Now I want to go home and actually crack those self-help books. Now I want to take Rowan out on a real date just to prove to her that I’m not a total failure and can be something other than an asshole.
It’s a crazy thought.
I want to take Rowan out again. Like, seriously. A real date this time. And no, not just because I thought about kissing her. Not just because I want to kiss her. Not just because I couldn’t sleep last night due to the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I actually think she’s smart. She’s witty. I also feel like I owe her an apology because I said some stuff that was pretty out of line.
I already know I’m never going to ask her. There’s never going to be another fake date or a real one. I blew that chance, and not just by running out of gas. I should type her an email. I suck at trying to write romantic garbage, but I could at least apologize to her for the things I said. I crossed just about every line there was to cross, at least as far as being a total dick went.
“I guess I’ll head out,” I say after I finish off my coffee. “Thanks for the chat, Dad. Don’t worry. I’ll go on the rest of the dates. I actually tried on the first one. That’s all Mom asked for, right? It’s not that unrealistic if you can get past the fact that she arranged the dates in the first place.”
“Technically, she didn’t,” Dad points out cautiously.
“You’re right.” I sigh. “I guess she just paid someone else to do that for her. It really will be okay, though. I might not come all the way around to this, but I’m not giving up the company. I do recognize that you and Mom were concerned, and this was somehow supposed to show that, in some crazy, convoluted way. I’ll be back to work soon enough.”
“So you—you don’t hate us for this?”
“Nope.” I give my dad a genuine smile, and I feel insanely bad when his chest deflates like a punching bag. Did he seriously think I could hate him? Hate my mom? That I’d be so pissed about this, it would cause a rift between us? “Really.”
I walk back into the kitchen and, by force of habit, put my empty mug in the top rack of the dishwasher. I even give my dad a wave as I walk out the front door. He waves back.
By the time I get in the car, I feel much better. I’m not entirely sure why, because nothing has changed. Not really. I did decide that I was going to write Rowan an email, which I plan to do as soon as I get home before she sends me another profile. Maybe that’s why I feel lighter. Oh, and now my dad knows there’s some hope for an undamaged relationship. I didn’t realize they were that worried.
Maybe there were a lot of things I didn’t realize.
Maybe I wouldn’t have realized them at all if last night hadn’t happened.
Maybe, if my mom’s idea was actually to teach me something about myself and life, it’s working out.
CHAPTER 8
Rowan
I know this should be completely off-limits, but I’m on my way to some little out-of-the-way ice cream shop, even though it’s pretty freaking frigid out now as it’s just after dinner and the sun is riding low. I should not be driving to meet with Cliff. Not after last night. Not at all. What I should be doing is getting my butt in gear and planning him a second date. I was actually doing just that—searching through profiles and wondering who I could be cruel enough to sacrifice as the asshole’s next victim when an email popped into my inbox.
It was my work email, and I was working, like I normally do on the weekend. I was putting in the extra time because I woke up in the morning with renewed determination. Maybe I’m just an overly optimistic person, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, some of my words from the night before took hold. Maybe Cliff would choose to take pity on me and just cooperate enough for me to save my job.
I spent half the night thinking about what he said, and the other half rehashing my own words. Clearly, something I said got through, because Cliff’s email was a brief apology. He asked if he could talk about his next dates in person and gave me the address of an ice cream shop fairly close to my apartment, which I’m sure he had to actually lookup. I responded back, telling him I could meet him there at seven, and he agreed.
I wish I said five, even though no one eats ice cream at five, but I didn’t want to look weird. Seven sucks, because it left me hours to think and worry about it.
I pull up to the ice cream place, which is a nasty looking little brick building with a boarded-up window. I park my car and do a quick scan in the rearview mirror. I’m a mess on the inside and kind of on the outside too. I tried to tame my hair, but I made the mistake of having a cold shower as soon as I got home the night before, and I went to bed with wet hair, which means it’s a frizzy mess today that no amount of product could tame. I tried twice to put on makeup, but I ended up washing it off both times.
I have no idea what’s wrong with me.
I spot Cliff immediately when I walk in. He’s the only person in the place. All the tables and chairs are mismatched, and they look more like they’re intended for outdoor use. But they’re not what catches my attention. Cliff catches my attention.
He’s… well… gorgeous. He’s wearing a tight-fitting grey t-shirt that is doing some serious straining across his broad shoulders and chest. He stands when he sees me, and his jeans are even better. They’re soft looking and worn in, and they enhance his muscular thighs. It’s cold out, so I don’t know why he’s just wearing a t-shirt. I want to tell him to put on a jacket. Or a really baggy sweater, because that t-shirt is doing things to me. Like, real things. Lady bit tingling things.
Whatever else the guy might be, he is fit; I’ll give him that.
I also really wish he would stop getting to places before I do. It’s twenty minutes to seven, and he’s here.
I approach the counter with trepidation, but as it is, a friendly-looking elderly woman who is absolutely adorable in a floral print shirt and pink polyester pants pulled up traditionally high, shuffles forward and gives me a big, denture filled grin.
She’s so sweet that I immediately forget about the creepy exterior of the place and the boarded-up window. I proceed to order a large waffle cone and an ice cream cake that I’ll pick up when I leave, to take home. I know I might not have a job soon, so I technically shouldn’t be spending money, but whatever.
Cliff gives me a strange look, but then he orders a mint chocolate chip and bubblegum cone—a nasty combination if I’ve ever heard one. Not to be outdone, Cliff asks for two boxes of homemade ice cream sandwiches, also to pick up when he leaves.
I think we made the super cute, little old lady’s day because she keeps smiling the most adorable smile as she gives us our ice cream. After, she heads to the back, behind the counter, which gives me and Cliff some privacy.
Not that we need it. I told him to get his big boy male panties on and grow up. So, I can put my big girl gitch on as well, and apologize, even if I have an audience.
We both sit there for a minute, him with his gross and weird ice cream combo, me with my much more normal cookie dough. I don’t watch him eat it, though, because I’m scared of what the sight of his tongue or lips working at his ice cream will do to me.