The Dating Proposal(19)

I tug at my polo shirt. It’s some shade of green. “Why, thank you. I wasn’t entirely sure if polo shirts were still acceptable for a sort-of-kind-of business dinner, so I’m glad to have the fashion hound seal of approval.”

She mimes stamping the shirt. “It definitely works. The jersey cotton gives it just the right casual feel, and the celery color is perfect for your eyes.”

That was quite a thorough assessment, but then, it shouldn't be a surprise. “I had no idea it was jersey. Or that celery is a color. What color is celery?”

“The color of your shirt, of course. It’s a very pretty green.”

I slide into a feminine tone. “Oh, thank you so much, so glad you like my pretty shirt.” I return to my regular voice. “And you look great.” It comes out a little awkward, like I shouldn't be complimenting her, and maybe I shouldn't be, given my detour into dirty thoughts of removing her shirt a few minutes ago.

The pink button-down looks like it’s made of the softest material ever, thin and kind of sexy but also classy. It gives a little hint of skin and makes me want a bigger peek.

She shoots me a smile. “Thank you. It’s the ideal outfit for fries, I believe. But then again, everything goes with fries. You could eat them in a boat, you could eat them in a box, you could eat them with a fox—” She covers her face with her hands. “I can’t believe what I just said.”

Laughing at her unexpected Dr. Seuss segue, I point at her. “You’re reciting Green Eggs and Ham!”

“I know.” She looks up, a little embarrassed. “Well, Chris. The cat’s out of the bag. I’m kind of a dork.”

“Nah, that’s just a good book. But would you eat them in a house? Would you eat them with a mouse?”

“I will eat them in a boat, I will eat them with a goat,” she fires back.

I slam a fist on the table. “And I will eat them in the rain. And in the dark. And on a train.”

A waiter pops by our table, fresh-faced and sporting a smile that stretches to Timbuktu as he sets water glasses on the table. “And what can I get you fine folks today?”

“We’re going to go a little wild and order some French fries,” I begin.

“Yeah, go nuts!” the cheery fellow replies. “What kind of sauce would you like with those?”

I meet her gaze. “Tell the man.”

With a Cheshire cat smile, McKenna straightens her shoulders, clears her throat, and announces in a prim, proper voice, “I’d like to try the orgasmic ketchup, please.”

The guy rolls with it, giving her a thumbs-up. “Right on. That’s exactly what it is. Come to think of it, we should rename it Orgasmic Ketchup.”

“Come to think of it indeed,” I add drily.

He cackles, McKenna laughs, and I take a pretend bow.

“And what other flavors of sauces would you like with your fries?”

I gesture to the lovely brunette across from me. “McKenna, want to go full ladies’ choice?”

Her eyes sparkle with delight. “Actually, I love surprises.” She turns to the happy dude. “Why don’t you surprise us? Just pick your three best, any three.”

The waiter’s smile spreads, as if he’s thrilled to have been entrusted with such an important task. “It will be my pleasure to hand-select the sauces.”

In addition to the fries, McKenna orders a Mediterranean salad, I opt for a chicken sandwich, and we return to the conversation.

“Are you a closet Dr. Seuss fan?”

“No, I’m loud and proud on that front. But it was at the top of my mind because I read it to my friend Hayden’s daughter the other night. She’s twelve going on eighteen, so she’s totally over it, but she was amused her younger self liked it.” She taps her chin. “I believe she considered it an ironic reading of the book. And you?”

“It was my little sister, Jill’s, favorite book growing up, and I taught her to read way back when, so I have it memorized.”

Her smile widens. “What a good older brother. Is she your only sibling?”

“I have an older brother. He works in London. And Jill’s the youngest. She’s in New York. She landed a part in a new Broadway musical called Crash the Moon. It opens soon, and I’m going to see her opening night. I’m really proud of her.”

“I’ve heard about that musical. It sounds amazing. Davis Milo is the director,” she says, then hums a show tune that sounds familiar, probably from Jill singing it. “That’s from Anything For You, another one of his shows. He’s a genius.”

“Jill says the same thing. She’s pretty stoked. What about you? Any siblings?”

“I have one sister. Julia,” she says then tells me about the bar her sister owns in the Mission District.

We segue into favorite drinks, then favorite shows, and before too long it occurs to me that I could easily spend the whole time talking with her and never make it to the reason I asked her to dinner. She’s so damn easy to have a conversation with.

But I need to focus on business affairs, not dating affairs that aren’t real. Once more, I recalibrate. “The reason I asked you here is that I have an idea. It’s a little crazy. A little edgy, but it’s also one-hundred-percent legit awesome, and I hope you’re up for it.”