The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating

by Canterbary, Kate

  Andy: That's…that's not accurate.

  Magnolia: It's just a lunch date. Even if I did shave my legs and blow out my hair.

  Andy: Let me know if you need me to bring you a change of clothes tomorrow morning and/or save you from any unpleasant exits this afternoon.

  Magnolia: I won't but thank you for the offer.

  "Magnolia?"

  I flattened my phone against my chest and jerked my head up. "Here. I mean, yes, I'm Magnolia. Hi," I said, blinking up at the man beside my table. He was a dark-suited dream and my words were flying away like butterflies in the breeze. The ass-out seat swivel would've been much smoother than this. "Mr. Ni—uh, no—Rob. We're calling you Rob. Right? You're Rob? If not, how about you lie and pretend you're Rob? That would be easier for all involved."

  "I don't have to lie." Nodding, he pressed his lips together to swallow a laugh. They were lip-balm-model lips. He knew a thing or two about moisturizing. "I'm not sure who you were messaging or what you were talking about, but you were making the cutest faces and moving your lips like you were saying the words as you typed them. It was the best thing I've seen all day."

  I stared up at him, not sure how to respond to that. How long had he been watching me? Also, was it weird that he was watching or weird that I didn't notice? Eventually, I said, "I was talking to Andy."

  "Andy?" he repeated, his eyebrow arching up. "Well, he's lucky to get so much of your attention."

  "She," I replied. "She. She's one of those A-N-D-Y Andys because fuck the patriarchy and their arcane gendered spelling conventions, but we work together. Sort of. Sometimes. And we're friends. I mean, we worked together first and then we became friends later. We weren't close at the start. There was a weird situation that was entirely my fault and I still stew in the horror of it all but she was just texting to ask whether I sha—" I stopped myself there and it was quite the accomplishment considering the quantity of babble sliding out of my mouth. "Not important."

  To Rob's credit, he grinned at me like I was adorably amusing rather than adorably insane. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, still standing. That suit though. It was midnight blue with a barely there pinstripe and sweeter than anything in the bakery case. Cut and draped just right across his thick thighs and beefy shoulders. Just right. "I was in the weeds all morning and then I was on the conference call from hell. Damn thing wouldn't end."

  "Seems like you have your hands full," I said. "Is this a bad time? Do you want to reschedule?"

  Rob ran a hand through his dark auburn hair, grinning. "Not a chance." He pointed to the empty seat. "May I? Or would you rather I stand for this?"

  "Oh my god, no—I mean yes. Sit down. Please. Sit," I barked.

  With a surprised laugh, he tucked himself into the chair. He was tall but normal-tall, not crouch-down-in-the-shower-tall. He had freckles and laugh lines, and those little creases between his eyebrows that suggested he was in his late thirties and spent a fair amount of time thinking. Or worrying—or both.

  "Thanks," Rob said, running a hand down his madras plaid tie.

  There was no rational reason for it but I loved that gesture. Loved it. A man meant business when he did that. Or that was how I preferred to interpret it.

  "Have you ordered?" Rob blinked at the empty table. I shook my head. Damn, those hazel eyes of his were pretty. Golden and green like a gemstone. "No, obviously not. I haven't eaten since six this morning and I'm ready to gnaw on my suit coat. What would you like?"

  He shifted toward the counter and, oh my marshmallows, the way his white dress shirt stretched over his torso was delicious. As I took in the beauty of his chest—and another perfect tie-smoothing move—two things dawned on me. One, I'd started off crazypants and he'd rolled with it like a pro. And two, what the hell did he see in me?

  No, really. I was down with loving myself but Mr. Nine and I were leagues apart. He was here with his tie smoothing and lips worth biting and I needed a mop to clean up my word vomit.

  "I like a sandwich here," he said, running his fingers along his stubbled jaw.

  That subtle rasp was like an ASMR video. It was all I could do to hold back a sigh. "The smoked turkey."

  Rob turned back toward me, his brows drawn together. That was where those lines came from. That expression. The inkling of a smile pulled at his lips and he was watching me like he couldn't look away. Or I had food stuck between my teeth. I noticed those things after I dragged my gaze away from his engraved belt buckle. RRR. Either it was his initials or the sound women made when they got his belt off. Both seemed equally likely.

