Page 15 of Dating Mr. Right A Collection
“Ditto.” She licks her lips, tucks a strand of hair over her ear.
I extend a hand. “I presume you’re Kristen?”
She laughs lightly, like maybe she’s a touch nervous too. “Last time I checked I was.” She takes my hand, and we shake. “Good to meet you, Mac.”
I furrow my brow. Did she just call me Mac? But the woman is nervous, and I don’t need to correct her this second. I’ll remind her of my name when she’s not so nervous. I gesture to the blue alien overlord. “Glad we could do this. I’ve been wanting to check out these murals. Did you see the one with Yoda painted every color of the rainbow?”
Her green eyes widen. They twinkle with specks of gold. “No, but I think we should see what kind of points we deserve for creative selfies. Since, you know, we gave out points for wordplay.”
I rack my brain a moment, trying to remember when we assigned points for wordplay. I don’t recall, but it sounds like something we’d have done, so I go with it. “Most creative selfie wins . . .” I stroke my chin as we walk. “Hmm. What’s a good prize?”
She snaps her fingers. “I know. Whoever wins gets to ask five questions in a row.”
“You and your questions,” I say, laughing,
She shoots me a quizzical look, as if I’ve thrown her off.
But maybe we’re both still in the nervous zone. Best to act like a comedian does when he or she is terrified of the crowd—never let them see you sweat.
I segue into another topic, hoping it eases any remaining awkwardness. “Tell me more about your interest in astronomy. Were you one of those kids who got a telescope for Christmas and it ignited a lifelong love?”
“Exactly! It was like Santa knew my true soul.”
“He is one smart dude.” I wink. “Sounds like your parents knew you well.”
“They did.” She taps her chin as we wander past a geometric painting of pink-and-blue prisms. “Actually, if memory serves, they gave me my first scope. They didn’t want Santa getting credit for something so good.”
“Now those are some seriously smart parents. What did Santa get you that year? Socks?”
“Coal,” she deadpans.
“I see you’ve spent some time on the naughty list.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “Sometimes I still wind up on it.”
And I’m officially a goner. This woman—I like her. I like her a hell of a lot already. This is what I’m talking about—chemistry, zip, zing. It’s all about the in-person connection.
“What do you know? I’ve found myself on top of that list a few times.” I flash her a smile, and when she grins back, I’m done for. Her smile is magical and sexy at the same time—gleaming white teeth and glossy lips that beg to be kissed.
She nudges my arm. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping your naughty adventures from me.”
“Well, I had to save something to discuss on our date.”
She laughs again. “Fess up. How did you end up on the naughty list when you were a kid?”
“Ah, you want the kid-naughty list stuff?”
“We can save the adult-naughty list conversation for a second date,” she stage-whispers.
I tap my temple, as if I’m filing that away then making a note to myself. “Makes plans for second date.” I sigh happily. “Okay, kid stuff. Let’s see. When I was ten, I told my sister her birthday was wrong. I made her a fake birth certificate in Photoshop. I was always into taking pictures and doing cool things with them. Or cruel things. So I showed it to her, and for a few days, she believed she was a year older and kept asking why she was held back in school.”
Her jaw goes slack, and her eyes widen. “You were masterfully naughty.”
“That’s nothing compared to her revenge.”
“What did she do?”
“She knew my sweet tooth was off the charts. So she made me a pie spiked with hot sauce. Brownies with salt instead of sugar. But that’s not the worst of it: she then made a batch of real chocolate cookies and put raisins in them.” I pretend to sniffle and then rub fake tears off my face. “That was the worst.”
Kristen’s nose crinkles. “She wins the prank wars. That is fantastic.” We turn the corner. “My grandma and I like to prank each other. One time she set the autocorrect options on my phone to eggplant, Uranus, and dik-dik, which is actually a tiny antelope.”
I chuckle. “That does not surprise me in the least. She’s a character. Also, tiny antelopes are adorable.”
She stops in front of a giant pink mushroom. “I’ve told you about her?”
I narrow my eyes. Is she crazy? Then I remind myself—never let them see you sweat. And never let on you know she’s sweating. “Of course you did. And nothing about her surprises me.”
