"I take it you're not together?"
I cock my eyebrow. Like I'd be on a date if we were? What a weirdo. "We were barely together long enough to fertilize the egg."
"Right. Okay. Well, is there anything else inappropriate I can ask? I'd like to get that out of the way now." He flashes a quick grin, and it changes his whole face.
I'd been beginning to think all he could do was scowl.
I smile. "No, it's fine. I made my bed."
"Literally," he says dryly. Another grin flashes, lightening his words and making my stomach do a little twist. "Maybe we should get a drink." Henderson nods to the waitress who is hovering patiently.
"Or multiple?" I glance at the menu. "Oooh, the cantaloupe mimosa looks delish." Wait—can I even order that? It's nighttime. Do I look stupid? Is he going to tell people that Tabitha Stetson is so uncouth that she ordered a breakfast drink at dinner?
But it's what I want. Couth be damned.
Henderson orders a beer. He looks like a beer guy. Maybe couth would be lost on him anyway. He's definitely rougher around the edges than the guys out in California. I bet he's never had a manicure. I look down at his shoes. They're worn, brown lace-up boots.
"Are your shoes warm? Mine aren't. I had booties that I bought for the trip, but I stepped in a puddle today, and they're soaked. My feet practically turned into popsicles."
Henderson looks down at my feet. "I don't think those are helping the situation. It's the middle of winter, you know."
This time, the eye roll is obvious.
"I know," I laugh nervously. "I didn't bring the right clothes for the weather. Or a date. I borrowed Angie's coat, but her feet are about two sizes smaller than mine. Believe me, I did try to squash my feet in those boots because they looked so warm. So this was all I had that was appropriate for going out." I'm prattling on. Henderson looks so … disinterested. I'm not used to having to work this much to get attention.
Either he really doesn't know who I am, or he's playing super hard to get. Unless he's a professional actor, it's got to be the first thing.
"Right, well, the summer in Upstate New York is perfect. Hot during the day, a little cooler at night,” Henderson supplies. "But beautiful in general."
Huh? What the hell is he talking about? The comment is so out of left field; it has nothing to do with anything. "Okay." I don't know what else to say.
And the date just went back to being weird.
His scowl is back.
I don't like his scowl. I'd much prefer to see that smile of his.
I could do without the eye roll too.
Luckily, the waitress comes to the table with our drinks. I glance quickly at the menu. "Vegetable curry, please."
He orders the peri-peri chicken, whatever that is. "I had you pegged for the avo sandwich."
It takes me a beat to realize he's talking about the avocado sandwich. "No bread. At least I'm trying to get back to that. Paisley loves toast, so I've fallen off the wagon for the past two years. I've probably eaten more bread since she was born than I have in my whole life combined." I shrug. "The price of being—" I cut myself short before I can finish with "in showbiz." It sounds so pretentious. "You know, health conscious."
Ugh. When did I become so lame?
Maybe I was always this lame, but because I was famous, no one cared.
Henderson does not seem at all impressed or awestruck. He's not looking at me with thatlook. In fact, he's barely looking at me at all. Is it the kid talk? Maybe I shouldn't talk about my daughter. Or maybe it's because I mentioned carbs.
Guys in California are aware of their carbs. Maybe New York guys don't care about what they eat. Whatever it is, I don't seem to be making any headway with him.
I'm tempted to drain this drink and several others, just so I can make this night go away. While that's not the most stellar of plans, I need a little something to make me less awkward. I take a gulp of my mimosa.
Henderson clears his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit grumpy. I'm usually not this uptight. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm always uptight. Just not this much."
"So it's not just me?" I look at him intently. I don't think I've ever been so out of sync with someone. And that says a lot considering the amount of men who have attempted to make "music" with me over the years. "Why are you extra uptight tonight?" I lean forward, resting my chin on my fist. I want him to look me right in the eye when he admits he's nervous about being on a date with me.
