Breaking All the Rules (Searching for Love Book 2)

by Kelly Myers

  “NO!” Marianne’s moan is so loud that a man walking his dog across the street gives us a look. “You have to go, you’ve been moping over He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named for way too long.”

  I cringe at the reference to Logan. My friends started to refuse to say his name about a month ago in an effort to banish him from my mind. It hasn’t really worked.

  “Marianne, it’s not a real date,” I say. “Even if he wants it to be a real date – which, again, I’m not certain about – then, I don’t want to date him. It’s inappropriate.”

  Marianne leans back and chews on her lip. “But it’s not against the rules, right? To date a parent? It happened to my friend when I was in high school.”

  “It’s not against the rules, but it’s awkward,” I say. “But it’s awkward, I see his daughter every day, it goes against my personal code.”

  “School years almost over though.” Marianne lifts her pointer finger. “Also, what’s the harm in one little date? This kid’s not gonna find out.”

  “Stop calling it a date, it might not be real,” I say. “He could seriously just want to discuss his daughter, I’ve met with parents outside of school before.”

  Marianne twists her mouth into a sardonic grin. “It’s a real date. Have you ever had dinner with a parent? Plus, look at yourself, any widower would fall for you.”

  I roll my eyes, but Marianne grabs my forearm and lowers her voice into a serious tone. “Seriously, Elena, you don’t realize how gorgeous and amazing you are. Just because that idiot didn’t realize your worth doesn’t make you any less out of his league.”

  I smile at my friend. I don’t like her calling Logan an idiot, but it is true that my self-esteem took a hit when he dumped me. It’s been hard for me to assume anyone is into me in the last six months.

  “Thanks,” I murmur. “But even if it’s a real date, I’m not sure I should go.”

  “Elena.” Marianne gives me an appraising look. “What do you think of this doctor?”

  “David?”

  “Yeah.”

  I pause while I consider. Once again, I can’t lie to her. “I thought he was handsome. Way more handsome than any guy I’ve ever dated. And, he had a good smile.”

  My cheeks turn red, and I press my fingers against my burning skin.

  “You can’t cancel this date.” Marianne is beaming. “You like him.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I do, he’s not for me.” I squeeze my empty coffee cup until the cardboard bends.

  “Maybe he’s not, maybe he is.” Marianne shrugs. “I still think you should go on the date, just to break the ice. If you tell him you’re sick, he’ll just try to reschedule. Might as well get it over with.”

  I nod. “You’re right.”

  “Plus, I think you’re overreacting to the age thing.” Marianne leans closer and bumps my shoulder. “Have you ever thought that a more mature guy might be nice for a change?”

  “He has kids,” I say. “He’s in a whole other phase of life than me.”

  “But he cares about family, just like you.” Marianne runs her hand through her hair. “His daughter’s not a brat, right?”

  I shake my head. “I think he’s a good father.”

  “That’s another point in his favor,” Marianne says. “Just give him a chance.”

  “I’ll go to the dinner, but that’s it.” I cut my hand through the air to make my point. “It might not even be a date, so I’m not going to overthink it.”

  “Ok, one, it’s totally a date.” Marianne lenas forward and grins. “And two, you have to wear a killer outfit.”

  “I’m just going to wear this.” I gesture down at my black slacks and blue peasant blouse with white embroidery.

  Marianne’s face crumbles as she assesses my outfit. “I mean, you look cute for a day of work, but come on, you haven’t been on a first date in three and a half years!”

  “I’m not going to pull out a fancy dress for a Thursday night date that might not even be a date,” I say. “How humiliating would it be if I showed up in some little black number, and he wanted to discuss his daughter’s latest assignments?”

  “Ok, I’m not saying you have to go all out,” Marianne says. “But at least wear your hair down. And, put on some lipstick. And, lose the flats and wear some heels.”

  I’m about to dismiss her input, but then David’s face flashes through my mind, and I hesitate. I want him to think I’m pretty. I want to look nice. “Ok. Lipstick. Hair. Heels. Got it.”

