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CHAPTER ONE
Penelope
The man on the other side of the table greets me with a smug grin as I take my seat. No handshake, no adjusting his zero-shame man-spread, just pure arrogance when he drawls, “Well, well, Penelope, you actually live up to those profile pics of yours.”
Oh boy.
I blink at him, unsure if that’s a compliment or not.
“Thank you, um…?” Shit, I’ve completely forgotten his name.
He sips his coffee, not getting the cue to fill in the blank.
After the week I’ve had, I planned to cancel on the guy, but he’s been so eager to meet up that the guilt of ghosting him prevented me from sending a, So sorry, I can’t make it, message.
Considering I have a job interview for a personal assistant gig after this, I probably should’ve.
My newest endeavor as a yoga instructor was a total flop. To my utter disbelief, at the ripe age of thirty, I’m not as bendy as I once was. But meeting at the coffee shop gave me an excuse to grab the kiddos at the group home a box of their favorite blueberry-lemon cookies, and I’d do damn near anything for their joyful squeals.
“Do the women you usually date not look like their pictures?” I ask, trying to get comfortable in my constricting, cream-colored pantsuit.
I follow his wandering gaze to the curvy blonde two tables down. “Yeah. Can’t ever trust those filters, you feel me?”
I unplugged from social media years ago, so the whole dating app thing is new to me. And unfortunately, between sorting through unsolicited dick pics and finding someone who can hold a decent conversation, it’s been more trouble than it’s worth.
Taylor—or is it Timothy? Tormund?—takes another bubbling slurp of his drink.
“I have no clue how to use filters, but I know I’m not equipped with one.” I point at my mouth for emphasis, and then snort a laugh loud enough to turn a few heads. “Oops. Sorry!”
When I wave at the onlookers, my date ducks a smidge lower in his seat.
“So… you’ve lived in Keerah for some time?” His eyes flick back to the woman before landing on my fingers, quietly tapping the table.
His lip curls when he spots my chewed nails, and I force a smile before quickly tucking my hands between my thighs.
“It’s kind of a long story, but my parents have had land in the southern part of Topica Bay for pretty much ever. My dad has this whole ranch, and he raises horses and stuff. I’ve lived all over the island in the past, but decided to settle in Keerah about a year ago, I think.”
I intentionally leave out the fact that my father is one of the wealthiest men on the island and the founder of the application company, Triggerz.
He hums at my rambling the same way someone might say, “Wow” in the middle of a story they’ve lost interest in.
I watch him and the woman continue to ogle each other, and while she’s definitely gorgeous, I can’t help wondering what it is about her that I don’t have.
I’m shorter than average with an hourglass frame, and I may have crammed my feet into a pair of heels—and my ass into a business appropriate outfit—but I’m more of a barefoot, no-makeup kind of gal. Though, I do put maximum effort into taming my naturally wavy hair.
While he’s distracted, I scrounge in my bag for some cinnamon chews and pop a few into my mouth, savoring the sweet and spicy tang that glides over my taste buds and numbs my tongue.
Lately, all my dates have been monumental disappointments, and I don’t get it. What is it about me that’s so damn undesirable?
Mom would say it’s my ability to talk someone into a coma, but I think it’s my withering youth or a bad batch of pheromones.
Casually bringing my nose to my pit, I take a whiff.
Could be worse.
I check my phone for the time and do some quick math. My interview at Summit Estates is in downtown Keerah, but if I leave now, I could stop by to see the kids and still make it twenty minutes early.
The stool screeches when I push away from the table, loud enough to break the heavy tension between my date and the woman who’s suddenly finding anything and everything more interesting than us.
