Chapter 1: Tabitha
I'm ten seconds in, and this is the weirdest first date ever.
I'm not even supposed to be on a date. I'm supposed to be having a girls' night in with my former bandmate. But Angie and her partner, Sergei, are delayed in their return to New York City, and Angie had made other plans for us tonight anyways. Apparently, this was supposed to be a double date with them and Sergei's friend. Instead, it's just the two of us.
God, he's grumpy.
He literally “humphed” at me when I introduced myself, barking out his own name. Henderson Quade. Maybe I shouldn't have made that comment about his accent, but Angie did tell me I'd love it. Of course, I'd been expecting Russian, or at least Eastern European, like Sergei's. I was not expecting Australian, which, let's face it, has a Chris Hemsworth vibe.
It's, like, auto-sexy.
And he is cute, though if he doesn't do something about his attitude, it won't get him far. Especially not tonight. I don't even want to be here. I'm jet-lagged and missing my daughter, and then there was that incident with the goat in the Central Park petting zoo …
It hasn't been the best of days.
Two people recognized me today, and I don’t know how to feel about it. I'm trying to fly under the radar here so no one knows I'm in New York right now. On the other hand, am I now so irrelevant that I can fly all the way from LAX to LaGuardia, traipse all around Manhattan, and onlytwopeople recognize me?
What a day.
I really don't needanotherbad date story to be the cherry on top. Hell, my last bad date ended up with me being lied to in the back of a limo and subsequently pregnant.
Okay, this date willnotbe like that one. I swear. Let's take another look and see if there's anything here to be salvaged.
Auburn hair. Probably about 5'11", which is a little short for my liking, but not terrible. A light beard. Blue eyes. If I had to guess, I'd say he was in his thirties. I bet he smells rugged and spicy.
He narrows his eyes slightly at me. Okay, it's a little early in the evening to try to lean in and smell him. I sit back and see his gaze drop down and return quickly. If I'm not mistaken, there was a bit of an eye roll in there. It can't be what I'm wearing, can it?
I look down at my form-fitting dress and strappy heels. You can take the girl out of LA, but you can't take the LA out of the girl. Even if you do dye her golden locks a medium brown so she can walk down the streets unrecognized by the paparazzi who used to follow her every move.
Of course, when you take the girl out of LA in the middle of February and plop her down in Manhattan, the odds are very good that she will not have appropriate clothing for the weather.
Thank God Angie left a coat behind that's warmer than anything I own. It still looks lightweight compared to his peacoat. He's wearing jeans and a turtleneck sweater. Not exactly dressed to impress, though. I'm definitely used to men who are better groomed. Maybe it's an East Coast thing?
He takes a deep breath in. "So, tell me a little about yourself."
He sounds like he's starting a job interview. What's next? Where do I see myself in five years? Okay. It's not like I'm really looking for anything. Hell, I live in California. Even if he were the love of my life, it's not like there would be any way for this to work out.
Not that I do love or long term anyway.
And seriously, what am I supposed to tell him? Do I lead with the fact that I'm in New York for three weeks while my daughter bonds with her baby daddy, who is a megastar, and that no one can know he fathered a child out of wedlock? Father, my ass.
Lying sperm donor is more like it.
Perhaps I tell him that despite my darkened tresses, it is I, Tabitha Stetson, aka Tabby Cat from the superstar group, the Sassy Cats. Does he know that already because of Angie? Usually when people know that, they lead with it.
Somehow, I doubt either one will turn this date around. I decide to go with a tamer version of choice A.
"Relax, buddy. This isn't an interview. It doesn't have to be anything. I'm looking for something to take my mind off the fact that my daughter is with her father for three weeks and I don't know what to do without her."
I see his shoulders drop a little. Is that relief? Or is it revulsion that I have a kid?
"Oh, how old's the ankle biter?"
"Ankle biter?"
"Child. Kid. Tyke. Little one."
I laugh nervously, trying to cover the fact that I feel like an idiot. I mean, he's speaking English too. Maybe it's because that was not how I expected him to reply. "Um, she's three. She'll be four next month. I love her to pieces, and this is the first time she's been away from me for this long. But her father is … working … here in New York, so I brought her out to spend some time with him."