  “And text me as soon as it’s over.” Marianne loves analyzing any and all social interactions. “Or, try and go to the bathroom during the dinner and text me from there.”

  “Sure.” I smile. I probably will end up texting her updates. I won’t feel so intimidated if I can vent all my panicky thoughts to someone.

  Marianne claps her hand as if everything is settled. “Ok, do you feel better?”

  “I feel resigned to my fate,” I say.

  “Great.” Marianne points at my phone. “Now show me a picture of this guy right now.”

  “You don’t need to see a picture.” I shove my phone in my purse, even as I imagine how impressed Marianne would be by David’s photo on his hospital’s website. He looks so mature in a white coat.

  “Does he drop off his kid at school?” Marianne perks up like a dog who smells a bone. “I don’t work until noon, I can totally hang around here and spy a little.”

  “Absolutely not.” I stand up and pull her to her feet. “Get out of here, you creep.”

  Marianne rolls her eyes, but she gives me a quick hug goodbye. “I know it’s scary, but this is a good thing, I promise.”

  I smile and nod, but inside I’m positive this is not a good thing.

  As I head into the school and up the stairs to my office, I acknowledge that Marianne did make me feel better. It if is a date, it won’t cause that much harm. I’ll go, I’ll do my best not to be awkward, and then I’ll just discourage him from asking for a second one. I’m good at that. I can be discouraging. Or at least, I can be boring enough that he won’t want a second date.

  I know I’ll survive, and whatever happens, I’ll be able to debrief Marianne afterwards.

  But no. I can not say that I’m feeling like dinner with David is a good thing.

  Chapter Eight

  In the end, I follow all of Marianne’s advice except for the heels. I don’t wear heels often, and I don’t want to stumble in front of David. The night is already stressful enough without the added pressure of uncomfortable footwear.

  As promised, he emails me mid-morning with a few restaurant options, all in Lakeview. I examine the choices closely, and then select the most casual place. An American style restaurant with good burgers. He responds to my email saying he’ll meet me there at 7.

  That leaves me to stress for the rest of the day. I somehow manage to get through my classes without making a fool of myself. The whole time, one part of my mind is counting the minutes as they tick by. Five hours until we meet. Three. Two.

  When I get back to my apartment, I spend a long time gazing into the mirror. I assess my smooth tan skin for ages. I take my hair out of the ponytail and let the curls fall over my shoulder. I put dark red lipstick on and then wipe it off. I add mascara to my lashes.

  Then I groan in frustration and run out of my bathroom. I need to relax. I have to go into this dinner assuming it is a casual meeting about Amy, and then I’ll just adapt if need be. Primping and preening in front of the mirror is not going to help me act casual.

  Then again, I’m pretty sure Marianne was right: this is a date. One of the restaurants David suggested in his email was a fancy restaurant. Like, cloth napkins, candlelight, fine wine and expensive entrees fancy. Not a restaurant you would ever meet your daughter’s middle school teacher at. It’s the kind of restaurant for a big first date.

  Obviously, I eliminated that option right off the bat, but he was the one to suggest it. Which means he envisioned us possibly going o
ut there. Which pretty much guarantees that he thinks this is a date.

  At a quarter of seven, I grab my small black purse and shove my wallet, keys and phone inside it. The restaurant is less than a ten-minute walk, but I like to be punctual. Marianne texts me a bunch of emojis and explanation marks. I roll my eyes at her overuse of the hearts.

  As I walk towards the restaurant, I mentally prepare myself. I have to go into this acting like Miss Ramirez, the seventh-grade English teacher, just in case this isn’t a date. Also, that’s how he knows me. I want to act like a woman who is calm, cool and collected, not an anxious headcase of a girl.

  He’s waiting outside the restaurant. I recognize his stance. He’s so tall, and yet his body seems so relaxed. As if nothing fazes him.

