Date and Dash

by Susan Hatler

  When I arrived at her front door, I let myself in. “Hi,” I called as I slipped out of my heels.

  “Anybody home?”

  “In here,” Ginger answered back from the kitchen. I could smell something delicious cooking already. Yum.

  Prepping myself for the lecture I’d surely receive after I confessed about my accidental auction bid, I headed into the kitchen.

  “Something smells yummy.” I gave my sister a quick hug, then reached around her and snatched one of the cherry tomatoes she was slicing. I popped it into my mouth, savoring the burst of sweetness. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “For real?” My sister gave me a long look before pointing with the end of her knife. “All right. How about slicing these onions?”

  “You got it.” I grabbed another knife, and went to the other cutting board that my sister had set up. Actually she had four cutting boards placed at various points along the counter. She was a big believer in cleanliness, and when she cooked she used different bowls for each ingredient.

  Trevor would probably love her attention to detail.

  What had made me think of him again? Pushing him out of my mind, I sliced into the onion and my eyes started to burn. Soon my vision blurred and I wasn’t sure if it was from the onion or not, but something released inside me as tears slipped down my face. “It would be much easier to order take-out. Let someone else do all the work for us.”

  “That’s one of the many reasons you don’t have savings, Mary Ann.” Ginger gave me a pointed look as I swiped at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “Cooking your own food is cheaper and healthier.”

  I fell silent as I continued my task, but her admonishment was too much of a reminder of what was coming and I was so not looking forward to her lecture. I sighed and set down the knife. “This is boring.”

  I walked over to the sink to wash my hands, and I could hear my sister heave a bigger sigh behind me. I splashed water over my red, must-be-swollen eyes, and gave a tiny smile as I heard my sister start chopping the onion on her own.

  “So . . .” Ginger’s tone was long and drawn out in a way I knew well. “Melinda told me about the auction.”

  I half turned toward her, bracing for her reaction.

  She shook her head. “Five thousand dollars, Mary Ann? Really?”

  Defensiveness coiled up inside me. “It’s Grammy’s bracelet. The one she had designed on the anniversary of Grampy’s death.”

  “But you can’t afford it,” she pointed out, as if this were a no brainer.

  “Don’t you remember how special it was?” I clutched the dishtowel between my balled fists, and I could hear the desperation in my voice. Just this once, I wanted my sister to understand where I was coming from.

  “The memories of Grammy are what’s important, not a bracelet priced at five thousand dollars,” my sister said.

  “Normally that would be true about an expensive bracelet.” I twisted my lips to the side. No way would I point out that it’s now priced at twenty-two thousand. She’d freak for sure. “But I’m sure Melinda told you about the dating show, right? If Trevor and I can win that, then I have twenty-five thousand dollars to blow.”

  She gave me an exasperated look. “You should never ‘blow’ that kind of money. “That’s a substantial savings account. Don’t you want to own a home one day?”

  “Yeah, when I’m married with kids. Right now I want to enjoy life,” I said, thinking I’d enjoy life more with the feeling of strength and security that bracelet would give me. Then I could handle dealing with that rat Elliott, who I really didn’t want to see at work on Monday.

  “Plus, it’ll be my money. After the hassles I’m going through with this dating competition, I’m going to spend that money any way I want.”

  “Sweetie, Melinda told me a little about this guy, Trevor. She thinks he seems like a nice guy.” She paused, pushing the onions onto a pan sizzling on the stove. “Maybe you should consider going out with him for real.”

  “You know I have a one-strike-and-you’re-out dating policy.” I slipped onto a barstool, wringing the dishtowel between my hands. “And Trevor? Dude already has at least five strikes.

  Maybe more. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “How can he have so many strikes if you aren’t actually even dating him?”

  I considered my sister’s question for a moment. From her point of view I knew I seemed too impulsive. She had told me that so many times before I figured it was invisibly tattooed on my forehead. Still, she was my sister. Maybe she’d understand this time.

  “Look, I’ll give you an example. Strike one: He made us file a police report when I tapped his bumper. Can you believe that? Like, he didn’t trust me to make good on the insurance claim.

  I gave him my business card. He could have called me and we could have taken care of it ourselves.”

  Ginger glanced over her shoulder at me. “You know that’s the normal response to an

  accident, don’t you?”

  “Whatever. And he works in risk management, but he doesn’t even know how to take a risk.”

  I flung my hands out, sending the towel flying toward my sister. It hit her in the back and she gave me a dirty look as she stooped to pick it up.

  “You do know that the purpose of risk management is to manage risk, right?”

  “Thanks for the lesson.” I flared my eyes. “But I flirted with him after the accident and he didn’t respond in the slightest.”

  “You mean he was being responsible? How dreadful.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment, and then I said, “He actually called Grammy’s bracelet just a piece of jewelry.”

  “It is just a piece of jewelry. You’re the one ascribing sentimental value to it. And you’re the only one attached to it, too.” She raised an eyebrow as she moved her spatula around the pan.

  “You know, all of his strikes seem kind of ridiculous. Usually you pick guys whose strikes are legitimate. Remember that guy who insisted that he put his car to bed every night?”

