The Dating Proposal Page 8

  A man is there, holding the door open. “Are you McKenna?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” I say, a little flustered because holy cannoli. Dan Duran is handsome. He has blond hair and brown eyes, a combo I love.

  “Great to meet you.” He extends a hand, and Hayden was right—the man has strong arms. Maybe not quite as toned or muscular as Chris’s, but still, they’ll do.

  Stop. Do not think of Chris on your date.

  He guides me to the table and pulls out my chair.

  My heart beats a tick faster since he’s so darn polite. “Thank you.”

  He sits across from me. “Glad we could do this.”

  “Me too. Also, I have to say Dan Duran is a fun name.”

  He crinkles his nose. “Thanks. It’s kind of goofy.”

  “No, not at all. It’s happy and upbeat. It’s a great name.”

  He smiles. “I’m glad you think that. It’s alliterative, and kind of rhymes in multiple ways.”

  “Exactly. That’s why it’s fun.”

  Now I’m not thinking of Chris at all, because Dan Duran is a cool guy. We chitchat as we review the menu and discuss what we’re going to have. When the waiter comes by, Dan remembers my order and places it for me—mushroom risotto with snow peas.

  I want to pump a fist because this date is starting off so much better than the waterworks one.

  He gestures to my top. “That’s pretty.”

  “Why, thank you. It just arrived, and I’m already a little bit in love with it.” Yes, this date is worlds better. Everything is working.

  He squints, studying my appearance quizzically. “But . . .”

  I barely have time to brace myself.

  His voice is clandestinely sweet as he says, “I wouldn’t let you wear that out with friends.”

  I blink, shaking the water from my ears. Surely they must be clogged. What did he say? “Excuse me?”

  There’s that deceptively affectionate tone again. “It’s lovely for a date with your man, but you can’t wear that if you’re out with friends or going to work.”

  I force a laugh because surely he’s joking. “You’re right. I’ll save it for the house.” I practically slap my knee so he knows I’m totally in on it too.

  He clucks his tongue. “Good. Because it’s too appealing. I don’t mind that you’re wearing it on our first date, because you don’t know better.”

  I slam on the brakes. “I don’t know better?”

  He smiles, and it’s not sweet. Not even saccharine. It’s condescending. “That’s only because we just met. But now you know how I feel. And I couldn’t let you dress that provocatively if we’re together. Other men would be drawn to you.”

  The number of things wrong with what he’s saying are nearly too high to count, but I start simple. “First of all, if I’m with someone, I’m not drawn to other men.”

  Dan shakes his pretty head adamantly. Why, oh why, do the good-looking ones have to be so kooky? From Steven to Dan, the universe is drawing wildly handsome cards for me and then turning them into complete wackadoodles.

  “Of course you wouldn't be drawn to other men. But men are animals, and I wouldn’t want to put you in that position.”

  “Gee. Thanks for the chivalry.”

  He smiles, thrilled I finally understand, simpleminded female that I am. “Exactly. A man’s job is to keep a woman safe, to make sure she’s treated wonderfully, and to ensure no other man would even attempt to go near her.”

  “Perhaps a leash could help in that regard?”

  He chuckles. “A leash is hardly necessary if you’re wearing appropriate clothing. Only I’ll know what’s underneath. Not the whole town. Have you considered turtlenecks for daily wear?”

  I cringe, every fashion-loving bone in my body mortally offended. I am two-hundred-six-bones-worth of pissed at Dan Duran.

  But just to be completely, absolutely certain he’s not putting me on, I ask, “You’re definitely not joking?”

  His face is stony. “I’m serious.”

  I paste on my best smile as I fold my napkin and set it on the table. “Thank you, Dan. I appreciate your candor. And the mushroom risotto sounded delightful. But I’m afraid I have a low-cut top and tight jeans to wear when I saunter around the city tomorrow.” I adopt a frown, like I’m abjectly sad at this turn of events. Then I dip my hand into my wallet. I toss two twenties on the table. That’ll cover both of us.

