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CHAPTER SIX – LONDON
RULE SIX: DESCRIBING YOURSELF IN SIXTY SECONDS IS REALLY HARD.
NOBODY CARES ABOUT THAT TIME YOU HAD A ZIT ON YOUR NOSE ON SENIOR PICTURE DAY.
“Hi, my name is London. I’m twenty-seven, a single mom of a six-year-old boy, a journalist for the White Peak Chronicles, and I have a highly unhealthy relationship with extra strong cheddar cheese.”
The guy opposite me laughed, flipping his dark hair from his eyes as he did. “All right, then. Hi, London. I’m Benjamin, thirty-one, childless, a newly qualified lawyer after a quarter-life crisis, and I, too, am unhealthily fond of cheese. Although I prefer blue.”
“Ooh, sorry, Benjamin. That’s a dealbreaker. There’s enough blue cheese where my kid’s socks are concerned.”
“I can compromise on Brie.”
“What crackers? Do you like a charcuterie board? What are your fruit preferences? This is a loaded subject.”
Benjamin opened his mouth, but the music played that indicated the end of the session. He got up with a shrug and winked at me. “We’ll come back to this.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I admired his confidence.
The next person sat opposite me. He was tall, lightly muscled, and actually looked like the kind of guy I’d consider dating.
“Hi,” I said. “My name is London. I’m twenty-seven, a single mom of a six-year-old boy, a journalist for the White Peak Chronicles, and I have a highly unhealthy relationship with extra strong cheddar cheese.”
Yes, I had it memorized.
Sue me.
There were only so many ways a person could describe themselves.
The guy opposite smirked. “Hey. I’m Rob, twenty-nine, single dad of two girls aged three and five, a chef in a local restaurant, and I also find myself in a toxic relationship with cheese.”
“I didn’t say it was toxic.”
“It’s always toxic with cheese. First, it’s a grilled cheese sandwich, then the next thing you know, you’re creating platters with your friends that include everything from olives to candy.”
“I like you, Rob.”
He laughed and slipped me his card right as the music rang out again. He disappeared without another word, and I tucked his card into my purse, then looked up to greet my next speed dater.
“Oh. My. God.”
Oliver smirked at me. “Now if I knew you were here, I’d think this was a setup.”
“Who roped you into this?”
“Sebastian. You?”
“Holley. And my aunt. I’m a sucker for my family.”
The music rang again signaling the start of our two minutes.
“Do it,” he said.
I sighed, but I was fighting my smile. “Hi, I’m London. I’m twenty-seven years old, a single mom of a six-year-old boy who is absolutely obsessed with soccer, a journalist for the White Peak Chronicles, and I have a highly unhealthy relationship with extra strong cheddar cheese and charcuterie boards.”
“You edited it.”
“Hurry up!”
Oliver laughed. “I’m Oliver, I’m twenty-nine, a football coach at the new sports center run by Sebastian Stone, and I have to tell you that a charcuterie board consists only of cheeses, cold cuts of meats, bread, and butter.”
“No candy?”
“No candy, no fruits, none of this fancy crap you Americans put on it. Maybe olives if you’re feeling really fancy, but no grapes or chocolate or anything like that.”
“Wow. My world just got rocked.”
“You’re welcome.” He handed me his card and winked, getting up right with the music.
There was no way that was two minutes.
“You’re lying!” I shouted as he got up.
I could swear I heard his laughter, even as the next guy sat down in front of me. He was tall, hot, dark haired, everything I’d be attracted to, but all I could focus on was the dark auburn-haired British guy sitting several feet away from me.
This was why it was a really bad idea to have a salad as dinner.
I ran through my intro again, but I was more than a little uninterested in the guy in front of me.
Why was Oliver here?
Dear God.
This was a nightmare.
“And break!” Holley said over the megaphone. “We’re going to take a fifteen-minute break. If you’re a speed dater, you have priority at the bar for the next fifteen using your date cards. If you’ve found someone you’d like to talk to, buddy up and let us know so we can bring in someone new!”
“Can I buddy up with you?” Piper asked, grabbing my arm. “This is hell. Men are hell. Let’s be lesbians for the night. Nobody will know.”
“Holley will know,” I said into her ear. “Besides, we can probably get out of this now. I mean—”
“This is a bit of a shitshow.”
I turned at the sound of the distinctly British accent I knew belonged to Oliver. “A bit? Just a bit?”
“All right, a lot of it. This is a terrible idea.”
“I’m going to get a drink,” Piper said, waving her number card between us. “You want anything?”
I shook my head. I’d had more than enough, thank you very much.
Oliver did the same. When she’d disappeared, he leaned into me and said, “How do you feel about pretending we’ve paired off and getting out of this shit?”
