Single Mom's Protector - Complete Series

by Nella Tyler

  I glanced at the bouquet of roses in my passenger seat as I approached Phenomenon. I thought that if that kind of offering was made, she’d have to be impressed. She would be in raptures, just like any other young woman I could meet. I was definitely ready to see her eyes light up and her cheeks go pink with a blush; it would be great. I found a parking space after a few moments of circling the restaurant. It was a place I hadn’t been before, but my friends raved about it. I knew that Natalie was waiting for me, and I was more ready than ever for her.

  Chapter Five

  Natalie

  After struggling to find parking for about twenty minutes—and feeling grateful that I’d left the house early on the possibility that I might run late—I finally found a spot and hurried to get to the entrance of the restaurant that Zeke had told me to come to for our first date. I checked myself in the reflection on one of the windows along the perimeter of the building; I didn’t want to give Zeke the impression that it was a “real” date in the sense of me wanting to impress him, but I wanted to look professional and put-together. We’ll see what he’s like on an actual practice date, instead of at a regular meeting with me, I thought as I turned the corner and approached the entrance of Phenomenon.

  I spotted Zeke standing a few feet away from the door. He was tall enough that I could see him over the people traveling the sidewalk or going into the restaurant. I smiled, thinking that at least he’d been punctual this time—he was here even before I was. As the crowd around the entrance cleared a little bit, though, I saw that he had a bouquet of flowers in his hand—and my stomach lurched inside of me. They were roses. Red roses. Please, please tell me that he got them for someone else or just wanted to ask me a question about getting a woman flowers. Don’t let them be for me. Alex—before we’d finally split up—had always bought me red roses whenever he wanted to “apologize” for a fight or for some problem or another. Even before I’d gotten thoroughly sick of red roses from Alex’s choice of them as his peace offering, I had never particularly liked them. I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and closing the distance between Zeke and me.

  “Hi, Zeke; it’s good to see you again,” I said, keeping my voice as optimistic and positive as possible.

  “Natalie! Here, these are for you,” he said, displaying the big, gaudy bouquet with a flourish in my direction. I managed to keep the smile on my face, but my appetite began to leave me.

  “I appreciate the thought,” I told him levelly. I made myself take the bouquet. “They’re very lovely roses.” I’d learned from experience that cutting directly to the criticism—even if I phrased it as gently as possible—only made my clients defensive.

  “I knew you’d love them,” Zeke said. I glanced at his face and while he didn’t look quite as self-satisfied and triumphant as he had a moment before, he still looked hopeful.

  “If I can make a suggestion,” I said, keeping my voice carefully pitched so that I wouldn’t sound whiny or bitchy or any of the other things that men so often accuse women of being whenever they criticize a gesture. “Flowers are wonderful, but I think that when you do go on your real dates in the future, it would be a good idea for you to find out which flowers your date specifically likes. It makes the gesture more personal.” Zeke’s eyebrows came together in a quick frown.

  “Flowers are flowers,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, the florist said that this was their best bouquet.” I bit back the comment that threatened to fly out of me—the florist had almost certainly been lying to him about that; roses weren’t in season.

  “Not all women love roses, though,” I pointed out as gently as possible. “Some women are even allergic. So if you’re going to bring someone a bouquet, try—and you won’t always be able to succeed in this—but try to find out if she has a particular type of flower that she just loves. It’ll really make a much bigger impact.” His frown deepened and I took a deep breath as surreptitiously as possible.

  “Don’t I at least get points for the thought?” It’s not worth making the whole practice date awkward just to make the point to him. Revisit it later when he’s more receptive. I smiled up at Zeke.

  “There really aren’t points, but I do appreciate the gesture.” I glanced at the flowers; if I had actually liked red roses, the bouquet would be impressive. “It’s a very nice bouquet,” I added, smiling more. “Let’s go ahead and get inside and get this practice session underway, shall we? It’s going to take a lot of work to teach him how to accept criticism from a woman he cares about, I thought wryly.

  Zeke held the door for me and I composed myself as best as I could. The reminder of Alex had thrown me off a little bit. It wasn’t Zeke’s fault that I had such a bad association with the bouquet he had gotten for me. I had to be fair—he was trying to show that he was interested in learning, and that was the important thing. As long as he remained interested—and as long as he actually learned what I had to teach him—he’d do well.

  The hostess led us to the reserved table and got some water for my bouquet, and Zeke and I settled into our seats. I was determined to make the most out of the first practice date; it would take a while to get through to Zeke, and I knew that, but if I could get some momentum going and establish a rapport and a level of trust, then I thought—I hoped—that I would be able to help him.

  “I thought it might be easier if we both went for the tasting menu here,” he told me. “That way we don’t have to spend any time thinking about what to order; it’ll all just come out in courses.”

  “That sounds good to me,” I agreed. When the waiter arrived, Zeke told him that we were going to have the tasting menu, with the suggested wine pairings, and in a matter of only a few moments, we were once more alone with aperitifs in front of us. “So,” I said, taking a sip of mine and setting it down. “I don’t believe we’ve talked about what you do for work.”

