Two Last First Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  After about twenty minutes, I’d had them sitting outside with their sunglasses on, sitting in the window, sipping their respective coffees, and at a table with Bailey and the counter in the background as they shared a slice of flourless raspberry and chocolate cake. In the end, the pain I’d put myself through was worth it; the photos looked amazing.

  “Hey, thanks, you two. That was awesome.”

  “Anything for you and Bailey,” Cassie said with a grin.

  Once the lovebirds had gone off to feather their nests or eat worms together or whatever the metaphor was, I wandered around the café, taking some more shots. I spotted Helena, walking through the door. I hadn’t seen her since the day I left my job at AGD, and I was genuinely pleased to see her.

  “Hey, Paige,” she said. She greeted me with a warm hug as I held my camera out to the side to protect it. “I heard you were working here.”

  I grinned at her. “I get to hang out here all day.” I glanced around the café at the tables of happy customers, enjoying Bailey’s and my food, sipping their coffee. Would I choose the Cozy Cottage over staring at my computer screen in my old cubicle at AGD? Every freakin’ day of the year.

  She rolled her eyes and let out a puff of air. “God, that must be so good. You’re so lucky, you know that? We’re all still talking about that Bride move you pulled on her highness. Genius.”

  I laughed. I’d forgotten how much Helena hated Portia. Funny, it’d only been a few days and already it felt like some horrible, distant memory.

  “You know what she’s gone and done now? Got engaged.” She shook her head. “That poor schmuck. He doesn’t know what he’s got himself into.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Portia’s engaged? Not to Juan Felipe, is it?”

  “Ha! She wishes. He’s too much of a hotshot playboy for the likes of her. No, it’s some other guy. My brain goes into automatic shut-down mode when she’s on one of her spiels about how fabulous she is. She drones on about him like he’s Prince William, but I bet he’s just some social-climbing ass.”

  “I bet.” In the past, I could have complained about Portia with Helena until the cows came home, but now I really couldn’t have cared less. She could actually be marrying Prince William, for all I cared, although I suspected his current wife may have had a thing or two to say about that.

  “Hey, I’ve only got a few minutes. Can we catch up soon?” Helena asked.

  “Yes, that’d be fun. Take care.” I gave her a hug and returned my attention to my camera as she walked to the counter to place her order. I was scrolling through my latest crop, happy with the way they had turned out, when I felt someone standing beside me. I looked up from my screen and saw the guy who delivered the coffee beans on my first day.

  “Hi, Paige.”

  I looked up into his eyes and smiled. “Hey, there . . . you!” I said a little too brightly. What is this guy’s name again? Geoff? John? I searched my brain, came up with nothing.

  If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “What’ve you got there?” he asked, peering at my screen.

  I quickly flicked the camera off and let it hang back down by my midriff. I wanted the new Cozy Cottage “brand” to remain for Bailey’s and my eyes only until it was ready. “Just a project I’m working on.”

  He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Sounds mysterious.” I noticed a sparkle in his hazel eyes.

  I let out a self-conscious laugh. “Not really. It’s for the café website and stuff. I thought it needed some work.”

  “Great idea. And between you and me, I have to agree. No offense to Bailey, of course. Last time I was on there, it seemed a little”—his eyes shot up to the ceiling, trying to find the right word—“dull. Not representative of this place, which is not dull in the least. In fact, it’s just about as perfect as a café can be, in my humble opinion.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at him. He was right; the Cozy Cottage was special. It had such a welcoming feel, it would be hard not to feel at home the moment you walked through the doors.

  “Exactly. Anyway, what are you doing here?” I glanced down at the image on his T-shirt of a smiling coffee bean and read it aloud. “‘Coffee is a state of bean.’” I shook my head and smiled. “Sweet.”

  “Yeah, that’s the reaction us single guys are aiming for with women: ‘sweet.’”

  I chuckled. “Maybe you should consider trying a different type of shirt, then?”

