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I glanced up from my menu and took in my date. He was handsome, with dirty-blond hair that was parted with precision. He had brown eyes with a touch of green and a round face that gave him a boyish sort of charm. He’d pulled out my chair when I’d arrived and complimented my dress and hair. He wasn’t Brooks gorgeous, but he was easy on the eyes and had been polite. No voice yet, though the night was still young, so I was holding out some hope.
“Do you come here often?” I asked.
He looked up from his menu and smiled. “Never been here, but Colette mentioned it was one of your favorite places.”
I liked that. It was thoughtful of him.
“She would be right. I hope you like it; everything here is fantastic.”
“What would you recommend?”
“That depends—do like spicy or sweet?”
“Both,” he said with a crooked grin.
Hmm. That was an excellent answer. I was liking him even more. “In that case, I would go with the sweet-and-spicy Hawaiian burger.”
He set his menu down. “Sounds perfect. Have you been to Hawaii?”
I nodded. “Colette, Lorelai, and I took a girls’ trip there a few years ago. It was amazing. We went snorkeling and jumped off waterfalls—”
He held up his hand. “I hate to tell you, but that kind of risky behavior isn’t good for life insurance rates. You should probably consider some new hobbies.”
“Uh . . .” I wasn’t quite sure what to say.
Apparently I didn’t need to respond, because he reached down and grabbed a tablet out of his attaché case and said, “Let me show you what I mean.”
I had noticed the attaché earlier when I’d arrived. I had just thought he was metrosexual and comfortable with his feminine side, which was fine by me. However, I wasn’t expecting what came next.
He pulled up a PowerPoint presentation on his tablet. “This is important information I give all my clients. It could save you thousands of dollars over the years. How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“So, you basically have forty years left to live, if you go by the United States average for women.” He pointed at a brightly colored chart.
Was this really happening? He was making me wish for hobbit man.
“Do you have life insurance?” he point-blank asked before reaching for a brochure. “If you don’t, you should really think about it. You’re still relatively young, and you look healthy. You don’t smoke, I hope.”
I didn’t, but this date was going up in smoke fast.
He fanned out several brochures in front of me. “Take a look at these. I’m sure I can find the perfect plan for you.”
No, Peter. I don’t think so. On to date number thirty-seven.Chapter TwelveI was downing Diet Pepsi and popping chocolate donut holes into my mouth on the drive over to the hospital to meet Brooks. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but after my date—I mean insurance appointment—I’d stayed up half the night bingeing General Hospital clips of Rick Springfield and my favorite couple ever, Frisco and Felicia. Sadly, Frisco and Felicia didn’t make it on the show or in real life, but, man, were they the cutest. And oh, could they do a good kissing scene. Why couldn’t I find someone to kiss me so passionately? Or kiss me at all, for that matter?
Brooks had probably had a better time looking at dead bodies. In fact, I would have had a better time looking at dead bodies than attending the insurance seminar disguised as a date. And can you really call it a date when you pay for yourself? Peter believed that all dates should be dutch unless you were sleeping together. So not happening. I needed to have a serious talk with my best friends about the guys they were setting me up with. I mean, I totally appreciated their efforts, and I understood they only knew so many single men. However, we needed to come up with a better screening process—feet hair check included.
Perhaps I should just be done with blind dates. I could only stay optimistic for so long. Going stag to my reunion was sounding better and better all the time. Okay, so it didn’t sound good at all. Even so, I needed to give up on finding someone who made the voice appear. Yes, I knew the voice was speaking again, but it was confused, and I couldn’t afford to listen to it. It had been wrong twenty-four years ago, and it was insane now. Brooks was in love with Morgan. Period. The end.
I pulled into the parking lot and flipped down my visor mirror. Yikes. I had chocolate all over my lips, and my eyes were so red it looked like I had gone on a bender last night. If you counted hours and hours of watching scripted love scenes, I supposed I had. I did feel hungover, or was that lovesick? I needed a Noah Drake or Frisco Jones in my life.