  “Goodbye, Dan Duran. This girl dresses herself. And sometimes, call me crazy, I pay for dinner too.”

  I walk out.

  * * *

  “How can I put this tactfully? He wasn’t exactly a raging feminist,” I tell my sister as I take another drink of my Purple Snow Globe, a new drink Julia is testing out on me. I’m at her home away from home, Cubic Z in the SoMa neighborhood, where she tends bar. With raspberry juice, gin, and sugar crystals on the rim, this drink is exuberantly delicious. “And I don’t need a feminist per se. But he was more like the anti-feminist.”

  “He didn’t pull out your chair or hold the door?”

  I nod savagely. “Jules, he did all that. The problem was he wanted to do that and put me in my place,” I say, then explain what went down at dinner.

  Julia mimes dropping a ball then kicking it far, far away. “Ouch. No man is winning a Bell woman with that attitude.”

  I place the martini glass on the counter and look straight at her. “Exactly. And even though I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and I’m definitely not looking to get serious”—I flinch momentarily at the memory of how such a relationship could go belly-up in one fast weekend away in Vegas—“I don’t want to date someone who thinks he’s better than, oh, say, my entire gender.”

  Grabbing a cloth, she wipes down the bar, nodding in solidarity. “I hear ya, sister. R-E-S-P-E-C-T is where it’s at. I see no reason to waste time with any guy who doesn’t see eye to eye on such basics.” She tosses the towel onto a hook. “But it does raise some interesting questions. Have you thought about what happens when you go on a few dates with someone who does see eye to eye with you?”

  I take another swig of the heaven in a glass, savoring the sugary finish. “What do you mean?”

  “I know you’re into the whole ‘let’s see how this goes and have fun,’ which is awesome, and exactly where you should be at. But what if the next guy tickles your fancy, curls your toes, and stimulates your mind. What then?”

  I part my lips to answer, but I don’t have a quick retort. I want to have fun, to get back out there, to test the waters. But I haven’t considered beyond a date or two, maybe more. My heart won’t let me. I still have a cage around that organ, protecting it from pain. It’s still bruised and tender to the touch.

  That’s why I need to keep everything on the surface level. A few dates can’t hurt me. If I meet someone I like, I’ll simply keep it in check.

  A customer at the other end signals he needs a refill, and Julia tells me she’ll be right back. I glance briefly at my sister, who is quite simply a heartbreaker. She’s sexy and curvy and has that kind of reddish-auburn hair that drives men wild. I bet someday some man is going to walk into this bar and sweep her off her feet.

  But me? Being swept away? That’s hard to conceive of, especially when I’m zero for two at the dating plate.

  Zero for ten in the toe-curling department.

  And that’s A-OK. I don’t need my toes curled and my fancies tickled. All I need is another way to meet interesting men. I glance around the bar, and an idea strikes me. I could take a class. A mixology class. Or a cooking class. Or a cupcake class.

  When Julia returns to my corner of the bar, I’m lit up like a bulb. “I should take a class. I can meet potential dates there.”

  Her lips tip up. “Yes! I heard someone talking about a coffee-tasting class recently. Why don’t you try that?”

  She gives me the name for one, and I google it and sign up on the spot.

  Pleased with my can-do attitude, I set my phone on t
he bar with a flourish. “Take that, Dan Duran.”

  Julia holds out a palm to high-five me. “Also, why don’t we do a girls’ night out? We can go to some hip bars on a Saturday night, and you can meet guys that way.”

  “Boom!” I thrust both arms in the air. “I love it.”

  She taps the bar. “And someday you’re going to meet someone you have an instant connection with.” She snaps her fingers to demonstrate then heads over to a new customer.

  I flash back to Chris, to our easy conversation over fries, to the moment at the beach, to the store, to the coffee shop. There was something sort of instant in our connection, wasn’t there? We have the kind of quick banter and repartee that makes a girl think of possibilities, of days and nights and music and laughter. It makes a girl think songs were written for her, like “A Sailboat in the Moonlight,” my favorite Billie Holiday number.

