last was excessive. But I thought I'd give it a go for this date.

I'd been told by too many of my friends that this was why I hated dating so much: I didn’t expend enough effort on my dates, so of course they always came up short. I guess not all of my friends said that. Those who really knew me, including Whit, knew exactly why all of my first dates didn't work out.

I was in love with my best friend. But he and I were never going to happen—maybe that was why Whit was finally jumping on the set-Josie-up-with-any-eligible-guy bandwagon—so I kept going on first dates, just hoping. I couldn't stay in love with Easton forever.

My curls seemed a little lackluster, so I tried running my hand through them the way the girl on the YouTube tutorial taught. Big mistake. After my hand came away, there was almost no curl left, and I decided I was done looking in the mirror. My current reflection was as good as it was gonna get.

My hand hesitated on the handle of my car door. Why was I doing this? Why did I continue to subject myself to first dates time and time again, only to be disappointed? I'd only been in one real relationship since college, when I'd first met Easton. Harry, the boyfriend, was a financial analyst and Easton's opposite in every way. I'd hoped that would be the key to our happiness. That, and the fact that saying yes to a second date with him didn’t make me want to vomit.

My resolve to finally make this date different swelled within my chest. I could do this. I didn't have to be in love with Easton for the rest of my life. I could make it work with ... and there was the one slight problem with this present first date.

His name was Harry as well. Weird, but not a deal breaker. Whit had been reluctant to give me his name. But according to Whit, he was perfect for me. He was almost six-foot-tall, which shouldn't be important to me considering I was only five foot one, or as my friends liked to tease, five foot nothing (they gave no regard to the very important half inch that I proudly rounded up). However, I had always dreamed of ending up with a tall guy. Not because Easton was six-foot-two—he didn't need to round up the way I did—but because if my children had any chance of not being vertically challenged, they needed to get all of their height from their father. Yes, I thought about how tall our children would be before the first date. Maybe this was why it never worked out?

I shook my head. I couldn't think like that. I finally pulled open the handle to my four-door, gray sedan and stepped out into the crisp, spring, evening air. Spring in Tennessee couldn't be beat, and I was almost feeling, dare I say it, optimistic?

Harry was a podiatrist. Which was kind of like my job as an athletic trainer. Whit knew I loved to talk shop with my dates, probably another reason why many of them never asked for a second date. So I couldn't end up with a guy who was too squeamish to talk about a torn ligament during dinner.

But the big push for Harry was that he loved children and hoped to be married someday. Because more than anything, that was the reason my first dates never worked out. Casual dating had become an epidemic in my mind, and I didn't want casual. That's what friendships were for. If I was dating, I wanted to have a goal in mind. And for me, that was forever. Call me crazy or call me a romantic, but I wanted it all: the big grassy lawn with a swing in the backyard, three or four kids who drove me batty all day, and a husband who would kiss me good night and all would be well. Apparently Harry wanted that too.

So maybe this could work?

Harry had asked that the partygoers leave the driveway open for me to park in, a chivalry point in his favor, so my car was as close to the house as it could possibly be. Which was excellent, considering the way my knees kept knocking together.

A walkway on my left led from where my car sat parked in the driveway, leading toward the front door of the home. I began on that path as my thoughts went back to Harry's thoughtfulness.

Harry had offered to pick me up, but one thing I'd learned over the past too many first dates was to always have a getaway. Back when I was naive to this whole dating world, I'd let a guy pick me up and take me to the movies. What could go wrong, right? Eight hours later, I knew exactly what could go wrong. He'd taken me to an eight-hour documentary on World War II. Don't get me wrong, I loved a good documentary as much as the next girl. But eight hours?! And to top it off, I'd forgotten my wallet and my date didn't believe in eating during a movie. My stomach growled just thinking about the memory. But it had taught me well. I now never showed up to a date without my own car.

I was almost at the front door when my shoe got caught on something and I lunged forward sans high heel. Miraculously, I caught myself midair and somehow landed on my barefoot instead of flat on my face. When I looked back at the black shoe, it looked to be caught in a divot on the front walk, reminding me of another first date where I'd had to take off my shoes to climb through the window of a restaurant to escape a date. His ex-girlfriend had shown up, and they’d proceeded to reenact the World War II documentary from my former botched date, right in the middle of the restaurant. I probably could have just walked out the front door, but instead I escaped to the bathroom when the crazy-eyed ex started looking toward me. I might be scrappy for my petite size, but I didn't want to test that out with a crazy, jealous ex. So the window it was. I lost a perfectly good shoe that day when it fell back into the bathroom on my way out, but it was a sacrifice that had to be made.

After going back for my present-day shoe that had needed a few tugs to be free of the walkway, I finally made it to the front door, straightening my band tee that I wore under a black blazer with blue jeans. I'd paired the ensemble with heels to give myself a casual, edgy look, yet with a grown woman vibe. I figured that was the right look for a house party.

I raised my hand to ring the doorbell but didn't have to since the door opened on its own.

"It's Josie," the woman who opened the door screamed in my face before pulling me into a hug.

I willed my heart to stop beating so fast. One exuberant hug wasn't going to ruin my night. But why was this woman so happy to see me, and why was her hug so tight? I fought for a good breath but didn't get one until she finally let me go.

"Josie?" I heard called out by male and female voices alike.

Why did it feel like everyone had been waiting for me?

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