Three Last First Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “Oh, no, you didn’t just go there,” Bailey said with a shake of her head.

  I scrunched up my nose. “Yeah, I did. Actually, I found out his real name is Neville, so I can see why he goes by his nickname.” I chuckled. “Anyway, Blaze is really cute and clearly works out. He’s the brawn of the trio, that’s for sure.” I thought of his strong, broad shoulders and the bulging biceps I’d spied under his short-sleeved checkered shirt when I’d met him. My blush intensified.

  “Brawny is good,” Cassie said.

  “Mm-hmm,” Bailey confirmed. “Who’s his Hollywood guy?”

  “Matthew McConaughey. Fool’s Gold Matthew, not Gold Matthew, of course. Right down to his messy blond hair and rippling muscles.”

  “Yum,” Cassie said, and I noticed as everyone appeared to take a moment, thinking about the delectable Mr. McConaughey.

  “How do you manage to meet these guys?” Bailey asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied with a shrug. “Luck, I guess? But they’re out there. You just need to look.”

  “You’re really blushing now!” Cassie said, and immediately my cheeks heated up to positively nuclear proportions.

  “No, I’m not,” I replied, totally unconvincingly.

  “Oh, yeah. He’s your favorite, not Nash. It’s Blaze all the way, baby,” Cassie teased. “Now, what will you call your children, I wonder? Bonfire? Inferno?” She laughed heartily at her own joke as Bailey smiled at her, shaking her head.

  I shook my own head. “Really, Cassie. I don’t know why you don’t just give up your day job and try to make it in comedy.”

  “After the material I’ve come up with today, I’m seriously considering it,” she replied, her eyes dancing.

  I laughed, knowing full well Cassie would never give up her job as Regional Sales Manager at AGD, the large telecommunications company we worked at together. She loved it too much, and as my boss, I would hate to see her go.

  Who else would allow me to take a full hour off work on a Thursday morning to discuss men over cake?

  “Where are you going with him?” Bailey asked.

  “We’ve agreed to meet at O’Dowd’s for a drink at seven,” I said, naming the bar we regularly hung out at on a Friday night. “That way, we’re going to a place I know.”

  “So, we could come along for that one? Hide out in the back or something?” Cassie asked.

  “That’s a great idea!” Bailey enthused.

  I thought of how Paige and I had done just that when Cassie had gone on her Last First Date, and how we’d been witnesses to the dating disaster that unfolded before our eyes. “Actually, I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t come—to any of the dates.”

  Cassie shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” She shared a look with Bailey.

  “Seriously, guys,” I reiterated.

  “How about we meet for a Three Last First Dates breakdown here on Monday?” Bailey suggested.

  We all agreed, and Cassie and I said our farewells to Paige and Bailey, who were now both working hard behind the counter, serving their hungry customers. As Cassie drove through the city back to the AGD offices, I gazed out the window at the buildings, the trees, and the pedestrians, ambling along the footpath, my mind full to the brim.

  In two short days, I was going on the three most important dates of my entire life. Whether the men I was dating knew it or not, one of them was going to be my Last First Date.

  And I was completely and utterly terrified.

  Chapter 2

  One Last First Date - Coleman

  Saturday morning arrived and I was as ready as I would ever be for my three Last First Dates. Being the organized gal I was, I had googled what to wear on a first date and had created a Pinterest board of ideas. After a lot of different combinations, I had settled on a white loose-fitting top with a long necklace, a navy blazer, paired with some gray cropped skinny pants and strappy heels. I wanted to hit a balance between saying “this date is important to me” and at the same time “I’m totally relaxed about you, relationships, and everything.” It was a surprisingly thin line, and one that had resulted in a pile of at least eight discarded outfits on my bed back in my apartment.

  I arrived at Alessandro’s a fashionable eight minutes late to meet my inaugural Last First Date, Coleman Adams. Eight minutes struck the right note between too early and too late. I spotted Coleman sitting at a table near the window as I passed by. He was clearly on the lookout for me, because the moment he spotted me he smiled, waved, and pushed his chair out to stand up.

