“You’re 3-D printing desserts?” I wasn’t exactly wrapping my head around that.
I’d seen a news report once on 3-D printing action figures. They took a scan of a person’s face, cartooned it, and created a personalized action figure.
I got how a printer could squirt colored plastic in a specific pattern. I wasn’t seeing how it baked a cake.
“We couldn’t even be thinking about this without Ethan,” Sophie said. “Bryce brings the culinary expertise, and I’m bringing the business know-how. We’re an awesome team.”
She reached forward and squeezed Ethan’s shoulder.
He put his hand over hers for a second.
“So, like cakes and pies?” I asked, still skeptical.
“Oh, so much more than that,” Ethan said.
“You should see how beautiful they are.” Sophie smiled and sat back.
“And delicious,” Bryce added, looping his arm around her shoulders. “You can build in a level of precision for incredible consistency.”
Sophie nodded, looking excited. I was happy for her. She’d always had boundless energy and enthusiasm, and an impressive sense of adventure. Growing up, it was always Sophie who came up with the ideas for our adventures.
It seemed she’d gotten bored at work—but in a good way. She was branching out to a brand-new venture, and it even came with a romance.
The driver pulled to a stop at the curb and I shifted my attention to Russo’s front patio. It was a lovely building, decorated with tiny white lights on clusters of potted trees. The walkway and stairs were red cobblestones, and the front door was made of thick oak planks with gold embossed hinges and handles.
Bryce opened the car door and stepped out and turned to help Sophie.
I went out my side and walked over the uneven cobblestones around the back of the car, glad for the moment that I’d gone with sturdy boots.
In her spike high heels, Sophie hung on to Bryce’s arm.
Ethan and I fell in behind them.
I felt awkward walking silently beside Ethan.
“You grew up in Seattle?” I asked to break the ice.
“I was three when we moved out from Boston.”
“I was born here,” I said, keeping the conversational ball rolling. “We lived in Queen Anne.”
“Wallingford. My parents are university faculty members.”
“His mom’s a renowned chemistry professor,” Sophie said over her shoulder.
Bryce opened the big door and we all walked into the dim interior of Russo’s.
“That’s very impressive,” I said to Ethan.
“Professor Mary Quinn.” He sounded quite proud. “She’s published over thirty articles in technical journals. Perhaps you’ve read some of them?”
I didn’t have an immediate response. I wasn’t sure why he thought I’d be reading chemistry articles.
“Since you’re a librarian,” he prompted.
“I’m in the public library. We don’t catalog many scientific journals.”
He seemed surprised by that. “Really? Have you considered the importance of STEM to young readers? And, really, to any readers?” He took a beat. “STEM stands for science, technology, engineering and mathematics.”
I knew what STEM stood for. “It’s a matter of capacity. For technical works, I’d refer people to the university library, or maybe the State Association of Chemists.”
We’d stopped in front of the reception desk.
“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked Bryce.
“Brookside for four,” Bryce said.
Sophie turned to us, a little sigh in her voice. “I wish I was that smart.”
“You are smart,” I said to her.
She had a business degree. She was only twenty-six, and she was already a manager at one of the best boutique restaurants in the city.
“I’m not science smart.”
“You’re real-world smart, and that’s much more practical.”
Silence followed my words.
Again.
“There’s nothing more practical than science,” Ethan said.
“It takes a team,” Bryce said.
Ethan kept talking. “Science is responsible for everything from advanced agriculture to green mining techniques to fabric dyes for fashion shows, and all the obvious technologies. Take your cell phone, for instance. It took generations of highly trained scientists to develop the concepts that make a smartphone run.”
“And we’re grateful for that,” Bryce put in.
“Right this way,” the hostess said to us.
“I do enjoy my cell phone.” I took Bryce’s lead and tried to lighten the conversation.
Bryce followed the hostess. Sophie went behind him as we wound our way through the tables.
I took up the rear.
The friendly woman showed us to a booth with a half-circle bench. It was on the second floor overlooking the harbor. After a bit of fumbling over the seating arrangements, I ended up on one end of the bench next to Ethan. Bryce took the other end, and Sophie was sandwiched between the two men.
“Drinks?” Bryce asked, opening the cocktail menu.
“Oh, a cranberry martini for me,” Sophie said.
“I’ll take one of those,” Ethan said.
“I’m having a Canadian whiskey,” Bryce said, looking to me.
“A glass of cabernet sauvignon,” I said.
A glass now and a glass with dinner, I decided. Then I’d be nicely relaxed.
“This whole thing started when we lost our pastry chef,” Sophie said. “And we were having trouble finding a new one with the skills and expertise.”
“The ante keeps going up and up,” Bryce said.
“Enter technology,” Ethan said.
“I did an informal poll of our customers,” Sophie explained. “And dessert was the number one determiner of restaurant choice among women. It was only number three for men. They like steak and seafood.”