  I moaned. “He had a car sized pillow that he put under the hood, and a blanket. He even had a sheet that went over his garage floor. Yeah, he was pretty weird.”

  “But has Trevor done anything like that yet?” Ginger asked.

  I stared at her. “Well, no, but he has other strikes.”

  “Come on, Mary Ann. No one’s perfect. So he ordered a police report rather than trusting a virtual stranger. That’s normal. But a relationship is about give and take. I mean, look at you.

  You’re impulsive. You get bored five seconds after you start anything. And money runs through your fingers like a sieve.” She turned back to the stove as she listed my faults so she couldn’t see the tears pool in my eyes.

  I rubbed them away quickly. “Like I should listen to anything from you about a successful relationship. You had the perfect person fall for you the first time he met you.”

  “But I didn’t give him a strike,” Ginger said.

  “Ha! You refused to date him for the longest time, even when he bought the place upstairs.

  Yet he still adored you.”

  A wistful expression crossed her features. “I wouldn’t date him because I was scared. Maybe that’s your problem too.”

  Wow. How had she turned that around on me so quickly?

  Suddenly, my cell phone buzzed in my purse. I was happy for a distraction to responding to Ginger’s annoying logic. It’s not that I was scared to date Trevor, I just didn’t want to waste my time like I had with Rick Mulroney. Scanning my cell screen, I saw a text from Trevor and a jolt of excitement shot through me. He wanted to firm down a time to meet for our strategy session.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Trevor, my ‘date’ for the reality show. We’re meeting tomorrow to strategize. You should see our competition. They’re pretty tough.”

  “You’re excited about him.” Her voice sounded like she’d cracked a secret code.

 
I blew out a breath. “No, I’m not. I’m just excited that he wants to get into the game like I do. If we win then we’ll split a pretty substantial prize. Duh. It’s a no-brainer.”

  She heaved a huge sigh. “It’s okay to like this guy.”

  Me? Like stuffy Trevor? As if. “Get the wax out of your ears and listen to me. I’m only pretending to like him in front of the cameras. It’s about winning Grammy’s bracelet. That’s all.”

  My sister chuckled condescendingly as she turned to the stove again. I could see her shaking her head, and I wanted to chuck a hunk of onion at her.

  The butterflies going crazy in my belly certainly were not because I was going to see Trevor tomorrow. They were only there due to getting one step closer to winning. That was all.

  Unfortunately, I was having a hard time convincing myself this was entirely true.

  ****

  Bernie’s Bakery was bustling on Sunday afternoon as I stepped through the doors to meet Trevor for our strategy session. Melinda actually owned this bakery and I adored coming here.

  She recently bought it after giving up her career as a customer service representative, which she’d never found fulfilling.

  I loved the way the scent of coffee wrapped around me the moment I came inside this charming bakery in East Sacramento. Maybe I should get a job as a barista. Then I’d always smell good, and I wouldn’t have to see Elliott Monday through Friday. Ugh.

  I looked around for Trevor, and my heart beat a little faster as I caught sight of him. The excitement of the competition was spilling into every other part of my life. Despite what Ginger thought, I wasn’t going to fall for him just because we’d been thrown together for the competition. At least I had to try not to.

  My one-strike-and-you’re-out policy was in place for a very good reason, and it would stand firm until I found the guy who could prove that he wasn’t going to get any strikes right from the beginning. A stubborn game, perhaps, but one I was willing to play if it meant that my heart would remain safe.

  Trevor’s face lit up in a smile when he saw me, and he waved me over to the table he’d claimed by one of the far windows. It was my favorite place to sit in the café and it gave me a gooey feeling inside that he’d chosen the same spot.

  As I threaded my way through the throng of people milling about, I took in Trevor’s good looks for the hundredth time. His jaw was just short of being square, and it made his profile striking from any angle. His eyes were normally serious, but when he smiled they reminded me of a sunny day. Clearly he worked out because he was cut, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off the way his biceps bulged from under his t-shirt.

  He looked hot in a suit or casual clothes and I decided it was fine to be attracted to him physically. That was a natural urge. My heart didn’t have to be involved in those thoughts at all.

  It wasn’t like I was going to act on my attraction, so no harm in enjoying the view while we did this show. I just needed to push out of my mind how worried he’d seemed when I’d been pelted on the chin by that bullet, which still smarted.

  “Hi, Mary Ann.” Trevor stood as I came over, then he pulled out the chair for me.

  I blinked, stunned. In all of my twenty-six years, I’d never had a guy pull a chair out for me.

  Maybe all of that risk management stuff just made him seem chivalrous, though. Like he needed to control every situation to minimize the risk. So by him pulling out the chair for me, he reduced the risk of my falling or knocking the chair over and causing someone to spill hot coffee on the person next to them.

  Or, um, maybe he was just a gentleman and I was overthinking things to try to find some flaw in order to fight my growing feelings for him. Either way, it was nice to be treated like I mattered for a change.

