Moonlight Over Manhattan(3)

“I really should be going.”

“You should. I don’t want your body to be discovered frozen to the sidewalk. Go. And don’t fall in the Dumpster.”

“Falling into the Dumpster would be a step up from everything else that has happened this evening.” Harriet glanced down. It wasn’t far and anyway, how much further could she fall? She felt as if she’d already hit rock bottom. “Maybe I should go back and explain that he wasn’t what I was expecting. Then I could walk out the front door and not risk walking home with a twisted ankle and food wrappers stuck to my new coat.”

“No.” Nat shook her head. “Don’t even think about it. The guy is creepy. I’ve told you, you’re the third woman he’s brought here this week. And there’s something not quite right about the way he looked at you. As if you were going to be dessert.”

She’d thought the same thing.

Her instincts had been shrieking at her, but part of Challenge Harriet was learning to ignore her instincts.

“It seems rude.”

“This is New York. You have to be street-smart. I’m going to keep him distracted until you’re a safe distance away.” Nat glanced toward the door, as if she was afraid the man might burst in at any moment. “I couldn’t believe it when he started calling you babycheeks. I have to ask this—why did you agree to meet him? What was it about him that attracted you? You’re the third gorgeous woman he’s brought here this week. Does he have some special quality? What made you agree to choose him?”

“I didn’t choose him. I chose the guy in his online dating profile. I suspect he may have reality issues.” She thought back to the moment he’d sat down opposite her. He had so obviously not been the person in his profile that she’d smiled politely and told him she was waiting for someone.

Instead of apologizing and moving on, he’d sat down in the chair opposite her. “You must be Harriet? Dog lover, cake lover. I love an affectionate woman who knows her way around a kitchen. We’re going to do just fine together.”

That was the moment Harriet had known for sure she wasn’t cut out for online dating.

Why, oh why had she used her real name? Fliss would have made something up. Probably something outrageous.

Nat looked fascinated. “What did his dating profile say?”

“That he was in his thirties.” She thought of the thick shock of white hair and the wrinkled brow. The yellowed teeth and the graying fuzz on his jaw. But the worst thing had been the way he’d leered at her.

“Thirty? He must be at least twice that. Or maybe he’s like a dog where each year is seven years. That would make him—” she wrinkled her nose “—two hundred and ten in human years. Jeez, that’s old.”

“He was sixty-eight,” Harriet said. “He told me he feels thirty inside. And his profile said that he works in investment, but when I questioned that he confessed that he’s investing his pension.”

Nat doubled over laughing and Harriet shook her head.

She felt weary. And stupid.

“After three dates, I’ve lost my sense of humor. That’s it. I’m done.”

All she wanted was fun and a little human company. Was that too much to ask?

“You decided to give love a chance. Nothing wrong with that. But someone like you shouldn’t struggle to meet people. What’s your job? Don’t you meet anyone through work?”

“I’m a dog walker. I spend my day with handsome, four-legged animals. They are always who you think they are. Although having said that I do walk a terrier who thinks he’s a Rottweiler. That does create some issues.”

Maybe she should stick with dogs.

She’d proved to herself that she could do the whole online dating thing if she had to. She’d ticked it off her list. It was victory of a sort.

Nat opened the window wider. “Report him to the dating site so he doesn’t put any more unsuspecting women in the position of having to jump out the window. And look on the bright side. At least he didn’t scam you out of your life savings.” She checked the street. “You’re clear.”

“Nice meeting you, Nat. And thank you for everything.”

“If a woman can’t help another woman in trouble, where would we be? Come back soon.”

Harriet felt a tug deep inside.

Friendship. That was perhaps the only F word she liked.

Feeling a flash of regret that she would never be going anywhere near this restaurant ever again, because she genuinely liked Natalie, Harriet held her breath and dropped onto the sidewalk.

She felt her ankle twist and a sharp, agonizing pain shot up her leg.

“You okay?” Nat dropped her shoes and her purse and Harriet winced as they thudded into her lap. It seemed that the only thing she was taking away from this date was bruises.

“Never better.”

Victory, she thought, was both painful and undignified.

The window above her closed and Harriet was immediately aware of two things. First, that putting weight on her ankle was agony. Second, that unless she wanted to hobble home in bare feet, she was going to have to put on the stilettos she’d borrowed from the pile of shoes Fliss had left behind.

Gingerly, she slid the shoe onto her foot and sucked in a breath as pain shot through her ankle.