AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As if her friend would know, despite the fact I caught them up to speed at the same moment. The ladies straightened up their postures as the car turned the corner and, sure enough, pulled into our loading area where I stood. One of the ladies took a picture of his car, which I assumed was for my Dateline special. I couldn’t see that well at night, and the headlights blinded me when I turned my head to look. But I could’ve sworn the car was totaled.
Fear washed over me. Who wants to hear‘Oh no’when their blind date is being described? I robotically walked to the car since I didn’t see him getting out or anything.
“Have fun,” one of the ladies called out, but I didn’t hear any hope in her voice.
So, this man I didn’t know picked me up fifteen minutes after he said he would, in a half-eaten silver Honda. I looked at him, his eyes wide and pointed, but I couldn’t find any words as I gaped at the car.
At first, he didn’t get the problem, but then he followed my eyes and nodded. “I just borrowed this from a friend.” Reacting to my surprised expression, he stammered out, “I have an Audi, but it’s in the shop.”
“Oh.”I wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard of a rental car company, but despite my better judgment, I got into the smashed car, and we sputtered away, the fragrance of fast-food lingering.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I got you an apple empanada.” He handed me a crumpled-up paper-wrapped fried dessert from a fast-food drive-thru.
“Thank you?”
I didn’t have any intention of eating the dessert, considering it was unsolicited and halfunwrapped,so I set it on the dash. I looked at him through my peripheral vision. He was sandy-haired, fair-skinned, and a little chubby. I didn’t have a problem with that, but he was no athlete. I think Aunt Nancy may have elaborated a little when giving me a description.
“Just gotta get gas first,” he muttered.
We pulled into the fueling station, and I could see the extent of the car's damage under the bright lights. I felt like it would be safer for me to exit the vehicle while he filled it up in case it exploded. I stepped out of the car and talked to him over the roof.
“Did you wreck on the way over here?”
He looked confused, so I motioned to the crumpled front end.
He shook his head. “No, that was yesterday. It wasn’t my fault; I was out in the boonies, and a wild turkey ran out into the road.”
“All of this from hitting a turkey?”
“No, it caught me off guard, and I swerved into a ditch. I’m just glad it’s still drivable.”
“Wow, I bet your friend is really upset.”
“Who?”
He turned and went inside to pay, so I decided to sleuth. I reached into the car and opened the glove box to pull out the vehicle registration.2008 Honda Civic. Jake Halstad.I shoved it back inside, knowing this was the firstand lastdate I’d be going on with Jake.
He returned, pulled the fuel pump, and jumped back in the car. He gassed it out of the lot and down a dimly lit side street, “Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asked me while simultaneously turningupthe radio. It was a blaring sports broadcast. Not a moment later, he turned what remained ofhiscarinto the Olive Pit.
“I was thinking of the Olive Pit.”
“Sure.”Idid like the restaurant, and at least I’d get a decent meal.
When we got to the door, I grabbed the handle, expecting him to take it from me and let me walk ahead. Instead, he breezed in, shuffling sideways to fit into the small opening I had created.
The hostess, whose station was overlooking the parking lot, looked at me with very concerned eyes.
“Can I help you?” she asked, as if she was ready to call me a cab and let me out of this date, here and now. I should’ve taken her up on the offer.
“Two of us,” Jake was scanning the restaurant when he saw something he liked. “Can we sit in the bar?”
I didn’t know they had a bar.I hope he’s not a heavy drinker.
The waitress led us to a table in the dark bar area, and I sat first. Jake followed, staring blankly ahead, asking, “Can you move over to the left?”
In doing so, I peeked over my shoulder and saw the baseball game flashing behind me. I didn’t mind him not speaking, though. Without the intense rattling of what was left of the front end ofhisHonda, I realized just how high-pitched and nasally his voice was. This wasn’t avoiceI could hear for the rest of my life,no matter how much he ignored me.
When the waitress came, he ordered a salad.
