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Another laugh.
“Uh, no. This isn’t normal. If you can’t show up, you can’t show up. You make up am excuse and beg for forgiveness than schedule another date, which you may or may not also cancel.”
I steal an olive out of a glass that’s full of them across the bar. Pop it in my mouth.
“Ordinarily I would agree with you, but Decker is an entirely different species of male.”
“Hmm.” Is all Ari says, her lips pursed. Turns to peruse me. “Do you usually get this dressed up when you show up to break a date?”
“I couldn’t help it—I don’t get out much,” I joke, blushing despite myself as her eyes run down the front of my blouse. My hair. My hips, thighs. “Any excuse to get dolled up.”
Her hair tosses. “I like that top.”
I run a hand down the silky fabric. “Thanks.”
“Do you want a drink?”
“Yes.” I swallow. “I’ve never done this before, I could use one.”
Ari and I both order drinks—two glasses of wine, which cannot be poured quick enough.
“Never done what?”
“I’ve never been a matchmaker and I’ve never gone on a date for a client before.” I pause, not sure how much to tell her. “This isn’t my normal routine, and this isn’t actually my job. So, it’s a little nerve-wracking.”
I pull a face, sticking out my tongue.
“What is your job?”
“Social media marketing.” I take the glass that’s set down in front of me and sip from it. Then sip again, relishing the liquid pouring in my throat. The liquid courage I need to get through these next few minutes, although to be fair, Ari has been pretty darn cool so far.
Decker is one lucky guy.
Ari is beautiful. Smart.
Confident.
She seems unbothered by the turn of events, taking it in stride that I’m here for the ride and not her date.
Decker who?
“What about you?” I ask Ari as the wine slides down my throat a little too easily.
“Very boring,” she takes a drink out of her glass. “Nurse practitioner.”
“Ohhh.” I should have known; should have asked while I was pretending to be Decker, but I didn’t. Too busy bantering and trying to make him seem interesting.
Whoops.
“What kind of nurse practitioner?”
“The gynecological kind.” She laughs.
I want to make a wise crack about how she must really know her way around a vagina, but clamp my lips shut. Not at all inappropriate; I hardly know this woman and I’m here on a mission, not to flirt or make jokes.
Ari fiddles with the napkin laid out on the bar top. “So. Your day job is social media marketing and your side-gig is matchmaking? How did all that come about?”
I consider my answer, not wanting to sound like a money-grubber but also: I am one.