  As he turns, my stomach does a somersault. He sees me and grins, but there’s something different about his smile this time. He’s nervous too, I realize. There’s a hesitancy in his eyes.

  For the first time, I consider that maybe this is new territory for him as well.

  Then I dismiss that thought. Surely he’s dated in the years following his wife’s death. She passed a while ago, and he’s too handsome and charismatic not to date.

  “Elena,” he says. “Hi.”

  He reaches forward, and it looks like his hand is aimed at my shoulder. Before he touches me though, I shove my hand out as well, so we end up shaking hands.

  Then he leads me into the restaurant. Before I know it, we’re seated across from each other at a wooden table in the corner.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to meet me.” David picks up a menu. “I’ve never been to this place, but I’ve been meaning to try it out.”

  I can only nod. The table is much smaller than my desk. He’s closer to me than when we met in my classroom, and I can see the stubble lining his jaw, and the way his green eyes crinkle up at the corners when he smiles.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard good things,” I say.

  Then I bury my nose in the menu. He’s wearing a polo and jeans. Nothing too fancy. He’s an adult, maybe that’s just what he wears on a daily basis.

  “How’s your week been?” David rests one forearm on the table and leans slightly forward.

  “It’s been good.” I’m having trouble looking him straight in the eyes, so I just look at his forehead instead. “I’ve been impressed with Amy’s class participation. She’s added some valuable points to the discussion of our readings.”

  David nods, but his smile wavers.

  “And you? How’s your week been?” I ask the question before he can ask me anything else.

  I’m having a flashback of something that happened to me in the ninth grade. At my small high school in rural Indiana, the undisputed star of the school was Leon Trenor. He was funny and good-looking and the best basketball player on the varsity team. Every single girl was in love with him.

  And once he sat next to me at lunch. Or rather, he sat with a bunch of my friends from the tennis team, but he was sitting across me. And he spoke to me, smiled at me. I completely froze up. I felt like the biggest loser. All I could do was talk about the French class we were both in, even though Leon sat in the back and slept through that class half the time. Leon started out friendly and interested, but as I got more and more stiff, his eyes glazed over.

  It was the worst lunch of my life, and it was the moment I realized that I should never go for the popular guys. They made me too nervous.

  And now, here I am, thirteen years and hundreds of miles away, and I’m repeating that awful interaction.

  “It’s been good,” David says. “Long shifts at the hospital, but I’m happy about the nicer weather. Summer in Chicago is my favorite season.”

  “Me too.” I breathe a little easier. I can talk about the weather, that’s not so bad. “I’m definitely excited to see the students’ final projects.”

  David looks at me for a moment, and then looks down at the table. He fiddles with a fork. At last he glances up. “Elena, I’m going to be direct with you, just because that’s in my nature.”

  I have no idea what he’s about to say, but I’m terrified. It’s been less than five minutes, and I’ve acted like such a spaz that he has to be “direct,” whatever that means.

  “I did mean for this to be a date. You don’t have to talk about your teaching or my daughter,” he says. “You realize that, right?”

  I blink. He is direct. And some tension eases around my chest. I never realized how nice it is for someone to just say what’s on their mind instead of skirting around or ignoring an issue. I can be direct as well. “I wasn’t sure.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have clarified.” David looks about as uncomfortable as I feel. “Now I feel like I tricked you into this, we don’t have to order, we can just –”

  “No, it’s ok.” I’m even surprised by my instant rejection. He was giving me an easy out, and earlier today, that’s exactly what I want. But something about his face when he said it was a date made me forget all my anxieties. I just want to see how this goes. “We can start over.”

  “I can do that.” David straightens up, and there’s a flicker of eagerness in his eyes.

  “So,” I say. “Are you from Chicago originally?”

  “No, but I grew up in Iowa. Everyone at my high school dreamed of moving to Chicago as soon as they could,” David says. “I wanted to get out, just to escape the endless cornfields.”