  Every now and then, I wonder what it would be like to find my sailboat in the moonlight. To find it for real.

  As I take another swig of Julia’s concoction, I let myself linger on my text messages with Chris, scrolling through our last conversation. Our saucy comments and naughty replies.

  I stare at the exchange, running my finger across our messages.

  Wondering.

  Waiting.

  Hoping.

  But what am I hoping for?

  Just as soon as I ask the question, the answer touches down, landing softly but insistently before my eyes.

  I see a kiss that starts sweet and soft and slow. Hands cup my face as if he’s claiming me, saying you’re mine with his lips. I imagine a thumb tracing a line along my jaw.

  And I see myself melting into a moment that makes my toes curl.

  I halt the image train. I can’t let the fantasy go any further. After all, I’m seeing him tomorrow for work. I finish my drink and resolve to enjoy this newfound friendship and partnership with him.

  That’s all there is, and that’s what I focus on the rest of the night as I go home, kick off my shoes, and strip out of my clothes.

  Except I’m pretty sure it’s not in any business handbook to think of your new colleague the whole time you’re taking a hot shower.

  But I do it anyway.

  16

  McKenna

  I choose my outfit carefully, opting for a cap-sleeve mint-green blouse with a sweetheart neckline and capri jeans. I shoot a quick video for my Instagram, detailing why I chose it for my first on-air segment, then posting it with details on where to nab the goodies.

  I head to the studio. Chris waits for me in the lobby, looking California cool in jeans and a navy Henley.

  “I’m pretty sure those clothes were made for you,” I say, after he gives me a quick hug.

  “These? Nah, I just grabbed them at Banana Republic, or maybe even Target, I think.”

  I nudge him. “It was a compliment on how good you look. Not on where you shopped.”

  “Oh.” His cheeks turn a faint shade of red. “Thanks.”

  “You’re blushing!”

  “Thanks for pointing that out,” he says as we turn down the hall.

  “It’s kind of cute actually.”

  “Thanks, that’s what I was hoping for. Cute blushing.”

  “You don’t like the sound of cute blushing?”

  “It’s not very manly, now is it?”

  “A man doesn't have to be manly every second of the day,” I say softly.

  He looks over at me as we walk, adopting a too-deep voice. “Yes. Yes, we do.”

  I roll my eyes. “I like your blushing. It’s sweet.”

  “Great. Now I’m sweet,” he says sarcastically.

  I shrug happily. “I think it’s sweet that you blush at a compliment.”

  We reach the end of the hall, and he stops abruptly. “You look completely fucking edible.”

  I blink, and my cheeks flame. “I do?”

  “You do,” he says with a devilish grin, then he leans closer. “And now you’re blushing, and it’s insanely cute too.”

  I smack his arm. “You devil.”

  He winks, sets a hand on my back, and says, “Let’s do a segment, like the couple of cute blushers that we are.”

  Yup. I can’t stop flirting with this man.

  And from the looks of it, he can’t seem to stop flirting with me either.

  That makes me deliciously happy.

  17

  Chris

  McKenna is a pro. With the cameras on us, she makes everything seem easy. And honestly, this is her bailiwick and mine too—chatting it up for the lens.

  I introduce her and explain what the new segment is all about, then I point to the camera. “And now it’s time for you to have your say and get all your burning questions answered.” I turn to the gorgeous brunette by my side. “Are you ready, McKenna?”

  She rubs her hands together. “Bring it on. Hit me.”

  “No softballs here. We have a question from Jason in Dallas. This is a tough one. When you’re on a first date with a woman, what does it mean when she orders lobster?”

  She looks at the camera then at me. “That’s simple. It means she likes shellfish.”

  I give her a playful look. “C’mon. That can’t be all it means. Isn’t lobster like a code for something?”

  She pretends to consider the question then answers thoughtfully. “Yes, it’s code for the lady likes shellfish.” She turns more serious. “Fine, let’s be frank—it’s usually the most expensive item on the menu. A lot of times guys think that means it’s a guarantee for action. Am I right, Chris?”

