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More importantly, why does the idea of going out with Marlow sound so appealing? Typically, I’m quick to avoid the topic of dating altogether, but surprisingly the familiar sense of panic that accompanies the subject is notably absent.
“Because you’re far too grumpy for my taste, you don’t smile enough, and you’re not a fan of ‘80s pop music. Plus, you don’t like Cheez-Its which is an automatic disqualifier in my book.” She rests back in her chair with a smirk.
“I’m not grumpy,” I mumble.
Sure, I’m usually gruff when interacting with my employees and prefer to keep to myself aside from my family and Lola, but that doesn’t mean I’m grumpy.
Marlow raises a brow, seemingly unconvinced by my response.
“Fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I admit that I’m a little grumpy, but you’re forgetting my redeeming quality.”
“What might that be?” She cocks her head to the side.
“I can braid hair. I’m told that makes every woman swoon.”
“Ah, but you’re forgetting one very important detail,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.
“Which is?”
“You can’t do fishtail braids.” She teases.
Lola must have told her that.
God, I’m enjoying this playful conversation way too much.
“Well, at least—” I stop short when I notice the rest of the room has fallen silent.
Everyone in the room is far more interested in our conversation than their own.
“Why don’t we talk outside?” I suggest in a hushed tone.
“There’s no need,” Marlow says as she pushes her chair back. “I was just leaving.”
She strides out of the room, grabbing her coat from the rack on her way out. I chase after her, jogging to keep up with her brisk pace.
Marlow doesn’t say a word until we reach her car that’s parked a block down the street. She reaches for the door handle but pauses, spinning on her heel to fix me with a questioning glance. “What do you want Dylan?” She sighs.
“Will you please tell me why you came tonight?” I ask with sincere interest.
It’s going to bother me until I have an answer. Despite denying my attraction, it’s there, bubbling beneath the surface. The notion that she really did come here looking for someone to take her home makes my stomach turn.
“Did you forget that we were in the same room? What were you doing at a speed dating event?” She jabs her finger into my chest.
“I had no idea there was going to be speed dating.” I don’t miss Marlow’s skeptical look. “My mom told me there was a get-together at Willow Creek Café and insisted that I stop by. I should have suspected something was up when she practically pushed me out the door.”
In hindsight, I see that I was overly trusting. I didn’t think pushing for more information was worth the effort.
Who am I kidding? This is my mother we’re talking about.
Marlow stares at me, absorbing my answer, and then she laughs. “This is too funny. Your mom—” She covers her face with her hands, and every few seconds she tries to explain further, but bursts into another fit of laughter.
“Should I be concerned?” I give her a puzzled look.
She shakes her head as she takes a moment to collect herself.
“I ran into your mom earlier today, and she strongly suggested I come here tonight to get out of the house,” Marlow explains. “She can be very persuasive when she wants to be.”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
