Page 1 of The Dating Charade

1

Cassie

If one was going to dip one’s toes into the murky, pestilential waters of online dating, an escape plan was critical.

Fake emergencies worked on occasion. You know, the gasp as you take a “phone call” and dash out the door to an imaginary emergency with an imaginary friend. But in general, Cassie found the method too cliché and utterly devoid of, well, imagination. Besides, whenever she needed to make a hasty exit, her dates usually saw through such tricks.

It’d taken months to create the perfect escape plan. Months of trial and error, of late nights scribbling elaborate routes under lamplight, of miniscule alterations schemed up with her most devious of friends.

But here, watching the stingrays circling the scuba diver in the aquarium glass behind her date, she knew she’d finally done it. Her plan was positively, utterly airtight.

“Married, you ask?” He cocked his head to one side as though the question actually required mental searching. His thin lips pressed together, resembling the fish floating behind his head.

“Yes. Are you married?” Cassie’s eyes ticked to the culprit: the ring finger on his left hand. The tan line was minimal, almost nonexistent. His nails were clean, and in Cassie’s mind nothing good ever came from a man with immaculate hands. And yet even if her eyes had wronged her on those matters, there was no getting around the slight indention where a band would be and the slightest puff of the skin between ring area and knuckle.

Two minutes. After a year of online dating, she’d developed the ability to spot a rat in under two minutes. That deserved some sort of recognition.

His hand swiftly dropped from the glass just as hers lifted to discreetly tap it twice.

Escape plan in motion.

“Technically . . . yes. But it’s more complicated than you think.” He laughed good-naturedly as he scratched the back of his head with his pristine hand.

She didn’t smile in return.

His smile slipped down with his arm. “Surely you didn’t expect me to drop something like this in the first five minutes, Cassandra—”

“Cassie.”

“I was going to tell you. But I just couldn’t live with myself if I scared you off right away. Not someone—” He paused momentously, two fingers drawn to his lips. “—like you.”

Ah, there it was. The date had moved into stage 2: overly sentimental compliments wrapped in false humility.

Cassie shifted her jacket to her other arm. Right. Here it came. “Because of our energy.”

“Yes.” He bobbed his head like the baby Groot sitting on her desk at work. “It’s kinetic. The way I’ve been able to open up to you these past few weeks . . .”

Six days. Via e-mail. On topics as deep and moving as the Yorkshire terrier in his profile picture.

Cassie pinched her face into a quiet, patient smile, letting the man go on with his excuses.

She knew she appeared complacent standing beside the floor-to-ceiling glass of Ripley’s Aquarium of the Smokies, her gaze on him and yet attentive to her periphery. Echoes of excitement bounced around them as a massive blacktip reef shark slid across the wall. Children in dripping overcoats and galoshes stood on toes and pointed. Since the start of Thanksgiving break, the aquarium had been more crowded than ever.

But crowded was good. Crowded was ideal. The aquarium’s ample noontime distractions were key factors in why she always chose her best friend’s workplace to meet, greet, and ultimately sprint as fast as she could away from men. A restaurant? Facing your foe at a candlelit table for two? Fleeing from there mid-date would be the real challenge.

She slid her eyes to the glass, relieved to see Bree, her best friend, her quintessential partner in crime, kicking her fins their way. Parting a group of yellowtail fish, Bree halted directly behind her date.

His back touched the glass as he faced Cassie completely. “Why don’t we get out of here and find someplace quiet to talk? I know of a great little lunch place that just opened up on Newman—”

The sudden bang on the glass jolted him, halting his monologue. Startled, he turned around to find the scuba diver, all six foot two of her, shaking a gloved fist at him.

She banged again. Every face in the room turned from the glowing ultramarine tank to him.

“Do you know her?” Cassie raised an eyebrow as she took a step back.

“I’ve—I’ve never seen her before in my life.” He squinted, clearly trying to see beyond the long floating braid, mask, mouthpiece, and BCD vest to the woman underneath.

Bree banged a third time.