  I hold up my hands, so I’m not culpable for that kind of one-track-mind thinking. “I’m not saying I think that, but some dudes do.”

  She pats my shoulder. She’s quite touchy, and I like it. I like it a lot. “It’s okay,” she says. “If you ever take me out, I promise I won’t order lobster.”

  She’s perfectly playful, and that’s what I want. When I prepped her for the segment, I told her to feel free to ad-lib, to poke fun at me, and to have a good time. That’s what she’s doing, and it feels natural.

  “Fine, so no lobster when I take you out, but let’s help Jason. Does it mean anything or nothing?”

  “In all seriousness, what it means is something awesome. Are you ready for it?”

  I dig in my heels, wiggling my fingers for her to serve it up. “I’m ready. We’re ready. Give it to us.”

  “It means she likes you enough to not be embarrassed eating in front of you. A lobster is a big, messy production. Take it as a good sign that she’s into you.”

  I pump a fist. “Woot woot. She’s into you, Jason.”

  McKenna holds up a finger. “But don’t take it as a sign she wants to get busy.”

  “Fair enough. All right, McKenna. You ready for one more question?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Patrick from Seattle is curious: how do you get back into dating after a long-term relationship went kaput?”

  “Ah, you’re speaking my language, Patrick. I hear you. I get you. And there’s one thing you need to do.”

  “Tell us what that is.”

  She meets my gaze. Her blue-gold eyes are tinged with a hint of sadness, but also a strength that’s incredibly alluring. She’s had the shit kicked out of her by love, but she’s back in the saddle. That’s bold, and bold is hot.

  “You have to put yourself out there,” she says. “And you do that by saying yes to things. Going to a class, or learning a new skill. In my case, I asked my friends to set me up with any single guys they knew.”

  “Did you have any basic requirements?”

  “Just kindness. I think there’s a mistaken notion that women want a man with a big wallet or a hot body, and hey, there’s nothing wrong with either. But kindness matters more.”

  So few people say that, and I couldn't agree more. Still, my viewers want me to be entertaining, so I do bicep curls, mouthing But a hot bod is a nice bonus, as she continues.

&n
bsp; “But I simply said to my friends, ‘Set me up.’ Here’s a hint—women love to set up friends on dates. Patrick, if you work in an office, let the married women know. And trust me, they’ll have dates galore for you.”

  I turn back to the camera. “There you go, Patrick. You heard the woman. Put yourself out there. Boom!”

  When the segment ends and the cameras go dark, Bruce strides in, all dapper in a three-piece suit with gelled-back hair that screams Mad Men.

  “Hey, Dating Wizard, that was fabulous,” he croons to McKenna, dropping a kiss to her cheek.

  “I’m so glad you liked it.”

  “Liked it? I loved it. Loved it like I love the surf-and-turf special at Ruth’s Chris Steak House. And now, for some reason, I’m craving lobster. Thanks for that.”

  I laugh. “You should go indulge, but don’t expect anything from the shellfish.”

  He shakes a finger at me. “I expect nothing, Turkey Legs. That way I’m pleasantly surprised when I get anything.”

  I jump in, explaining his ways to McKenna. “By the way, a nickname means he likes you.”

  “Then I’m happy to be known as Pumpkin Pie and to keep working with you, Turkey Legs. Also, nice to meet you, Bruce,” McKenna chimes in.

  “It’s a complete delight to meet you,” Bruce says, then turns to me. “By the way, I heard from Zander Kendrick’s manager. Says he’d be up for an interview soon. He’ll call you to set it up.”

  I pump a fist, then look at McKenna. “Zander Kendrick is a game designer. I’ve been trying to get an interview with him for ages.”

  “That’s awesome,” she says. “Good for both of you.”

  Bruce tips his imaginary hat and exits. When he’s gone, she says, “I like him. He’s old-school and cool.”

  “You like old-school?”

  “I like hot new fashion and old retro tunes and meeting people in person. I’m eclectic.”

  “Let’s go play an old game in person, then,” I say, and usher her out of the studio, grateful that my time with her isn’t ending.