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Chapter 1
ARI
I’m going to kill Thea for getting me into this.
We were at the wine bar last Friday night, watching as a sweetly nervous young man waited for his date. Mid-twenties, freshly shaven, crisply ironed shirt—sitting alone at a table, a bouquet of flowers in front of him, anxiously checking his watch.
He had been waiting there long enough for me to worry he was being stood up. Thea and I were taking turns throwing little concerned glances his way, our sympathy for the man growing by the minute. When he checked his phone, frowning at it, his expression dropping in disappointment, my heart twinged in empathy.
But thenshearrived. The long-awaited date, rushing into the wine bar all pink-cheeked and apologetic, flinging her arms around him as he stood to greet her. When he handed her the flowers, she kissed him on the cheek and the two of them beamed at each other like a scene from a Hallmark movie.
But just like the cheesy movies I secretly watch every Christmas—only Thea knows, and she’s sworn to silence—the scene had the unpleasant side effect of reminding me of my perpetual single-ness.
Not that there’s anythingwrongwith being single. It’s not like I’m desperate to be coupled up. It’s just sometimes when I’m home alone at night, watching a movie by myself, or cooking my tiny meals for one, I think about how it might be nice to have a partner.
But it never makes it past that. There’s always a reason not to make the effort. I’m too busy with work. Too picky. Too insecure. Not willing to give up my Monday nightBachelor in Paradisewatching session with Thea.
Thea, who caught me at a weak moment, eyed me appraisingly. “When’s the last time youwere on a date, Ari?”
“When wereyouon a date last?“ I retorted, somewhat defensively.
“A month ago,” she said with a little smirk. “And a month before that.”
“Aaaand…” I raised my eyebrows at her, giving her awhere-are-they-nowface.
“They may not have been the right guys for me, but it was fun. And you never know unless you put yourself out there.” Thea took a sip of her wine before continuing.
“I’m not saying it’s bad to be single. Lots of womenchooseto be. But I know how much you love those silly Hallmark movies. To me, that means youdowant to meet someone.”
Ugh. She had me there. I just don’t know if the right man is out there. Or maybe heis, but he’s just not interested in me.
Regardless, I caved. And now I’m here.
Here being the local Spanish restaurant, on my first date with a guy I met through an online dating site.
It seemed like a good idea in theory.
I set up my profile, got a surprising number of responses, and selected the most promising to reply back to. Men that weren’t necessarily the best looking, but ones that seemed kind and funny, and didn’t have crazy expectations for the women they wanted to date.
Like the sixty-year-old messaging me saying I’m a couple of years over his age limit, but since I’m attractive he’s willing to make an exception.
I’mthirty-two.
Or the guy who said I was hot but could stand to tone up a bit—but not to worry, he’s a trainer, he’ll be glad to help me.
So, when I started talking to Sean, he seemed normal. Nice. Good-looking without being full of himself. We texted for a few days before our date, everything was good, and I arrived here cautiously optimistic.
Twenty minutes into our date? Not so much.
When I arrived, he already had drinks ordered for us. “Spanish martinis are so much better than the American version,” he explained when I asked what it was. “You have to have one. You’ll see.”
It isn’t. It’s gross. I like wine and margaritas and drinks that don’t taste like straight alcohol. But I’m gamely trying to choke it down, not wanting to offend him.
If it were only the presumptuous drink ordering, I’d brush it off as being overeager. But there’s so much more than that.
Like how Sean doesn’t look like his photo. In person, his hair is thinner, receding over his forehead. His skin is acne-pitted, his face fuller, even his eyes are a slightly different shade of blue. Maybe it was an old picture, I know lots of people do that online. But it’s still disconcerting.
And he’s not nearly as nice. Smarmy, pretentious—flashing around his Rolex and bragging about his last trip to Barcelona, and yes, he pronounced itBarthelona—and worst of all, rude to our server.