  “And give up my trademark ‘sweetness’? Are you insane?” He laughed. “In answer to your question, I’m here for the soup. Bailey makes a mean Mexican chicken tortilla.” He leaned in toward me and raised his eyebrows. “Even us coffee delivery guys need to eat lunch, you know.”

  Before I had the chance to respond, Bailey greeted him with, “Hey, Josh. Great to see you.”

  Josh. I needed to remember that.

  He grinned. “Hey, Bailey.” He put his hand on my arm. “See you later, Paige the mysterious photographer.” He turned back to Bailey, and said, “How’s that new blend working out for you? I’ve had a lot of positive feedback from customers so far.”

  They peeled away from me, deep in their coffee talk.

  “Who was that?” Helena asked, materializing at my side.

  “Who? Oh, that’s Bailey. She runs the place. She’s my boss.” I grinned at the thought.

  “No, silly. I meant the hot guy. He’s yummy.” She nodded at the coffee delivery guy—Josh—still deep in conversation with Bailey. “He looks familiar.”

  “He does?” I looked at Josh. “Yummy” wasn’t quite the word I’d use to describe him. Probably more “forgettable,” if I was totally honest.

  She stared off into space. “Yeah, he does.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’d better get back. Her royal bitchiness will be looking for me. I’ll need this to give me strength.” She held her takeout cup up. “Great to see you.”

  “See you, Helena.” I watched her walk through the door out onto the street. Only one Tarantino reference today. I smiled to myself; she must be in a good mood. I noticed the café was starting to fill up with the lunch crew. I wanted to finish up taking the shots I needed so I could get home to do some more work on the website.

  I was standing in the corner, capturing as much of the café as I could in one final shot, when through my lens, I noticed a man walk in the entrance. My heart skipped a beat. It was Marcus. I lowered my camera and watched him. He was on his own this time and appeared to be searching for something—or someone.

  Could it have been me?

  My mouth went dry at the thought. He had definitely been flirting with me that day in the café, and he had given me his business card, clearly with the intention of me calling him. I thought of it, still burning a hole in the side of my purse. Maybe, since he hadn’t heard from me, he’d decided to track me down again?

  I watched as he continued to scan the room until his eyes settled on me. I couldn’t help but look back at him, my tummy flip-flopping as our eyes locked. His handsome face broke into a grin, and he began to walk toward me, past the growing line of lunch customers and through the tables.

  I swallowed. Hard. I’ve given up on love, I’ve given up on love. I was literally cornered by this guy, with nowhere to hide. But then, part of me wanted to see him, to stay right where I was. In the end, I had no choice, and he was by my side in seconds.

  “Hi, Paige.”

  “Hi, ah, Marcus.” My cheeks began to burn, butterflies batting their wings in my belly.

  His expression became suddenly serious. “I had thought I might have heard from you by now.”

  “Oh . . . I . . .” I didn’t know quite what to say. He was being very direct.

  “We take dish abuse very seriously at the Society for Dishes, you know.”

  “Society for the Protection of Dishes,” I corrected him, not quite understanding why I was doing so. Why did it matter?

  He grinned his gorgeous smile. “I’m glad to hear you were paying attention.”

  I l
et out a nervous laugh.

  He glanced down at my camera. “You a photographer, too?”

  “I’m just taking some shots for the café’s website.”

  “Wow. Beautiful and talented.”

  I bit my lip, trying not to blush. Failing, of course. This guy was funny, obviously interested in me, and persistent. He could prove incredibly hard to resist. “Ah, thank you.”

  “So, do you think I might be able to get your number? Since you’ve obviously lost my card.”

  My tummy flipped and flopped and flipped again. As I looked into his brown eyes, teasing me gently, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember why I ever decided to give up on love. Something to do with the One Last First Date pact and not choosing the right sorts of men. It was all a distant, fuzzy memory right now.

  “I . . .” God, he was tempting. But I needed to stick to my guns. “Here’s the thing. I’ve sort of made up my mind not to date.”

  He raised his eyebrows in question. “You have?”

  “Mm-hm.” I nodded, pressing my lips together.

  He shook his head. “Why would you go doing something stupid like that?”