  As I rounded the corner and walked through the open door, I took in his T-shirt and jeans, the way his short, wavy hair was perfectly cropped. He had that Matt Damon grin the size of Texas plastered across his face, and as I arrived at the table, he greeted me with a “Hello,” placing his hands on my arms and kissing my cheek. It was too sweet for words and the perfect start to our date.

  “Wow,” he said, his eyes skimming over me, making me tingle, “you look sensational, Marissa.”

  “Thanks, Coleman,” I said, returning his grin, a couple of butterflies beating their wings in my belly.

  This is starting out so well!

  He pulled out a black leather chair for me—such a gentleman—and I sat down, thanking him. He positioned himself across the small, glass table, still watching me closely, still with that gorgeous grin on his face.

  “I’m so pleased we’re doing this,” he said.

  “Me too. Go the bananas!” I said, referencing the supermarket.

  “Bananas are officially my new favorite fruit.” His blue eyes crinkled as he held my gaze.

  “Yeah, me too.” My tummy did a little flip-flop. Maybe Coleman was The One?

  “So, what do you want to eat?” he asked, breaking the spell by looking down at the menu in front of him. “It all looks great to me, but then I’m starving.”

  I picked up my menu and glanced down the page. There was the usual fare: pancakes, French toast, bacon and eggs. I decided on eggs Benedict almost immediately and returned my attention to Coleman.

  “I’m having the full English: eggs, bacon, hash browns, the works,” Coleman said as he placed his menu back on the table. “You?”

  “Eggs bennie,” I said with a shrug. “It’s my usual.”

  “Your usual, huh? Maybe you should branch out, try something new?”

  I thought about how I was looking for my Last First Date. This commitment-phobe couldn’t get much more adventurous than that.

  “You did say I got to call the shots on this date, right?” He raised his eyebrows flirtatiously at me, referring to my suggestion my dates today got to choose our activities so I could get to know them better.

  “Okay, I will,” I said with a small smile, collecting my menu and once again scanning the options. I landed on a delicious-looking dish. “I’m going to have the smashed avocado on toasted sourdough bread with a side of bacon and roasted tomatoes. That is, if it’s okay with you?”

  Coleman nodded at me. “Nice choice. I approve.” A smile teased at the edges of his mouth.

  He was enjoying being in control, that was for certain. Mental note: was this a good thing? I mean, I was the kind of person to take control, to make my own decisions, to choose my own path. The last thing I wanted was a man who thought he was in charge. No way, José.

  But then, there was an outside chance I was overthinking this.

  A waitress arrived at our table, and we placed our orders for food and coffee.

  “And could you make the flat white extra hot with only about a seventh milk, not the usual fifth? Thanks.”

  I blinked at him as my mind began to whirr. I might be a little on the demanding side myself, but that was very prescriptive. A seventh as opposed to a fifth? Hmmm. Controlling and particular? If he was as particular about everything as he was about his coffee, what would that mean to be in a relationship with him?

  “You need to use a guiding hand with these baristas, you know. I had this one coffee at a pla
ce on Hobson Street and, would you believe, they used skim milk instead of full fat? They thought I wouldn’t be able to tell, but I could.”

  “Good for you,” I said, watching him closely. In all the research I had done on Coleman, nowhere did it say “uptight about coffee.” I liked a good cup of coffee as much as the next person, but wasn’t he taking it all a bit far?

  Argh! I needed to stop this! I knew exactly what was going on here, and I needed to give myself a stern talking to. I was doing what I always did: I was putting up barriers, talking myself out of having a relationship with a guy, rendering a date over before it had even had a chance to begin. And it needed to stop.

  I could feel the rope in my belly begin to knot. He’s not The One. There was no way. He was too persnickety, too difficult, too . . .

  “Marissa? Are you okay?” Coleman’s concerned voice pierced my thoughts.

