The Dating Proposal(25)

I part my lips to answer, but I don’t have a quick retort. I want to have fun, to get back out there, to test the waters. But I haven’t considered beyond a date or two, maybe more. My heart won’t let me. I still have a cage around that organ, protecting it from pain. It’s still bruised and tender to the touch.

That’s why I need to keep everything on the surface level. A few dates can’t hurt me. If I meet someone I like, I’ll simply keep it in check.

A customer at the other end signals he needs a refill, and Julia tells me she’ll be right back. I glance briefly at my sister, who is quite simply a heartbreaker. She’s sexy and curvy and has that kind of reddish-auburn hair that drives men wild. I bet someday some man is going to walk into this bar and sweep her off her feet.

But me? Being swept away? That’s hard to conceive of, especially when I’m zero for two at the dating plate.

Zero for ten in the toe-curling department.

And that’s A-OK. I don’t need my toes curled and my fancies tickled. All I need is another way to meet interesting men. I glance around the bar, and an idea strikes me. I could take a class. A mixology class. Or a cooking class. Or a cupcake class.

When Julia returns to my corner of the bar, I’m lit up like a bulb. “I should take a class. I can meet potential dates there.”

Her lips tip up. “Yes! I heard someone talking about a coffee-tasting class recently. Why don’t you try that?”

She gives me the name for one, and I google it and sign up on the spot.

Pleased with my can-do attitude, I set my phone on the bar with a flourish. “Take that, Dan Duran.”

Julia holds out a palm to high-five me. “Also, why don’t we do a girls’ night out? We can go to some hip bars on a Saturday night, and you can meet guys that way.”

“Boom!” I thrust both arms in the air. “I love it.”

She taps the bar. “And someday you’re going to meet someone you have an instant connection with.” She snaps her fingers to demonstrate then heads over to a new customer.

I flash back to Chris, to our easy conversation over fries, to the moment at the beach, to the store, to the coffee shop. There was something sort of instant in our connection, wasn’t there? We have the kind of quick banter and repartee that makes a girl think of possibilities, of days and nights and music and laughter. It makes a girl think songs were written for her, like “A Sailboat in the Moonlight,” my favorite Billie Holiday number.

Every now and then, I wonder what it would be like to find my sailboat in the moonlight. To find it for real.

As I take another swig of Julia’s concoction, I let myself linger on my text messages with Chris, scrolling through our last conversation. Our saucy comments and naughty replies.

I stare at the exchange, running my finger across our messages.

Wondering.

Waiting.

Hoping.

But what am I hoping for?

Just as soon as I ask the question, the answer touches down, landing softly but insistently before my eyes.

I see a kiss that starts sweet and soft and slow. Hands cup my face as if he’s claiming me, saying you’re mine with his lips. I imagine a thumb tracing a line along my jaw.

And I see myself melting into a moment that makes my toes curl.

I halt the image train. I can’t let the fantasy go any further. After all, I’m seeing him tomorrow for work. I finish my drink and resolve to enjoy this newfound friendship and partnership with him.

That’s all there is, and that’s what I focus on the rest of the night as I go home, kick off my shoes, and strip out of my clothes.

Except I’m pretty sure it’s not in any business handbook to think of your new colleague the whole time you’re taking a hot shower.

But I do it anyway.





16





McKenna





I choose my outfit carefully, opting for a cap-sleeve mint-green blouse with a sweetheart neckline and capri jeans. I shoot a quick video for my Instagram, detailing why I chose it for my first on-air segment, then posting it with details on where to nab the goodies.

I head to the studio. Chris waits for me in the lobby, looking California cool in jeans and a navy Henley.

“I’m pretty sure those clothes were made for you,” I say, after he gives me a quick hug.

“These? Nah, I just grabbed them at Banana Republic, or maybe even Target, I think.”

I nudge him. “It was a compliment on how good you look. Not on where you shopped.”

“Oh.” His cheeks turn a faint shade of red. “Thanks.”

“You’re blushing!”

“Thanks for pointing that out,” he says as we turn down the hall.

“It’s kind of cute actually.”

“Thanks, that’s what I was hoping for. Cute blushing.”

“You don’t like the sound of cute blushing?”

“It’s not very manly, now is it?”

“A man doesn't have to be manly every second of the day,” I say softly.

He looks over at me as we walk, adopting a too-deep voice. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

I roll my eyes. “I like your blushing. It’s sweet.”

“Great. Now I’m sweet,” he says sarcastically.

I shrug happily. “I think it’s sweet that you blush at a compliment.”