  "Yeah," he said. "Did I tell you that or are you a sandwich whisperer?"

  "Sandwich whisperer," I replied, bobbing my head. "For sure. That's so much better than remembering that you mentioned the smoked turkey sandwich when you insisted on this place."

  He tapped his pointer finger on the table twice as he nodded. "That's right," he said. "That was when you were insisting on a lunch date even though I wanted a dinner date with wait service, cloth napkins, and plenty of liquor."

  "Something like that, yeah."

  He cast a glance around the bakery. "And why was that, Magnolia? Do you have something against dinner or is the issue dinner with me?"

  My phone continued buzzing—either Andy or any number of tiny crises in need of my attention—but I tossed it into my bag. "I have a busy schedule. I have to be scrupulous with my time. Sorry."

  Rob folded his arms on the table and leaned toward me. The tips of his fingers brushed against my wrist. "You're a little rude."

  "It can't be much of a problem because you are still here," I mused. I didn't own that confident air but it was easier to fake it knowing there was no future here.

  "Only because I don't know what you'd like for lunch," he replied. "Tell me now or I'll order one of everything."

  Helpless to stifle a laugh, I eyed him. There was a touch of silver at his temples and the shadow of a long-abandoned nose piercing on his right side. Who was this guy and what did he want with me? Was it just about sex for him? I couldn't be the only available vagina.

  "The mortadella," I said.

  "You got it, lady," Rob said as he pushed to his feet. "I'm getting one of every cookie too. There's gotta be at least nineteen of them. I don't share cookies. You should know that about me. Do you want some? Never mind, I'll get a few extras for you."

  He didn't wait for a response, instead stalking to the counter and giving me a killer view of his backside. Good god. As if his list of wonderful wasn't extensive enough, his ass was art. Watching him reach into his back pocket for his wallet was almost as swoony as the tie smoothing. I needed that move in GIF form.

  When he shifted away from the counter, part of me resented the shopgirl's efficiency. I wouldn't have complained about a couple more minutes to study the lean lines of his body and undeniable confidence from a distance.

  "Sandwiches are on the way." Rob set a bakery box and two drinks on the table before settling into his seat. He gestured to the clear plastic cups, saying, "Raspberry seltzer. You prefer black cherry but you like the house-made raspberry here. Do I have that right or did I turn it around?"

  I've dated a bunch of guys over the past twenty-ish years. Some for several years, some more seriously than others. I've said "I love you" to more than one man. But never once in that time had a man ever recalled my seltzer ranking system. Hell, most of them couldn't remember my birthday without Facebook's help.

  "Yes, that's correct," I said, my words stiff. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." He laced his fingers around his drink. "I keep wanting to call you MizMaggie," he said, referring to my handle on the dating app. "I'm still getting used to thinking of you as Magnolia." He held out his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Rob Russo."

  "Magnolia Santillian." I accepted his hand but had to work at keeping my expression neutral when our palms met. There was nothing outwardly amazing about his touch but it warmed me straight down to my toes. I glanced
at my reflection in the window to see if my cheeks were as flushed as they felt.

  He nodded as if this information unlocked the world's great mysteries. "Do you prefer Magnolia or Maggie?"

  "I answer to a lot of names," I said, jerking a shoulder up.

  "Like what? Tell me," he ordered, his chin tipping up as he spoke.

  Shit. Just…shit. This man was forceful. It wasn't scary forceful or aggressive forceful but pleasantly assertive while still decent forceful, and it occurred to me that I liked his version of forceful. More specifically, I liked it on Rob.

  And…I liked Rob.

  "There's Magnolia, of course," I started, ticking off the name on my finger, "and my family calls me Magnolia or Mag or Maggie. Then there's Roof Garden Girl and Gigi, which is an obscure derivative of Roof Garden Girl. RGG, drop the R. I hated Gigi at first but I dig it now. Everyone calls me Gigi when I'm at work. Most of my friends use it."

  "You're right. That is a lot of names," he replied. "I asked you which one you prefer. You haven't answered me yet."

  "Oh, it doesn't matter," I said with a wave. Where the hell were those sandwiches? I needed something to do with my hands—and my mouth—but more importantly, Rob needed to stop staring at me. "I come when I'm called."

  He propped his chin on his steepled fingers and his gaze fixed on my lips. I'd never known a hot stare until now. Hot like a sunburn.