  I forced a smile. “Yes, yes. Just listening to you and the . . . the coffee thing.”

  “Look, I know I can be a little intense about it, but I promise I won’t be today.”

  He flashed his grin at me, and I relaxed a breath. “Okay, that sounds . . . great.” I ran my fingers through my hair, forcing myself to move on from the coffee thing. “Now, tell me something interesting about you, something I don’t already know.”

  “Well, I think you’re cute,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows up and down.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I said something I don’t already know.”

  He laughed. “Busted.”

  I relaxed ten notches, letting out a breath. This was good. Flirting was good. Not talking about what fraction of milk to put in a cup of coffee was definitely good.

  As I tossed my hair, I glanced behind Coleman and did a double take. Was that Cassie and her boyfriend, Will, at a table in the corner? I squinted, trying to make them out. The woman waved at me. Cassie. I pursed my lips. Having her here really added to the pressure.

  “. . . and I wondered if you’d like to see it?”

  I shook my head, shooting Cassie a killer stare. “Sorry, what? I was distracted.”

  “I said, I’ve been working on something and I wanted to know if you would like to see it after this? It’s the thing I had planned for us. I guess it’s my way of showing you who I am.”

  “Sure. Great!” I focused all my attention on Coleman, trying my best to ignore Cassie and Will at the table at the back.

  “Awesome.”

  As I smiled at Coleman, I noticed movement behind his head. Cassie was gesturing wildly at me. I glared at her, willing her to stop, but she was a woman on a mission.

  “Would you please excuse me? I need to freshen up.”

  “Sure, of course.” Coleman stood up as I did. I shot him an embarrassed smile. This guy was old-school polite! I kind of liked it.

  I caught Cassie’s eye and nodded at the ladies’. She jumped up from her table and followed me. Once the door was closed behind us, I turned to face her and crossed my arms. “Well? What are you doing here?”

  Cassie gave a shrug. “I’m having brunch with my boyfriend. You just happen to be here, too.”

  I tapped my foot. “But you don’t like Alessandro’s. You said it’s too slick and try-hard.” I thought of the highly polished interior, with its mirrors, chrome, and black leather. It was about as far as a place could get from our preferred Cozy Cottage Café.

  “Sometimes a girl wants a change of scene,” she replied unconvincingly.

  “And to spy on one of her friends on a date.”

  “Oh, come on! You can’t blame me. I’ve never seen a flirty mortician before.”

  I softened, shaking my head. “Sure. I get it. Paige and I did it to you.”

  We grinned at one another.

  “So, how’s it going? He’s really cute. Not at all what I’d expected.”

  “What had you expected exactly?”

  “Not him, that’s for sure. He’s good-looking and young and normal.”

  “Of course, he’s normal. Well, as normal as any of us are.”

  “I don’t know, I guess I thought he’d have black hair and dark eye makeup, with tattoos of skeletons on his biceps, or something.”

  I knitted my eyebrows together. “Cassie, you’re thinking of a Goth.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess I am. Huh. He’s not that, though. I think you make a really cute couple.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled, and I turned to check my makeup in the mirror. As I wiped a small smudge of mascara from under my left eye, an image of Coleman dressed as a Goth popped into my head. I pushed it away immediately.

  “I’ll leave you to your date,” Cassie said, her hand on the door.

  “So, you’re not going to pop up at my next two dates?” I asked.

  “Maybe? I mean, we need to have the full information, you know?”

  I shook my head as I smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “You’re impossible.”

  “Yes, and you love me for it.” She flashed me a grin before she disappeared, the door closing quietly behind her.

  Back at the table, the waitress had delivered our orders already.

  “Wow, that was fast,” I commented as I sat down in the chair Coleman had pulled out for me once more.

  “That’s one of the many reasons why Alessandro’s is my favorite café in Auckland,” Coleman said, taking his own seat.

  I thought of the Cozy Cottage. With its warm ambience and homey feel, it left this place for dust. A moment later, I held my breath as Coleman lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. I watched as he took a sip.

