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So what the hell was she going to do? She needed to find a date and fast. She thought about a Tinder hookup, but she didn’t even have a profile yet. She was pretty sure two and a half hours wasn’t enough time to make a profile, get a date, and also get him over here to rub in Dalton’s face. Fort Worth traffic was a bitch, after all.
It was definitely time to go old school … like lemonade-stand old school. All she needed was a gold-lamé bikini, some poster board, a chaise lounge, and a can-do attitude. And lucky for her, she had all of the above except for the poster board. Which she figured could be remedied easily enough.
The chocolate mixture had finally cooled, so she stirred in a couple of eggs and then added the dry ingredients. She poured the batter into a baking pan, added more chocolate chips, and put it in the oven to bake for half an hour.
With that taken care of, she headed to her room to dress for Operation Quick Date. Or undress, as the case may be.
Thirty minutes later, the brownies were cooling on the stove top and she was out in the front yard wearing her favorite gold-lamé bikini and holding a sign that read, “I NEED A DATE for dinner tonight, are you in?”
She’d dragged one of the chaise lounges and a side table from around the pool to the front yard so she could be comfortable while she panhandled for a date. She didn’t think it would take that long, but she’d brought a big glass of lemonade out with her, just in case.
This was Texas, and it was always good to stay hydrated.
Ten minutes went by and there were no takers. Then again, nobody had even driven by. Stupid gated golf course community.
Maybe if she walked around and strutted her stuff a little the neighbors would call all of their single friends and she’d be set. Figuring it couldn’t hurt to test the plan out, Harm stood on her six-inch Christian Louboutin gold spiked platforms and took a lap around the front yard.
As she did, she twirled her white poster board like she was standing on the corner of a busy highway holding a furniture store going-out-of-business sign. At this point, subtlety wasn’t an option. She was going for as much attention as possible as quickly as possible.
About two minutes later, a pimply-faced teenaged boy rolled up on a dark-blue Schwinn. “You really need a date?”
“Depends.” Maybe she should have put a minimum age on her sign. “Are you legal?”
“Had my bar mitzvah last week. My dad says I’m a man now.” He pulled out his smartphone and snapped several pictures of her.
Harmony didn’t want to know what he planned on doing with them.
“I don’t think the cops accept Jewish law as proof of age.” She shook her head. “Move along, I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Can I take a selfie with you?” He hopped off the bike, leaving it in the middle of the road, and ran over to her. “Or, I could take a video of you running around the front yard and post it on YouTube with your address. You could probably drum up business that way.”
It was a good idea and she almost went with it, but Lyric and Heath would kill her if she broadcasted their address over the Internet.
So instead she pointed in the direction bar mitzvah boy had come from. “Kid, get back on your bicycle and go home. I don’t have time for this.”
“Just trying to help you out.” He shoved his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. “I live four doors down on the left if you change your mind.”
Harmony grabbed the black Sharpie she’d used to make the sign from the table and added an asterisk at the bottom of her sign, along with, “Must be over twenty-one.”
Five minutes later, a golf cart pulled up in front of the house.
The man driving the golf cart waved. “Still need a date?” Slowly, he turned around and pulled a walker out of the backseat. It took him three tries, but he finally stood and climbed out of the golf cart. Then he shuffled up the sidewalk toward her at a rate of one millimeter per minute. He looked like a sweet old guy and she didn’t want him to trip on the curb and break something, so she went to him.
She opened her mouth to tell him that yes, she still needed a date, but closed it when he started talking.
“I’m Elroy McTavish.” He grinned and stuck out his hand for her to shake. She shook his hand and tried to pull her hand away, but he held it. “The pharmacy just delivered my new prescription,” his furry eyebrows waggled up and down, “if you know what I mean. Which means, if you give me an
hour, I can rock your world, Cutie Pie. Only—if we’re going out, you have to drive. I lost my license on account of that liquor store I accidentally drove through.”
She really hadn’t thought this out.
“I’m going to have to pass.” She tried to think of a reason that didn’t make her sound ageist but couldn’t come up with anything. “Do you have a heart condition?”
“Just a little one.” He puckered up. “Give me a kiss.”
She twisted her hand free and stepped back. “Sorry, I’m like those roller coaster rides at Six Flags. You have to be at least this tall,” she held her hand just over his hunched shoulders, “and can’t have a heart condition to ride this ride.”
“I’m willing to risk it if you are.”
