“I’m going to be honest with you,” he says, leaning in to share a secret. “I’m not really good at these things.”
“Me neither,” I share back with relief.
It’s nice, being on the same page. The lamplight curls around his smile. Huh. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought.
The stakes of the bet simmer in the back of my mind.
He doesn’t lean back, and our hands are resting close to each other on the table.
“Do you come to these often?” he asks.
“No, definitely not,” I say, and his smile falters. Shit. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but”—and I probably shouldn’t admit this—“I kind of hate doingthings where I don’t know anyone. My cousin can’t believe it. I mean, she’s fearless. Dinner, shows, you name it—she’ll go by herself and have the best time.”
Of course, she’ll also end up with twenty new friends after.
I know; I know. I’m a strong, independent woman, with my own business. It’s been successful for two years. That’s impressive! And I’m proud of myself, but it doesn’t change the fact that the idea of going to a concert by myself makes me so nervous that I could vomit.
“Speed dating should be easy then, right? We might be strangers, but we’re all here, looking for the same thing.”
“Right.” I take my first deep breath since Benji walked in. “Let’s hope we can borrow a little of Bellwether’s romance tonight.”
The hotel’s founder, Belle Wether, casts a long shadow over Playa de Oro. Everyone who lives here knows of her legacy, and all who visit are summoned by it. A widow and a romance novelist, Belle might have outlived her one true love, but she dedicated herself—in person and in prose—to helping others find theirs.
I’d kill to meet the love of my life. Not literally, of course—I don’t even like using bug spray—but I’d definitely, um … huh. I guess I don’t know what I would do for that kind of love.
I don’t need a hotel. I just want someone to do things with, even if that thing is folding laundry together. Silly, right?
Dave smiles and brushes my hand as he reaches for his drink. Nothing lights up when he touches me, but the last man who did that tore my heart into a hundred pieces and then waltzed in tonight, looking annoyingly handsome and not like the heartbroken husk I’d secretly hoped he’d become without me.
I think about all the things I keep putting off because I’m too scared to try them alone.
Maybe I need a man with less fire.
As the silence extends, I reach for one of the conversation starter cards that have been laid out for us.Thank you, Sheree.
“What would you say is a typical Sunday?” I ask.Anything but sports. Anything but sports.
He shrugs. “Well, I wake up at four a.m. and head straight to the gym.”
Oh. I can’t remember the last time I worked out voluntarily, but that’s okay; people have different interests all the time.
“I follow that up with an ice bath and sauna. Then I meal prep for the week before meeting some of the boys for a friendly game.”
“What do you play?”
“Bit of everything. Tennis, basketball, you know.”
I don’t, but nod anyway.
“How about you?” he asks.
I should be honest, but somehow, the words just don’t get past my tongue.
The truth is, last Sunday, I would have stayed in mypajamas all day if I hadn’t ordered food and couldn’t stomach the thought of the delivery driver seeing me in my inside clothes. Then I ate on the couch while watching a three-part video essay on a guy who had tried to fake his way to a Nobel Prize. He almost managed it, too, until his audacity caught up with him. If I’d known the world of superconductor research was so dramatic, maybe I would have pushed myself to do better in school.
It was, quite simply, the best Sunday ever. But I don’t think Dave’s going to agree with me.
“Spending time with my cousin,” I finally say, as close to the truth as I’m going to get.
