Why do I feel rusty? It’s only been three weeks since my last date. I’m Claire Archer, the master of first dates. I’ve been on . . . a lot. Why do I feel strange in my own skin right now? Like I’ve forgotten everything?
“So, Claire, tell me about yourself,” Chris says, his eyes on me, a soft smile on his face.
Right. I know how to answer this one. I’ve done it many, many times.
I tuck some strands of hair behind my ear. “Let’s see. I’m from Burbank, originally. But I currently live in NoHo. What about you?”
“Santa Monica,” he says.
“Oh,” I say, surprised. That’s at least a forty-five-minute drive on a Friday night. “We should have met somewhere in themiddle.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’ve heard good things about this place,” he says. “And I don’t mind the drive to get to know you a little better.”
Okay, that was cute. Well done, Chris. Even more endearing, the tips of his ears have turned a light shade of pink.
“Well, I hope I can make it worth your while,” I say, and then give him a sheepish grin because that’s not what I wanted to say. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I meant, I hope it’ll be worth the drive.”
He laughs, and the pink color on his ears darkens. “I think it will be.”
Points to Chris for letting that go. Luke would have run away with it.
Nope. Not thinking about Luke.
“So, what do you do for work?” I ask, getting us back on track.
The conversation picks up after that. Chris is a physical therapist in an orthopedic clinic, likes to play basketball with friends in his spare time, and is learning to 3D print.
After we order—I get the enchiladas, which is safe first-date food—I tell him a little about my work, downplaying it so he doesn’t ask too many questions.
It’s an easy date so far. Possibly one of my better ones in a while, if you don’t include dinner with Luke—which I don’t. But Chris seems . . . nice. He’s easy to talk to, nice to look at, and so far, no red flags.
If this keeps up, I could see us going out again. And yet . . . that idea doesn’t excite me like it should.
What’s wrong with me?
My watch buzzes twice on my wrist, and I see messages from both Tessa and Luke pop up.
Tessa:This might be a problem
Jerkwad:We have a problem
Tessa sends me a link next, but I can’t open it on my watch.
Feeling suddenly worried, I grab my phone out of my purse just as a call comes in, the name “Jerkwad” big and bold across the screen.
“Everything okay?” Chris asks, a concerned look on his face.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just getting a call from work that I need to take. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” he says.
I scoot out of the booth, a sinking feeling in my stomach as I look for a place to take the call. Seeing the sign for restrooms, I head there.
What could have happened that would warrant texts from both Tessa and Luke?
“Hello,” I answer once I’m inside the single-stall bathroom, painted bright red with a border of flowers around the upper part of the wall.
“We’ve got a problem,” Luke says.