  “May I get you something?” He gestured toward the glass bakery counters, housing rows of goodies from tasty-looking pastries to various kinds of quiche. “My treat. I was planning on ordering some food myself. I’m training for a marathon that raises money for charity. My daily training keeps my appetite up.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his cuteness. He was raising money for charity again? So sweet!

  It seemed to be his life’s mission, and it made me more than curious about why he felt so passionate about giving back so much. “I’d love a mocha and maybe a biscotti. The biscotti here is divine.”

  “A mocha and a biscotti coming right up.” The corners of his mouth turned upward in a way that almost made him look shy.

  I pressed my hands together on the table as I watched him head to the counter. He was being so nice to me, and part of me loved that. But the other part of me felt awkward and slightly suspicious. Whenever a guy was nice to me, he usually wanted something in return.

  Trevor didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive, though, and my sister’s suggestion that I give him a chance drifted through my mind. I quickly pushed that thought from my head. The goal was to win the competition, get the money, and buy Grammy’s bracelet. Not fall for a guy who probably wasn’t interested in me anyway.

  “Here you go.” Trevor returned a few minutes later with our coffee and food. He lifted his fork and dug into his plate, which was piled with quiche and fruit. I also noticed he’d taken my suggestion and ordered a biscotti for himself and for some reason that gesture made me all giddy inside.

  “Thank you.” I tilted my head, smiled, then dipped the biscotti into my mocha, waiting for it to soften slightly. I nibbled in silence for a few moments until I noticed Trevor studying me. My eyes widened. “What? Do I have biscotti on my face?”

  “No.” He shrugged, seeming embarrassed that I’d caught him watching me. “You just seem .

  . . different. Relaxed. Plus, you aren’t trying to boss me around.”

  My brows came together. Was that how he saw me? That certainly wasn’t how I wanted to come across. But I also didn’t want to tell him the real reason I was being quiet—that my darling sister had suggested that I give him a chance, but I didn’t want him to stomp all over my heart.

  “We should probably start plotting on how to win the reality show competition.”

  “All right.” A tiny line formed between his brows. “Since Jared and Sharon were eliminated in the last segment, I think Evie and Ross are our biggest competition.”

  I nodded. “I agree. Maggie and Mike are definitely in sync, but they seem nervous and distracted.”

  “That leaves Chase and Wendy, who I think are in the running too.” Trevor forked off a piece of quiche, chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “We obviously don’t want to cheat like Evie and Ross, so we need to find a way to trump them, even though they’ll have the advantage by playing dirty.”

  I gestured with my biscotti. “How can we make a plan to beat them when we don’t know what the next challenge is?”

  He paused with his loaded fork halfway from plate to mouth. “If you want that bracelet, you’re going to have to trust me.”

  I squinted at him. “I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

  “Then get to know me,” he said, making a very obvious point.

  “Okay, Mr. Risk Management, I’ll listen.” I teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

  He set his fork down, then gave me a look so intense it made me shiver. “To give us the best chance of winning in any situation, we need to focus on the ultimate goal of the show.

  Remember what that is?”

  My belly fluttered. “For us to fall in love.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Exactly. Producers are all about ratings, so the more we give them, the more they’ll want to keep us around.”

  The air left my lungs. “The, um, more we give them?”

  Did he want me to kiss him during the next segment? Because I was so willing to do that.

  Only for the ratings, of course.

  “We need to show them our relationship is developing.” He placed his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb across my skin. “More physical contact would be good.”
<
br />   Oh, wow. Was it hot in here all of a sudden?

  I leaned toward him, watching his eyes simmer. “I can definitely do more physical contact.

  To, you know, give us an edge.”

  His eyes went from simmering to downright smoldering. “We should also look like we’re connecting on a deeper level.”

  Okay, this was getting too intense. I couldn’t tell what he meant by a deeper level, but I certainly knew the way I wanted to connect with him on a deeper level—and that was so not appropriate for general television. I slowly slipped my hand away, then shoved the rest of the biscotti in my mouth in an effort to curb my cravings with sweets.

  “A deeper level would be talking, right? Talking sounds safe. I mean good.” I babbled through a mouthful of cookie, which sadly wasn’t toning down my urge to kiss him. “Why don’t you tell me about your childhood?”

  “Okay.” He eyed me inquisitively a moment, then his expression grew serious. “I had a . . .rough childhood. My parents did the best they could for my siblings and me, but sometimes money was tight. Beyond tight, actually.” He inhaled deeply. “There was a point where we were destitute.”

  I paused mid-chew. Oh, man. And here I’d thought we were poor when my mom sold off

  Grammy’s bracelet. Tight budget, perhaps. But we always got by in warm clothes and a nice house. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was hard.” He nodded, twirling his fork around. “That’s the reason I went into the field of risk management, so I’d never be put in a position like that again. That’s also why charities are so important to me. They help people get back on their feet.”

  I nodded, resolving to up my own charity donations this year.

  He set his fork down. “I grew up in a struggling family, but a loving one. After high school, I worked to put myself through college then started my career in risk management. Now I just want to make a difference in the world, you know?”