  “Well?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear his verdict.

  “Passable.” His face broke into a smile. “Good, actually.”

  I let out a puff of air. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  We ate our meals and chatted. Every now and then he would throw in a flirty comment and I would flirt right back, enjoying our repartee. He was cute, he was fun, he was clearly into me. I had overreacted before, doing what I do. This. This was good.

  And then he mentioned his job.

  The sum total of my experience of morticians was meeting one at my grandmother’s funeral last year and watching the TV show, Six Feet Under. As I looked at Coleman, sitting opposite me, sipping his coffee and talking about his life, I wondered if he ever had imaginary conversations with the recently deceased? And if so, what did they find to talk about?

  I shook my head. I needed to look past things like that, to see Coleman for who he was, not some ridiculous stereotype. Sure, he was a mortician, but it should really be no big deal. It’s not like he was his job—his job was merely his job.

  So, why did I keep imagining him dressed in black with a top hat and gray pallor to his face, skeleton tattoos on his arms, applying makeup to dead people lying in coffins with spooky music playing in the background?

  Damn Cassie, putting that idea into my head!

  I cleared my throat. “Do you like your job?”

  “I don’t want to boast, but I put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral,’” he replied with one of his flirty grins.

  I wrapped my arms around my body. Did he really just say that?

  “Do you get it? ‘Fun in funeral’?” he asked, his eyes dancing, as though I had somehow missed his joke.

  “Yes, yes, I get it,” I replied, forcing a smile.

  “Sorry. I sometimes forget funerals aren’t regular people conversation.”

  “That’s fine. I just . . . my granny died last year, and the funeral was pretty hard.”

  He rearranged his features into the face of concern. “I can imagine.” He put his hand on mine. It was warm and reassuring, and I felt myself loosen up.

  I cleared my throat and decided to take the bull by the horns. I needed to get over this whole mortician thing so we could move forward. “Have you always been a mortician?”

  He nodded. “I had a near-death experience as a teenager. I had never thought I’d enter the family business, but when I nearly died, it kind
of came to me: this was what I was born to do. It was my calling, I guess.”

  I looked at him, aghast. “What happened when you were a teenager?”

  “I was one of those idiots who thought he could drive as fast as he liked after a few beers. I ended up wrapping my car around a lamppost and having to be cut out to get to hospital. I thanked God I didn’t have any passengers, and I learned my lesson good that day.”

  “No more drunk driving?”

  “No more drinking, period.”

  “Oh.”

  “That event spelled the end of my teenage rebellion. As soon as I recovered, I went back to school, graduated, and entered the family business. You see, us Adams have been in ‘the business,’ as we call it, for three generations now. My grandpop set up Adams Funeral Homes back in the sixties.”

  I nodded encouragingly at him. They are not the Addams Family. They are not the Addams Family.

  “We’re kind of The Addams Family, I guess, only with one d,” he added with a chuckle.

  Noooo!

  “Shall we get the check? I want to show you that thing I mentioned.”

  “Sure, that sounds great.” Anything was better than picturing Coleman as Uncle Fester, the theme song ringing in my ears.

  A few moments—and a surreptitious thumbs-up from Cassie—later, Coleman offered to drive me. Although I had researched him online and knew a little about his family and friends, his hobbies and his job, I had no clue whether he was a psychopath or serial killer. I mean, you would hardly advertise the fact on social media if you were, would you?

  I decided it was best to be cautious—plus, it gave me a chance to try to kill off those mortician-related road blocks I kept throwing in our way. No pun intended.

  “How about I follow you? My car is parked just over there.” I pointed across the road where I had miraculously found a space—miraculous because parking was at a premium in the city, and finding a space near where you actually wanted to be was like finding a hen’s tooth in a haystack. Or was I mixing my metaphors there?

  “Funny! You’re parked right next to me. What are the chances?”

  I glanced at the car parked behind mine. It was large and shiny and black, virtually screaming “I transport dead people!” I swallowed.