Page 10 of Never Let Go

My brother, Hope, her sister, and her husband had all been through this and they’d all come out the other end happy and, more pertinently, alive. While I was feeling like a serial killer could be watching me in the dark, I knew it wasn’t true.

Just relax, Foster. Don’t be a wimp.

I took a deep breath, but the longer I sat there by myself, the more panicked and impatient I became. Finally, the woman came in. A whopping twenty minutes later, according to the waiter who showed her to her seat.

My heart thrashed around in my chest. Neither of us said anything as he helped her into the room. The soft scrape of a chair told me she was sitting down. As soon as she did, I got my first hint about the fact that there really was another person—other than the waiter—in here with me now.

It came in the form of an assault on my nostrils as an overly sweet, fruity scent wafted across the table. It smelled like a pot of strawberry jam had been shoved under my nose. I was a fan of the stuff—strawberry jam—but on my toast, not on my body as a fragrance.

Between her scent and how late she was, I decided Porter had to have been playing a prank on me to set me up with this woman. Then she opened her mouth and I knew he had—or that Hope had pranked him by giving him a list of women I didn’t match with at all so she could win their bet.

Her voice was nasally and high-pitched, and more to the point, she did the baby-talk thing. She actively tried to make herself sound like a kid.

Strangely, that was a question on Milena’s questionnaire. Our boss prided herself on being as thorough as she could possibly be. It was part of her recipe for success.

Some people liked baby-talk, but since it was a pretty big turn-off for those who didn’t, she’d put it right there on the form. I didn’t like it. At all and I knew I’d checked the hell no option.

“Hello, Tyler.” She giggled. “I’m Dana Dubois. It’s so nice to finally meet you. How are you?”

She dragged out the end of every word, giggled some more, and then I heard her scrape her chair toward the table.

I sighed softly, but we were both here and I knew I had to give it a chance. “Uh, I’m fine. Thanks. How are you?”

More giggling. “So much better now that I’m with you.”

I frowned. Why? Why would you say something like that to a total and complete stranger that you can’t even see?

I let it go, though, knowing it would be incredibly rude to pick an argument with her just because I’d been in a bad mood before she’d even walked in. Instead, I exhaled deeply and tried to come up with something to say.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dana. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, uh, my name isn’t really Dana,” she whispered in a loud, stage whisper. “I’m not allowed to tell you my real name yet.”

“Uh, yeah. I know. No real names. It’s right there in the rules.”

She giggled. “So Sexy Voice is smart too. That’s just so great. You’re great.”

I am? No. I’m not. I mean, I am, but you can’t possibly know that yet. “What do you do for a living, Dana?”

“Oh.” She giggled. “I do charity work. You?”

“I’m a VP at a tech firm.” It was the closest they’d been able to get for a job description for me that was true but didn’t give too much away. “What kind of charity work do you do?”

At least that was something we could talk about. Or so I thought until she responded to the question. “I raise funds for the Society for Right-Handed People Who Support Left-Handed People.”

I blinked hard. She has to be fucking with me, right?

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes!” she exclaimed excitedly, and I wondered if I could hit the buzzer before her drink had even been served. “I also chair monthly meetings for the Inanimate Object Support Group.”

I frowned. I really couldn’t tell if she was trying to be funny or if she was actually serious. “The what?”

“The Inanimate Object Support Group,” she repeated, and I heard it in her voice this time that she was completely earnest.

“Uh, I’ve never heard of that. What do you do there?”

“Silly, Tyler.” She giggled. “We support Inanimate Objects. Like that chair you’re sitting on, for example. Did you even think about asking its permission before you sat down? Are you going to thank it when you leave?”