  Why indeed?

  “Well, I’m not very good at choosing the right guys, you see.” The heat in my cheeks turned almost nuclear.

  “Is that so?” He tapped two of his fingers against his chin. “Well, if I ask you out, I’m choosing you, not the other way around. Right?”

  My heartbeat raced. Part of me screamed, he makes a very good point! And the other part? Well, in that moment, I couldn’t have heard it if it had jumped up, slapped me across the face, and yelled in my ear.

  A smile crept across my face. “Okay.”

  He smiled back at me. “So, what’s your number, Paige?”

  Before I had the chance to change my mind, I gave it to him and watched as he added it to his contacts list, admiring his long, tan fingers as he typed.

  He slotted his phone into the back pocket of his pants and looked into my eyes once more. “I hope to see you soon.”

  My mouth went dry. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  As he turned and walked away, I took several large gulps of air, trying to steady my heart, which seemed to think it was in an attempt to break the land-speed record. Marcus joined the line of customers waiting to order their lunch and smiled at me across the room. I smiled back, swallowing down a rising sense of unease.

  What have I done?

  Chapter 8

  I SLUMPED AGAINST THE café kitchen wall, my mind full of Marcus and the pickle I’d just landed myself in. Not only had I broken my vow to stay away from men by giving him my number, but I had chosen him—despite the cute argument he’d put forward to say I hadn’t. As far as Marissa and Bailey were concerned, I was waiting for them to come up with my Last First Date, a vetted man of their choosing who ticked all the right boxes. Not going around flirting with cute guys and giving out my number.

  I was too deep in thought to notice I wasn’t alone.

  “Are you all right?”

  I looked up and straight at Josh, the coffee delivery guy, who had a concerned look on his face. He was holding a large bag of coffee beans. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks.” I forced a smile to show him just how fine I was. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Just grabbing these for Bailey.” He gestured to the bag. “She’s snowed under out there.”

  “Coming through!” Fiona, one of Bailey’s part-time staff, came bustling through with a tray filled with croissants and paninis. To keep costs down, Bailey only served cabinet food, other than soup, which we scooped out of large pots on the stove and served with toasted ciabatta. Fiona was responsible for the heating, toasting, and plating of the lunch orders today. And she had her work cut out for her, by the looks of the long lunch line out there.

  “Sorry, Fi. I’ll get out of your way.” I clipped my lens cap back on my camera, grabbed my purse, and headed toward the back door.

  “See you later,” Josh called as I pushed the door open and breathed in the fresh outside air.

  Distracted, I turned back and shot him a quick smile. “Sure, yes. See you.”

  The rest of the day was spent choosing the best photos and compiling them into the landing page, menu pages, and events pages I had created—and thinking about Marcus. I must have looked at my phone, sitting next to me on the kitchen table, at least a thousand times, wondering what I was going to say to him when he called.

  Yes, I wanted to see him again. Yes, I wanted to go out on a date with him. And, yes, I wanted to kiss him until my lips were raw. God, yes. Those eyes, that mouth, those broad shoulders. I let out a long sigh. I didn’t know him, but he was the kind of guy I always saw myself ending up with: confident, fun, sure of who he was and his place in the world.

  I leaned back in my wooden seat and ran my fingers through my hair. My decision to give up on love suddenly felt childish, rash, a knee-jerk reaction to not being chosen by Will. That night on the beach when we reset the pact, I was at an all-time low. Now that time had passed and I was moving on, the idea of finding The One, someone to spend my life with, felt good, it felt right.

  I let out a sigh, gazing out Dad’s kitchen window at the trimmed hedge by the lawn. It was time; I was ready. I wanted to find my Last First Date. I wanted to be in love.

  And anyway, how could a girl be expected to stay away from men with the likes of Marcus Hahn around? I mean, I was only human, after all.

  No. Being a spinster with all those cats did not appeal—nothing against cats, of course. I wanted to give it a shot. And if I was going to do this, if I was going to go in search of love once more, I needed to do it right. Because attraction—as amazing as that was—wasn’t enough for me anymore. I needed to know more about Marcus before I made the leap. A lot more.

