Page 5 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
Oh, God.
I felt a little queasy. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and a few hundred bucks would be a bargain if it shut everybody up and bought me a seat at a better table. Plus I’d spend an evening with a handsome date whose job it was to flatter me all night long. No one would ever know that I was paying him. At the end of the night, we’d go our separate ways, I’d tell everyone at work a breakup story that sounded plausible and definitely not my fault (Fred, you bastard), and that would be that.
What could go wrong?
* * *
At three o’clock in the morning, I awoke in a panic.
What the hell had I done? Now that the wine buzz had worn off, regret attacked me from all sides. I jumped out of bed and bolted for the stairs, but my pajama pants were too long and my heel slipped, and I ended up bumping down the entire flight on my butt.
At the bottom of the steps, I scrambled to my feet, hitched up my pants and ran for the couch. Frantically I opened my laptop and clicked on the browser. Damn you, chianti and Hallmark Channel! Was there a way to retrieve my message? Had he seen it yet? What would I do if he’d replied?
My heart pumped hard as the Hotties for Hire site loaded. I was still logged in and saw right away that I had a message from Fred.
Hey Claire, I am available on that date. Sure, we can meet for coffee ahead of time. I actually do that with every date I book. I just ask for a $100 nonrefundable deposit at that meeting, which will be applied to your balance, whatever that turns out to be. Let me know, thanks!
My hands shook as I tried to come up with a reply that didn’t make me sound pathetic.
Hi Fred, it looks like my boyfriend will be in town that weekend after all, so
No, that was ridiculous. Now I was making up a second fake boyfriend so that my original fake boyfriend wouldn’t think I was a loser? What on earth?
I tried again.
Hey Fred, turns out I can’t make it to the wedding. Sorry for the
No, that was stupid, too. What could have happened in the few hours since I’d messaged him that would prevent me from being able to attend?
I chewed the tip of one finger. Should I go through with it? I looked at his picture and read his message again. He was cute. And he sounded nice.
I can just meet him for coffee. What’s the harm in that? If it’s a disaster, I won’t book the date. I’d lose my hundred bucks, but at least I wouldn’t be stuck with him all night. And a coffee shop was a public place, so there’d be no strangling or dismembering or anything. Just a quick introduction and a brief chat about how things would go the night of the date. If we got along OK, I’d book him.
I sat up taller and typed a response.
Hey Fred, thanks for the reply. Could you meet me downtown at 5:00 pm on Wednesday the 19th? Great Lakes Coffee makes awesome lattes.
I took a breath and clicked send. Then I went back up to bed, rubbing my sore butt and wishing Boy-Meets-Girl wasn’t so complicated. Why couldn’t life be more like a storybook, where fairy godmothers granted wishes or handsome princes needed saving from shipwrecks or stable boys turned out to be the one?
* * *
Fred had replied that my suggested time and location for coffee worked for him, so after school on the 19th, I ran home, took my hair down from its messy bun, noticed I’d gotten paint on my shirt, hurried upstairs to change it, rushed back to the bathroom, re-applied my makeup, and scolded myself a million times for being so flustered.
He was just a guy, right? And this wasn’t a date; it was a business transaction. I didn’t have to meet his approval—he had to meet mine! But my stomach jittered nonstop on the drive downtown.
I parked in a lot off Woodward and took deep breaths of icy cold air as I made my way up the snowy street. Right before I pushed open the heavy glass door of Great Lakes Coffee, I took a second to look through it, hoping to spot where Fred was sitting. Nothing worse than walking into a crowded place and trying to find someone while everyone stares at you. It always made me feel like I’d forgotten to put pants on or something.
But the place was busy, and I wasn’t able to stand out there for long because people were behind me, rushing to get out of the cold. I held th
e door open for them, and once I was in, I stepped aside to remove my gloves and surreptitiously glance around. I didn’t see anyone who looked like Fred sitting on the stools at the counter, nor seated at any of the tables close to me. Hmm, maybe he’s running late, too. Or maybe he’s at a table in the back.
Hoping to appear relaxed, casual, and not at all desperate, I strolled toward the counter to order, allowing two people to go ahead of me in line since I wasn’t in a hurry. Desperate people hurried. After I ordered my lavender latte, I stood aside and waited, scanning the place again. Still no Fred. What would I do if he didn’t show?
When my coffee was ready, I spotted two empty stools at the end of the counter and figured I’d grab them, just in case he made it. Unfortunately, the couple who’d come in behind me had the same idea I did, and we moved for them at the exact same time. “Oh, go ahead,” I told them, backing off. “My…person isn’t here yet anyway.”
One more look around the shop. No Fred. My entire body drooped. Feeling dejected, I took my latte to a table at the back that had a couple open seats. I slipped out of my puffy white winter coat and hung it on the back of my chair, then I sat down and stared at the empty space across the table, feeling more than a little sorry for myself since it looked like I might be stood up by a date I was willing to pay for.
Maybe I was doomed—the stars were never going to align for me. Perhaps I was born under a black cloud.