Ethan jumped back in. “Studies show that on a date, especially the first few dates, men go where women want to go.”
“And the business world is drastically changing,” Sophie said. “There are more women executives.”
“They want great dessert on their expense accounts,” Ethan said.
“Studies show?” I asked him.
“That’s just logic,” he said.
“The skill level, the prep area, the prep time,” Bryce listed off on his fingers. “There’s a reason most restaurants have limited dessert menus, especially the small establishments.”
“We knew technology could help,” Ethan said. “Hence, the inception of BRT Innovations.”
“Our company,” Sophie said, pointing to all three of them.
“I see.” I didn’t see everything yet. But I had a feeling I was going to learn a whole lot more before the night was through.
* * *
As a date, the evening hadn’t gone particularly well. As a business meeting, it had gone quite a bit better.
I hadn’t exactly kept up, but I’d learned how much time, thought and energy had gone into the idea for Sweet Tech. If everything they said came to fruition, my friend Sophie really was going to technologically revolutionize desserts.
They’d dropped me off at ten thirty.
Ethan had dutifully walked me to the lobby door. He hadn’t kissed me, just said good-night and that he’d had a nice time.
I said I’d had a nice time, too. I suspected our level of enthusiasm for each other was about equal.
On the upside, the restaurant had been lovely, the food delicious.
I’d had the grilled sole with a spring greens salad, opting for a brandy instead of dessert. A good decision since, on top of the wine, it had lulled me into a lovely deep sleep.
&
nbsp; I felt rested this morning, ready for my bike ride along the lakeshore.
No more jealousy over Sophie’s adventure, I decided. No more moaning about being stood up for yesterday’s tennis game. I felt like an independent woman in the morning sunshine, pedaling along the paved bike path, up little rises and down small hills, the wind whistling past my ears.
“Good on you.” A voice came up on my left side.
I looked sideways and realized my glasses were sliding down my nose.
I pushed them into place and saw James coming up to pedal alongside me.
“I wasn’t sure if you were serious,” he said.
“I was serious. I like bike riding.”
“I can see that.”
I smiled. I was happy to see him. We’d joked quite a lot yesterday, and I’d had fun.
“I prefer rowing,” he said.
I knew he’d been on a championship team in college. “Yet, here you are.”
“Here I am. You inspired me.”
The idea of inspiring James amused me. “Like your own personal trainer? ‘Get your butt out of that bed, Gillen! Gear up! Outside! Give me twenty!’”
James laughed at my imitation of a drill sergeant. “Twenty laps of the lake? That seems a bit ambitious.”
“We probably should have packed a lunch,” I said, feeling lighthearted in the fresh air and sunshine.
A woman and two children approached us riding the other way, a boy and a girl looking about ten years old. The kids had flushed cheeks and windblown hair and were pedaling hard to keep up with their mother.
James shifted in behind me to give them space to pass. We both stayed tight to the right side of the path.
“How was your date?” he asked after the family passed.
A man was throwing a ball for his dog on the grass beside us, and I kept a watch in front of me as the animal ran close to the path.
“It was fine,” I answered.
“Fine as in good, or fine as in meh?”
“Fine as in...mediocre, I guess.” Sophie’s business plans were secret for now, so I wasn’t going to talk about them.
It would have been nice if the date part had gone better. I’d wanted to like Ethan. I mean, he wasn’t that bad. Other women might like him just fine.
“Sorry to hear that,” James said. “Where did you go?”
“Russo’s.”
“That sounds nice. Did you have the prime rib?”
“The grilled sole.”
“Their prime rib is to die for.”
“I’ll try that next time.”
“Is there going to be a next time?”
“I hope so.” Then I realized he meant a next date. “I don’t know about a next date. But I’ll definitely go back to Russo’s.”
“Nix the guy, stick with the restaurant. I do like your style, Nat.”
“The guy seemed fine.” I felt guilty dissing him. “His name was Ethan. He’s a tech guy. He seems very smart.”
“But no second date? Are you one of those picky women with a long list of qualities you want in a man?”
“What? No. I’m not like that. I don’t have a list.”
At least, I didn’t have one that was written down. But I’d admit there were certain things I was looking for—a sense of humor, for example, a progressive worldview, maybe somewhat more humble than Ethan. And I wouldn’t be wild about someone who smoked or drank to excess or who, say, had a gambling addiction.
“You’re listing it off now,” James said with a tone of amazement.
“I’m not...” But I was.
He’d caught me.
“It’s not a long list,” I said defensively.
“What’s on it?”
“What’s on yours?” I asked.
“Are you thirsty?” he asked.
We were coming to a snack bar near a sandy beach and a play area.
“Are you changing the subject?” I asked.
“No, I’m just thirsty.”