  A smile crept across my face. Whether he had any inkling or not, I intended Marcus Hahn to be my Last First Date. Now, all I had to do was engineer it so Bailey and Marissa thought so too.

  * * *

  I spent the next day working on the Cozy Cottage brand and marketing plan, and by the time Dad got home that evening, I was more than a little bit proud of what I’d achieved. I had a full webpage, all laid out and ready to go live with Bailey’s say-so, I had created Cozy Cottage Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter pages, and I had come up with a list of promotional ideas, laid out clearly in a twelve-month plan. I hoped Bailey would love it as much as I did.

  I snapped my laptop shut as Dad walked into the kitchen, lugging bags of groceries in his hands. I jumped out of my chair. “Here, Dad, let me help you with those.” I took the bags out of his arms and set them down on the kitchen counter.

  “Thanks, honey. Have you been working here all this time?”

  Dad had left for work this morning as I was sitting at the kitchen table, my head filled with ideas.

  “No, I went out to get a couple of photos of the café I’d forgotten to take yesterday, too,” I said as I began to unpack the groceries and put them away. “Oh, good. You got some more broccoli. I know you’re not a huge fan but I thought I’d do some broccoli soup tonight, get some of that green goodness into you.”

  “If you have to,” Dad replied with a grin and a roll of the eyes. Vegetables were not exactly at the top of Dad’s food list. He handed me some carrots and I placed them in the vegetable drawer at the bottom of the refrigerator. “Why did you have to take photos of a café?”

  I stopped dead. That was a rookie’s mistake. I had to think fast. I buried my head in the vegetable drawer so he wouldn’t be able to see I was lying. “It’s just for a mock-up for a website. An example, I guess,” I bluffed. I held my breath, hoping he’d buy it and move on.

  “Well, I’m sure you did a wonderful job,” he replied.

  My belly twisted at how easily he accepted the lie. It was best to change the subject. “How was your day? Did you manage to go for a walk?”

  “Yes, yes. I went for a walk during my lunchbreak with Trevor. He’s carr
ying a bit extra around the middle, too, so we’re trying to encourage each other.”

  “That’s awesome, Dad,” I said, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ve been listening to you and I am taking my health seriously.”

  I beamed at him. Since his diagnosis of Type II Diabetes, I’ve been on Dad to always remember to take his medication, get daily exercise, and try to avoid sugar. He’s pretty good on the medication, but the other two have been a work in progress, with me having to parent my parent all too often. Hearing he was finally taking things seriously and managing himself lifted a huge weight from my shoulders.

  I made the soup and we ate it together at the kitchen table, although I wouldn’t say Dad exactly enjoyed the experience. “Now, where’s the real food?” he asked once I’d cleared the plates away.

  I laughed. “You’re hilarious, Dad.”

  “No, I’m serious. What else are we having?”

  I swiveled around and looked at him. “Are you still hungry?”

  “No, but a man cannot live on broccoli alone, you know.” His warm Dad-smile crinkled the skin around his eyes.

  I shook my head. “There’s some shredded chicken in the refrigerator. Want me to make you a chicken salad?”

  I noticed his smile drop. He was probably holding out for a burger and fries, but somehow, they had been left off the doctor’s list. “Thanks, lamb chop. I’ll just nip upstairs while you do that.” He pushed himself up from the table and left the room as I busied myself with making the salad.

  A few moments of chopping and vinaigrette-making later, I called out to Dad. No response. I went upstairs. No sign of him. I got to the bottom of the stairs and heard a strange rustling sound coming from the garage. I put my hand on the doorknob and pressed my ear up against the door. What was that? A mouse? Something larger? My heart began to race. What if it was an intruder? The rustling continued, and I swore I heard a human sigh.

  Just to be on the safe side, I grabbed an umbrella from beside the front door. It might not be a terribly threatening weapon of choice, but it was the best I could do on short notice. Gripping the umbrella in my left hand, I swung the door open and flicked on the garage light.