  I nod along. “I get that – I’m from Indiana.”

  And just like that, we’ve started over. I tell him about my hometown, and how overwhelmed I was by Chicago when I first moved here. He tells a story about getting lost on the orange line during his first week of residency.

  Then we order our food. David gets a beer, so I ask for a glass of wine. It’s a real date, after all. The idea isn’t as distressing as it was only hours before.

  “Sometimes I miss the country,” I say. “I used to love all the smalltown stuff like the fairs in the summer.”

  “Me too, I worry my daughters are growing up too fast since we live in the city.” David laughs to himself, and my heart skips a beat at his clear love for his children. “But then, I’d probably think they’re growing up too fast no matter what.”

  I smile. “At least Lakeview feels like a tight-knit neighborhood. Or at least it’s not as Big City as downtown.”

  “For sure, I’m glad we moved here from our old neighborhood closer to the river.” He looks up at me and cocks his head in open curiosity. “Have you lived in Lakeview the whole time you’ve been in Chicago?”

  “Yeah, Lakeview Middle School was my first job after I got my masters, and this is my fourth year.” I pause. The subject of age is going to have come up at some point. “I’m 27.”

  I instantly look down at my plate and grab a fry. I could not have been more awkward about bringing up my age if I had tried. But it’s too late.

  “I was wondering.” David’s voice is low, and his frankness makes me look up. “I could tell you were probably too young for me, but I liked you anyway.”

  I realize that I have never been on a date with a man who said exactly what he was thinking. It’s refreshing. And it takes away almost all of the stress of a first date. I decide that it’s my turn to be honest.

  “I was wondering about you.” I tilt my head and twist my mouth into a teasing smile. “So, I looked you up online.”

  Davids laughs, and a warmth spreads through my veins at the sound.

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t find anything scandalous,” I say. “Just your hospital’s webpage with the year you graduated med school, so nothing definite.”

  “I’m 38.”

  It’s what I had guessed, but it’s good to know.

  “I wasn’t as resourceful as you,” David says. “I called the principal and asked how long every one of Amy’s teachers had been teaching, just so she wouldn’t know I was looking for info on you specifically.”

  “You just asked how long they had been teaching? Nothing else?
” I can already picture the principal trying to impress David with the amount of experience among her staff.

  “I’m pretty sure she thought I was going to start yelling about the quality of the teachers.” David shrugs. “She sounded shocked when I just thanked her and said goodbye.”

  I can’t stop smiling as I eat my meal. It’s flattering that David, a man I wrote off as being far too important and attractive for me, went to such efforts to ask me out. Even if we don’t go on another date, he’s doing wonders for my self-esteem. Marianne was right; it’s been a long time since I appreciated my worth.

  “So why did you become a teacher?” He asks the question as if he’s genuinely curious. He’s not asking in a condescending tone, as if to imply that teaching is such a silly career path. He actually wants to know my reasons.

  “I didn’t at first,” I say. “I thought I was too shy to speak in front of classes all day, so I figured I would have to pursue something more suitable for an introvert.”

  “Are you an introvert?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrug. “But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to teach. So worked on my public speaking, and I got better at it, and eventually I realized I liked it. I remember working as a teaching assistant for a course in college and teaching a class on Emma, one of my favorite books, and being shocked because I wasn’t shy talking in front of students anymore, I actually was excited about it.”

  “You don’t seem shy to me.” David leans back in his chair as he assesses me. “You just seem self-assured mostly.”

  I flush at the compliment, but I meet his gaze. There’s something about him that I can’t look away from. “What about you? Why did you become a doctor?”

  “I’m gonna sound like a hillbilly from Iowa, but it was because of a cow,” David says. “My grandfather owned a farm, and when I was a kid, I helped with the delivery of a calf. My older brother threw up and ran out of the barn, but I was fascinated.”

  I like the image. There’s something so wholesome and endearing about David falling in love with medicine in a barn somewhere in Iowa.