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“Sorry to hear about the break-up.”
She shakes her head. “Don’t be. It was good, that it happened. I shouldn’t have been with him.”
“Then I’m happy to hear it.”
“Yeah. I’m happier now, too.” She puts her glass down and takes a deep breath. Gives me a look that makes it clear we’re changing the subject, my insatiable curiosity be damned. “So, how was your third and final date? I understand that you might be trying to spare my feelings because of Ace… but put me out of my misery, will you?”
There’s a smile waiting in the corners of her lips. Whatever acidic words I’d once longed to spew at the end of the bet are gone. They’ve withered in the presence of her light.
“She was lovely,” I admit.
“Wow,” she says, eyes on mine. They’re impossible to read. “I didn’t expect such a rave review. Was that why you called me? To admit defeat?”
I just look at her.
“Oh. There’s a but here, right?”
I spread my hands wide, and I don’t know if it’s the weight of the day or the memory of her panicked voice in my ear, but more words spill through my cracks than I’d planned for.
“It’s me, Summer. I’m not fit for a relationship. I’m not fit for dating. You could find me the goddess of love herself and I wouldn’t ask for a second date.”
“Why?” she asks.
I shake my head. Offer a piece of the truth, but like so often these days, it’s the tip of an iceberg. “My last break-up wasn’t the best either.”
“Ah,” Summer says. She leans back on the couch, the cut-off jeans she’s wearing revealing a sliver of smooth skin at the ankle. “Look at us, then. You own a matchmaking company and I work at one, and neither of us seems capable of dating.”
“Neither of us? What happened with the delivery boy?”
“Dave,” she says. “His name is Dave.”
“Dave,” I repeat.
She looks down at her hands, twisting them over to play with one of her nails. “It was good. He was nice and funny. We went to a Korean barbecue down the street. But I just couldn’t… I don’t know. I couldn’t get into it.”
My gaze zeroes in on her face. Is she blushing, or is the light playing tricks on me again? “But you liked him?”
She shrugs. “Well enough, I suppose. But I don’t think I’ll go out with him again. It doesn’t seem fair, really. To be honest, I haven’t thought about him once since I came home and saw that Ace had eaten all of his chocolate.”
“Poor guy,” I say. By no fault of his own, he’d become associated with poisoning her dog. Perhaps I’m a bastard for it, but I can’t find it in me to feel sorry for him.
She pushes off the couch with a yawn, and damn, I should go. She wants some peace and quiet, and not her boss hanging around, overstaying his welcome.
But she beats me to it, walking barefoot across the oriental rug to the kitchenette. “I’m about to make some tea. Would you like some?” she asks. “You don’t strike me as a tea-drinking kind of man, but you know, I don’t want to assume.”
My hand relaxes on my thigh. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“That means chamomile tea with a drop of honey.”
“Great.” I can’t remember the last time I drank tea, or had someone make me… things.
My gaze snags on the bucket list still pinned to her wall. With her back to me, I cross to it and turn on the flashlight on my phone. Bathed in artificial light, I can make out a number of items.
Learn how to windsurf. Swim naked in the ocean. Learn to speak Spanish. Visit all fifty states. Record a demo in a studio.
I put my phone down just in time. “Oh, you’re back at the list,” she says. “I should take that thing down.”
“No you shouldn’t. I didn’t know you sang?”
