The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(22)

If “fun” means feeling somewhat like I’m a prisoner of war, then yes, I guess you could say I’m having fun. Not to be a bad sport or anything. Parker may have been having fun in the more traditional sense of the word, but personally, I’m wondering when the Coalition of the Willing plans to free me.

“Yes!” The man in front of me smiles. A man who smells like Aunt Iris’s cellar, dank and moldering. His eye twitch doesn’t advance the cause, either, I’m afraid. Neither does that belch he just barely suppressed. Gah!

“No,” I say as gently as possible. “Thanks, though. I’m sure you’re very nice. But…no. It’s nothing personal. I’m a widow, see, it’s just—”

“Change!” Lemminglike, I step left, my need to make everyone happy mercifully cut off. The next man is extremely thin with a desperate, hungry look about his redrimmed eyes. “Yes,” he says.

“No. Sorry. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m a widow. No one will ever measure up, you understand. Good luck, though.”

“Jesus Christ, Lucy,” Parker mutters next to me, then eyeballs the guy in front of her. “Yes.”

It cost seventy-five dollars to get into LoveLines tonight. Well, it cost Parker a hundred and fifty dollars to get in tonight, as she paid for my admission. For that sum, we stand in a line, shoulder to shoulder with about forty other women. Facing us is the men’s line. Every ten seconds, we take a step left. The idea is to see if there’s instant chemistry. Simply put, you look at each other and say only “yes” or “no.” If each of you says yes, you exchange cards and, in the next phase of LoveLines, meet for a ten-minute chat. If one or both of you says no, you simply move on.

I had no idea ten seconds could last so long. I quickly learn to hesitate as if torn, then drop my “no” at the last possible second, so as to minimize the hurt feelings.

So far, Parker has seventeen cards. I have none. “Stop saying no,” Parker hisses. “You’re standing there, arms crossed, big, sad eyes, looking like an orphan.”

“Prisoner of war, I was thinking.”

“I thought you wanted to find someone,” she says. “You don’t have to marry them, for God’s sake. Just say yes. The next guy is pretty cute. Say yes to him.”

“Change!” bellows the moderator. Like members of a chain gang, we all shuffle sideways, advancing to the next man. Parker’s right, I need to try. It just seems so…impossible. So stupid, also. Is this what dating is like in your thirties? As always, I’m grateful for Jimmy, the adorable way we met, that long, heart-squeezing, life-changing moment in Gianni’s kitchen. Good old Ethan, knowing I’d like his big brother.

I take a breath and smile gamely at the person in front of me. Average-looking, blond, brown eyes. Be brave, angel, I imagine Jimmy saying. What the heck. I smile, trying not to look like Oliver Twist.

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” he replies.

“Change!”

By the end of the Chain Gang Shuffle, I have collected four cards; Parker, twenty-one. We women go to our designated tables and sit, waiting for our suitors to visit.

My first Yes is just what the doctor ordered. He’s rather bland but wears a nice suit. He has a serious, thoughtful face that bodes well for commitment and wise choices, unlike (for example) Ethan’s devilish eyebrows and delicious smile. Even his tie bespeaks stability. Navy blue, no pattern, very unthreatening. The kind of tie an accountant might wear.

“Hello,” I say as he sits down. “I’m Lucy Mirabelli.”

“Hi,” he replies. “I’m Todd Smith.” Perfect. A nice boring name. Todd Smith simply could not be a dangerous man, not with a name and a tie like that.

“What do you do for a living, Todd?” I ask.

“I’m an accountant.”

My smiles grows more genuine. “I’m a baker,” I say.

“Interesting.”

“Mmm,” I murmur. “Yup.” We look at each other. My smile starts to feel a little stiff. I look at my hands, primly folded in front of me. Todd has a similarly wooden smile on his face. Or maybe it’s his normal smile. I picture seeing that smile across the kitchen table for the next fifty years. Suppress a sigh.

Next to me, Parker is howling with laughter over something her guy said. She tosses her hair, and he leans forward, grinning. Across from me, Todd blinks and cocks his head. I’m reminded of a lizard. Blink, blink. Perhaps his tongue will shoot out and he’ll catch a fly.

“So. An accountant,” I say.

“Yes. That’s right.”

My toes curl in my shoes. Granted, I wanted boring. Reliable, my conscience corrects in a chastising voice. Yes, yes, reliable. Someone who didn’t love me so much he tried to stay awake for twenty straight hours. Someone with the sense to pull over, no matter what his smitten wife might’ve said.

“Do you like movies?” I ask, searching my brain for something to talk about. “I’m a big movie watcher. I watched Star Wars last night.” Surely everyone on earth has seen StarWars.

“I don’t watch movies, no.” Todd replies. His face is so impassive it could be carved from wood. “I tend to watch CNN more than anything. Their financial reporting is top-notch.”

“And that Anderson Cooper sure is a hottie,” I add without thinking. Oopsy. Todd’s face doesn’t change. He doesn’t seem to mind. Then again, he doesn’t seem to be alive, either. I forge on, albeit with a creeping certainty that Todd is, in fact, an android. “But you’ve seen Star Wars, right?”