“Okay. I’ll take a sparkling water. But then I want to hear what’s on your list.”
We both slowed our bikes, coasting to the dark green bike rack set next to a scattered group of picnic tables.
I pushed my bike tire between two bars.
“Spill,” I said, smoothing my windblown hair.
I’d pulled it back into a ponytail, but some strands had come loose around my face. I tried not to imagine what I looked like. Some women looked cute when they were all disheveled. I looked messy. On me, messy wasn’t cute or sexy or anything other than messy.
“It’s a short list,” he said, dismounting.
“That should make it easy.”
“Not Brooklyn.”
I felt a lurch of guilt. I probably should have kept my big mouth shut about relationships. James didn’t need this on a leisurely Sunday morning bike ride. I felt terrible.
“Now you give me something,” he said.
He didn’t sound sad or upset.
I was grateful for that. Maybe I hadn’t completely spoiled the morning.
“No gambling addiction,” I said.
“Seriously?” he asked as we walked to the counter. “You felt the need to include that on a list?”
“You think I should date a guy with a gambling addiction?” I asked.
The teenage girl behind the counter gave us an odd look.
I thought about clarifying the statement, but it seemed silly to launch into an explanation for a stranger whose life would only intersect with mine for a matter of minutes.
“Two Sparkletts,” James said to her. “Plain.”
The teenager turned and moved to the cooler.
“I don’t think you should date a serial killer, either,” he said to me. “But you don’t need to put that on a list anywhere. It’s obvious.”
“I’d rather date an addicted gambler than a serial killer.”
The teenager heard that one too, and gave us another puzzled look. “That’ll be seven fifty.”
James handed her a ten. “No need for change. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” she said with an appreciative smile.
We each took one of the bottles. I couldn’t help but wonder what the clerk thought as we walked away.
“That girl back there thinks I’m dating a gambling addict,” I said, twisting off the bottle cap.
“She really doesn’t care.”
“I suppose not. Still, I hope I didn’t accidently set a bad example.”
“I think you’re safe.” James took a long drink. “Now, give me a real one.”
“A real what.”
“A real item on your list.”
I wanted to tell him to give me a real item, too. I didn’t think “not Brooklyn” was legitimate. But I didn’t want to risk upsetting him.
“Good sense of humor,” I said.
“Too generic,” he said.
“It’s legitimate.”
“What else?”
“A progressive worldview.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re progressive.” I kept my expression deadpan. “You know, in your worldview.”
James grinned. “Touché.”
“You give me one.”
“Me? But I’m a sad sack recovering from utter heartbreak.”
I took in his überinnocent expression. “I knew that was a ruse.” I shoved him with my upper arm.
“Not buying it?” he asked.
“Dish.”
“Okay, let me see...hardworking.”
“And you say I’m too generic.”
“You think I should date a lazy woman?”
“Depends. Exactly how good does she look eating bonbons in front of daytime television?”
; “Nobody looks good doing that.”
We came to our bikes and stood there while we finished our drinks.
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” I said.
“Love?” James asked.
“Now, that’s the generic answer.”
“But true.” He took my empty bottle from me.
I knew he was right. “But how do you find it?”
I was serious. I felt like it had always eluded me. I mean, I’d liked Henry a lot, but with him, even when things were going well, it sure didn’t feel like the poems and stories said it would.
James headed for the recycle bin. “You look really hard,” he called back over his shoulder.
He tossed the bottles and started back. “Meet a lot of people, I guess. Statistically speaking, that’ll give you the best shot at falling in love.”
We mounted up.
“There are people everywhere,” James said as we continued down the path.
He pointed to the beach. “There’s one, and another, and another. Take your pick.”
I chuckled as I pedaled beside him. It was silly, and it was funny, and it felt good to laugh at life.
“What about her?” I asked as we came up on a pretty woman in a white bathing suit cover-up.
“Mommy, Mommy.” A two-year-old boy threw himself in her arms.
“Taken,” James said.
“Either of them?” I joked about two women in their sixties chatting in matching lawn chairs.
“Wrong era,” he said.
“You’re so fussy.”
“Him?” James nodded to a shirtless jogger with a tiny dog on a leash.
The twentysomething man’s chest was shaved, and his bulging pecs were shiny with oil.
“Too self-obsessed,” I said.
“You can tell that just by looking?”
“You can’t? How many hours a week at the gym do you suppose that takes?”
“I guess,” James said.
“When would he mow the lawn or clean the gutters, or play with the children, or plan date night?”
“You do have a long list.”
“I’m a practical woman. It’s not like I won’t help around the house. But I’m not cleaning the gutters all by myself.”
“I can respect that,” James said.
We pedaled along in our own thoughts until we reached the far end of the lake where the path curved sharply over a wooden bridge that cut across a burbling creek.
The Dating Dare (Gambling Men Book 2) Page 3