The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(28)

“Wives?!”

“He’s going for his third.”

“But he was divorced, what, ten years ago?”

“Just about.”

“Damn, he works quick.”

“That’s my dad for you,” I say, lifting my drink and emptying it. I screw up my face at the taste, and she laughs at the cough.

“Little much?”

“Yeah.”

“So the wedding?”

“The wedding. His third. My newest stepmom can’t be more than a few years older than me.”

“Ouch.”

“Yup. And every time I’m with him and his family, all I hear about is how I need to find a man, how I’m getting old, how I’m clearly not very good at what I do because I can’t even find myself someone.”

“Well, that’s bullshit. The number of happy couples who credit The Ex Files with their happiness is huge!”

“Yeah, well, it’s not enough. And that’s why I need to scramble to find a date before Valentine’s Day.

“That’s in like, three weeks.” I mentally do the math and see my always astute assistant is once again correct. Shit.

“Shit. Yeah. It is.” I’m silent as I crack open a fortune cookie as if inside will be the answer to all of my issues. It reminds me of Luke and making wishes on them. “’ All the answers you need are right there in front of you!’” I read the message aloud to Gabi and crunch through the sugary cookie, annoyed. “Well, that’s no help.”

“Or is it?” I raise an eyebrow at her, already folding up the paper out of habit. “What if the answer is right in front of you?”

“No offense, Gabi, but my dad would not be impressed by my bringing a woman as a date.”

“Not me, you dumb butt.”

“Dumb butt?”

“Dumb butt.” My head goes back with a laugh at her silly word, and it feels good to laugh with someone, to spill my guts, to lounge in sweats and eat junk food. It’s similar to the feeling from last night, hanging out with Luke and his friends, giggling with Jordan, and rolling my eyes at Chris. “What about Luke?”

“Luke?” The name sends a thrill down my spine.

“Yeah, the guy from last night.”

“The client?”

“He’s not a client. He’s a potential match, not even on our roster yet.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“We went on a date.”

“Stop playing games, Cassie. What on earth happened? You’re frazzled. You don’t get frazzled.” A sigh escaped my chest, heavy and filled with emotion. Regret? Anticipation? Excitement?

“We went on a date. It was… good. Really good. We went to dinner, and I interviewed him, but…” I pause, thinking.

“But…?!”

“But he decided it should be a question for a question. He told me if I could ask questions, it was only fair if he could too.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I know, but maybe… it should. You know, see if he can hold a conversation.” I glare at her, remembering that was basically his argument as well.

“Anyway, every question I asked, he asked one. Nothing big—favorite foods and stuff. But it was… fun. And then we went to the museum….”

“I thought you didn’t go there?”

“Can I tell my story?” I say, throwing a wrapped fortune cookie at her. She laughs, and I like this, goofing with a friend and gossiping about boys.

“Go, sorry!”

“We went, and he said he wasn’t going in. It wasn’t his style. Instead, he had a friend in town, so we went to a bar for trivia night.”

“You? A bar?” Her eyes are wide with shock.

“I know. But… it was good. His friends were a blast. And he… he was fun. I drank a bit too much—”

“You drank on a date?!”

“Jesus, Gabi, hush! Let me finish!”

“Sorry!” She’s not, though—she’s laughing at me, excitement on her face.

“So we went to trivia night, but I drank a bit too much, and he drove me home. He walked me to my apartment and kissed me….” My mind floats off, remembering the kiss, those brief moments where his lips were on mine, and I wanted so much more. “It was good, Gabi. Really, really good.”

She smiles at me. “And then what!?”

“That’s it. Except then this morning, he brought my car to my parking space and fixed my tire sometime between last night and this morning. He couldn’t have slept much. It was… sweet. And he won’t accept payment.” Gabi’s eyes go gooey.

“Cassie, that is the sweetest, cutest first date story ever.” She’s not wrong. I’ve heard my fair share when I debrief with clients, and this might be at the top.

“I know,” I admit this, half excited, half dismayed. If only… if only he wasn’t a potential match. If only I wasn’t so damaged and could set aside the inevitable heartbreak and let myself enjoy this. Enjoy him.

“And now you’re going on a date on Saturday?”