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Chapter 8
Abbi
Weekendsareusuallyrelaxing.
Usually.
This past one was not.
I’m still somewhere between a cringe and a little smirk whenever my mind strays back to Friday evening with Dean. I mean, it’s flattering that such a handsome and smart guy is interested in me. I mean, at the very least, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes. But then we got into that strange argument, and I fired up like a freshly struck match.What’s that about, anyway—it’s not like me to get fired up, ever.
And then I went home and sent him on a real date.
Odd doesn’t even start to cover it.
I’ve done my best to distract myself over the last forty-eight hours, which was more of a challenge than normal, and my roommate is still missing in action. Early Saturday, Hannahwith a gym bag, decked out in brand new athletic gear. It seemed a bit clingy to be sending her messages asking her to hang out with me because, unlike her, I didn’t have anything better to do or any better place to be.
So, now I’m at work, attempting to have an under-the-radar discussion with Ellen, trying to decide if it’s a good idea to confide in her what happened on Friday and that I might have a bit of a thing for Dean. I need to debriefsobadly, and I’m also very aware that every minute that passes brings me closer to the inevitable call or message from Dean about how his date went.
“We should get lunch,” I hiss at Ellen, and she shakes her head, looking around as though we’ll get in trouble for talking like gossiping teenage girls in high school math class.
From out of nowhere, Mary walks past, giving us the stink eye. She leaves us in the wake of her cloying perfume and general disapproval. I roll my eyes at her retreating form.
“Can’t,” whispers Ellen. “I didn’t meet my target last week, and I have to set up a couple of extra matches this week. Mary’s looking at my numbers every day right now.”
Nodding, I give her a sympathetic look, and we both turn back to our computer screens. No point getting into more trouble with the boss. A second later, I hear a ping from my handbag. Dammit, I forgot to turn my phone on silent. It’s a new office policy, which actually makes work really hard. How are we supposed to be responsive to clients if we can’t hear our phones? Another seemingly nonsensical rule imposed by Mary.
I glance at my phone’s screen—a missed call from Dean. Taking the easy way out, I compose a text message.
Abbi:Sorry can’t take a call right now. How did the date go?
A few moments later, I have my answer.
Dean:It was nice. No chemistry on either side though.
You can’t control chemistry. It’s either there or not. Damn, two down. How many dates is this going to take?
Abbi:That’s a pity. Tanya is a lovely woman and seemed to be a good match on paper.
The three little dots appear then stop a couple of times before he responds.
Dean:Absolutely, I agree with that.
Well, that’s a nice, diplomatic answer. You don’t have to be an ass when it doesn’t work out. I’ve never understood people getting aggressive and fired up when it doesn’t work out, especially after only a date or two. Before I can respond, another message pops up.
Dean:Can you meet me for lunch? I think it would be good to talk a bit more in detail about the date.
Abbi:Sure, I can meet you at noon.
I frown at my phone, a little stunned at the sudden turn of events. Another text from Dean arrives with details of a meeting spot.What just happened?I should be looking at my short list, contacting Dean’s next date and connecting them as soon as possible. Instead, I’m off for—what, a lunch date—with the man himself. And when my mind immediately turns to whether or not my outfit is cute enough, I know I’m in trouble.
Even though it’s only a few blocks from my work, I’ve never been to Benson’s Bakery. It’s not much to look at from the street, and honestly, I don’t need to go looking for more carbs— they cause me enough grief as it is. I step inside, the smell of herby, garlicky bread greets my nose, and I suck in a deep breath like it might be my last one.
So.
Good.
It’s a surprisingly big space, a few laden tables to one side and wooden tables with mismatched chairs on the other. Behind them are a long display case and the register. Beyond that is the semi-visible kitchen, where there’s a lot of hustle and bustle going on. A woman walks out with a ginormous tray stacked high with slices of some sort of steaming cheesy carb heaven, and before she can lower it to a space on one of the display tables, a few customers close in. I’m sure two women actually elbow each other.What the hell, it’s bread, people!