  “We haven’t,” Zeke agreed, looking almost a little startled. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve probably already figured out, I love my job.”

  “Considering that you’ve been working so hard at it that you haven’t had time for dating in all these years, I would hope you love it,” I pointed out with a grin.

  “I’m an executive, obviously,” he explained. “The company I work for is basically a charity middleman. We get funding and resources to charities around the world.”

  “That must be very fulfilling work.”

  “It really is. I like knowing that I’m not just making money for shareholders, you know? I like the idea that I’m creating some kind of positive impact in the world, even in my own way.” As he continued to talk, I revised my opinion about Zeke Baxter a little bit; I had known he was a businessman, and I’d known that he had all those traits that came along with it—the intelligence, the drive, the ambition—but I hadn’t thought of him having a desire to benefit the greater good.

  The first course arrived as Zeke and I continued to talk. It was the same kind of conversation that he could expect to have with someone on a first date, which was exactly the way it was supposed to be. I started to steer the conversation towards my feedback, starting as gently as possible. “I think probably the biggest challenge you’re going to have to deal with is the fact that you’ve been so professional for so long,” I told him as someone switched out our plates.

  “Is being professional bad?”

  I shook my head. “Not in general,” I told him, grinning. “But would you want a woman you’re actually dating to be professional in her bearing towards you?”

  Zeke considered that. “Probably not,” he admitted, smiling slightly.

  “You’d want her to be friendly, engaging, and open, right?” He nodded.

  “So you’re saying I’m going into this with a transactional mindset,” he suggested.

  “A little bit,” I agreed, holding up my thumb and forefinger with maybe a quarter inch of space between them. “And, I get why that’s your comfort zone, but if you really want to connect with someone, you do need to lea
rn how to interact with them as just…” I shrugged. “Normal people. Like a friend, or eventually—hopefully—a girlfriend. A wife.”

  “And, you think you can teach me that?” Zeke’s lips twitched with amusement.

  “I hope I can!” I laughed. “It’s not that I want to change everything about you—there’d be no point in that. You can’t change your entire personality in any permanent way; the real you will shine through. But learning how to get out of that business mindset will help.”

  “So how do I do that?”

  I took a bite of the food on my plate and gave myself a moment to actually savor it. If nothing else, I couldn’t deny that Zeke had picked a great restaurant for our date.

  “Start thinking about the personal,” I suggested. “Talk about stuff that doesn’t actually matter.” I grinned. “The weather. Music. How good the food is here, or what you did on the weekend.”

  “Small talk?” Zeke looked slightly doubtful.

  “Oh come on—you have to have made small talk before,” I said, shaking my head.

  “I have, but it’s annoying.”

  “Only if it’s bad small talk.” I thought about how to prove my point and glanced around the room until my gaze fell on one of the couples seated at another table. “What do you think their story is?” I pointed carefully so I wouldn’t alert the couple to my notice. Zeke glanced quickly in their direction and then turned his attention back onto his plate for a moment to cover his look.

  “No idea,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You have to play along,” I told him teasingly, keeping my voice low enough that it would travel beyond the table we sat at. “Let’s see…hmmm.” I glanced at the couple again. “My guess is that they’re European royalty, slumming it at a private restaurant like this, fitting in with the upper-middle class. They’re trying to see ‘how the other half lives.’” Zeke snorted.

  “Or maybe they’re an old couple who saved money all last year, and now they’re doing a tour around the US, hitting all of the restaurants on the list of the best restaurants within their price range,” he suggested.

  “Good one!” We kept going, picking out different patrons at the restaurant and making up stories for how they’d ended up there, and I found myself relaxing more and more as Zeke got the hang of how to actually have a conversation with someone that wasn’t business-oriented.

  By the time Zeke paid the bill for the tasting menu meal and we started towards the door to part ways, I thought to myself that maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to get through to him. Obviously he could learn, and he could listen. Plus, he didn’t seem to be taking himself as seriously as I originally thought. “I’m looking forward to our next session,” I told him outside the entrance into Phenomenon.

  “Me, too,” he said, reaching out and giving my hand a quick squeeze. I still had the bouquet of roses—I’d almost wanted to “forget” them at the table, but he had made a point of handing the bouquet to me as we got up. “I’ll get in touch to confirm the next date,” he said.

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Get home safely.” I watched him turn and walk away and went off in the opposite direction, heading towards my car. I waited until I turned the corner—I didn’t even want to risk Zeke seeing me—before I tossed the roses into a trash bin. He didn’t need to know about it, I figured, and there was no way I was going to keep the roses in my apartment.

  Chapter Six

  Zeke

  A few days passed after my first practice date with Natalie and her reaction to the roses I’d bought for her stuck in my head. I’d anticipated her being thrilled—flattered, even—by my thoughtfulness, but instead, she’d told me that if I was going to buy flowers for a date, I should find out what kind she actually liked and get those. At first, it had felt almost like an insult: I had done something thoughtful, and she was telling me that it wasn’t good enough?

  But the day after the date, with some distance behind me, I realized that I had been a little bit stupid. After all: I’d been trying to game the system. I’d only wanted to show off how little I really needed her help—I hadn’t actually put much thought into the gesture. She was right. And after all, she was supposed to be teaching me how to be better at dating. She wasn’t insulting me, she was helping, offering a suggestion. I was still sure that there were probably plenty of women out there who would have been completely thrilled to get a nice, big bouquet of roses on a first date with a guy, but obviously Natalie wasn’t one of them—and if she wasn’t thrilled, then not every woman I would ever date would be, either. Why should I ruin my chances with a potential girlfriend or future wife with a bad first impression?

  I wasn’t sure exactly why Natalie stuck in my head. She was beautiful and charming, but I’d met plenty of beautiful, charming women who I hadn’t wanted to date. She was smart, but I knew plenty of smart women. There was just something about her—something that was different, something I couldn’t help but admire whenever I thought about her. And because of that, I found myself going back again and again to the comments that she’d made about the flowers I’d gotten her.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and sat back at my desk. Part of my arrangement with the matchmaking service was that I could text Natalie at almost any time—within reason—or call her with specific questions related to dating or any of the information she’d given me. I smiled slowly to myself; other than arranging our first date, I hadn’t really used the privilege of being able to text her. I decided to put that arrangement to the test. Hi, Natalie, I wrote. I was wondering, since I’ve been thinking about what you said about buying flowers for my dates: what kinds of flowers do you actually like? I set my phone aside so I wouldn’t be tempted to keep checking on it every few minutes like a teenage girl waiting on her crush to reply.

  I heard my phone buzz as I finished up an email to one of the partners I was working with. I clicked send and grabbed my phone, unlocking the screen quickly to see the message. I think maybe that’s something we should leave for later on, Natalie had written, adding a winking emoji at the end of the sentence. Anyway, it’s not all that important what kind of flowers I like—you’re not actually dating me, remember? I rolled my eyes and typed a fast reply.

  But I am practicing with you. You should give me a chance to do these things the right way—especially after telling me what the right way is. I promise I won’t show up to our next date with armfuls of flowers for you. I set my phone aside again, but I didn’t have time to even move onto the next order of business on my plate before it buzzed with Natalie’s reply.

  Okay, fine! As long as you promise. I like tulips and daffodils. I grinned to myself; I’d at least managed to get that much out of her. I pressed the call button on my desk phone and punched in the extension for my personal assistant, Trevor. “Come into my office real quick, Trev,” I told him. I turned back to my cell phone.

  While we’re on the topic, I wrote, what’s your favorite color? Your favorite bands? Movies? Trevor knocked on the door briefly and then came in. “What’s up, Mr. Baxter?”

  “Just a moment, Trevor,” I told him, setting my phone aside to check my email again while I waited for Natalie’s reply. My phone buzzed again, and I looked to make sure that she wasn’t simply refusing to tell me what I wanted to know. My favorite color is green. My favorite bands are Hot Hot Heat, The Strokes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and Franz Ferdinand, and movies…well, there are too many to list. “All right, Trev,” I said. “Take a list.”

  He began writing everything down as I listed it off. “What’s this list for, Mr. Baxter?”

  “It’s a list of preferences for my dating coach,” I told him, setting my phone aside. “I want you to keep them on record for me, in case I need to arrange for gifts or things for her.”

  “I can do that.” He gave me a quick look. “These seem like the preferences of a girlfriend, not a coach.”

  “She’s a dating coach,” I pointed out. “We go on practice dates. The same kinds of gifts apply, e
ven if we’re not in an actual romantic relationship.”

  “I will keep the list for you,” he said, shrugging it off. “Anything else you need?”

  “Not right now,” I told him. “I’ll meet with you before I leave for the night, debrief you about the next few days.” Trevor nodded and left my office as I went back to work.

  The more I thought about it, the more it made perfect sense to me to get presents for Natalie in the course of our practice dates. I wanted to see the look on her face when I brought her a bouquet of flowers that she actually liked. Instead of that look like she wanted to avoid hurting my feelings, she’d light up—I knew she would. I would see her smile, and she’d get that soft, sweet look that women got when they were truly pleased and thrilled.

  Why do you want to see her truly pleased and thrilled, though? She’s a coach—she’s not your girlfriend. I shook my head. It was hard to say specifically why I wanted to impress Natalie that way; there was something about her that brought it out in me. You’re being an idiot. She’s not interested in you that way. Why invest feelings in her at all?

  I sighed and turned my attention back onto my work, trying to ignore my phone and the temptation to ask her more questions. It was supposed to be for questions and for clarification and advice, not to get to know her better as some kind of friend or prospective girlfriend.

  The matchmaking service I’d gone to had assigned Natalie to me after I’d done an evaluation—a questionnaire with a bunch of weird things on it. I’d also let the owner of the company interview me over lunch and gone on what she’d called “an evaluation date” with someone else. I had no idea why they’d specifically picked Natalie to work with me, but I liked the fact that they had. It was obvious that she was smart, that she was determined, and had a good background in education, even if I’d ignored most of what she’d told me during our first meeting.