  "I bet you do." His knee brushed mine under the table and then it nudged, edging my legs apart. I wasn't sure whether he intended that or it was a happy accident. "Close your mouth, rude lady. You're giving me ideas that have no place at lunch."

  My cheeks were pink and my heart was pounding but I managed an indifferent shrug. "I'm sure you can save them for another time."

  "I tried to save them for dinner but you weren't having it." He studied me, his eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. After a pause, he asked, "When can I see you again?"

  "You're seeing plenty of me right now," I said.

  "And as I've been telling you for weeks, I'd like to see more of you," Rob said.

  I shook my head while I sampled my drink. Perfect as always, none of that fake raspberry flavoring bullshit. "And as I've been telling you for weeks, I need to know you before any of that can happen. You don't need to tell me about your first grade teacher, but I don't know what you do or where you live and I'm not even sure I like you."

  "You like me," he argued, his knee pressing against my inner thigh. "You like me enough to insult me. That has to count for something."

  "Less than you'd think," I replied with a grin.

  Rob leaned back when the shopgirl arrived with our sandwiches, but kept his gaze steady on me. I wasn't accustomed to this kind of attention. I was familiar with men who eye-fondled every pair of tits to cross their line of sight and men who couldn't focus on a conversation for more than five minutes without checking out or reaching for their phone. Since I was conditioned to accept that behavior, I was expecting it now.

  And that conditioning left me wondering what this man wanted with me.

  When the sandwiches were delivered and the shopgirl was out of earshot, he announced, "Investment banker."

  I shook my head, not sure how to place those words in our conversation. "What?"

  "I'm an investment banker," he said, gesturing toward me with his drink. "I should've mentioned it sooner. Unless you hate bankers, in which case I do something entirely different."

  "I have no issue with bankers," I said, laughing. "I'm a landscape architect but I don't give a fuck if you hate architects. That would be a personal problem and you'd need to deal with it on your own."

  Seltzer sprayed out of Rob's mouth as he laughed. After wiping a paper napkin over his mouth and down his tie, he said, "It hurts so good when you're mean to me."

  I took a bite as I turned his words over. "You can count on me for the realism."

  He gazed at me, his strange amber and emerald eyes glowing and his lips edging up into a smile. "You're a fucking gorgeous dose of reality, Magnolia." Nothing else mattered after that. He could've told me he lived in a van down by the river and I'd still be floating on his words. "I live in the South End. It's a decent place and I like the vibe but what I pay for garage parking is more than I paid for the car and I don't love that. Tell me what else you need from me so I can see you again."

  "You can see me again," I started, "but I'm not sure about the arrangement you want. I need a few more lunches where you offer to lie about other things in case I hate them. I'm looking for you to explain your cookie bingeing tendencies because I require more info on that. I need to know you before any—anything else can happen."

  He chewed his sandwich as he considered this. "I need to think about your terms. I'm all right and I'm keeping it together," he said, waving a hand at his chest, "but I'm a fucking mess. The thought of letting another person know me again gives me hives. Even someone as real and gorgeous and interesting as you."

  Real and gorgeous and interesting and oh my god. It required actual effort to keep myself seated in this chair and not throw myself at him. Somehow, I managed an indifferent shrug. "Another personal problem."

  Rob's shoulders shook as he laughed, stretching his shirt in glorious ways. I wanted to meet the tailor who managed to encase all this thick goodness in cotton. "I'll try," he said, reluctance heavy in his words. "But only if you stay rude."

  We stared at each other for a long beat as we sized up the stakes. We'd been burned too many times to trust fire. We were fucked up in the feels. And here we were, negotiating the terms of a treaty to nowhere. My head was flashing every warning sign but my heart was lurching up into my throat, starved for more.

  I knew better but I couldn't do better.

  "Since I have plenty of material to work with, that won't be a problem." I jerked a shoulder up, inviting him to contradict me. He only grinned back at me, and I was a goner. "I live in Beverly, in an old stone cottage with ample parking. That's one of the reasons I love it. My aunt and her partner retired to New Mexico, and they left it in my hands. But when I say 'old,' I mean old. I've been ripping up orange shag carpet and scraping avocado green wallpaper for the past year. It has an elaborate garden in the backyard, though, and that's my favorite part of the property. Even if it is overrun with weeds and vines and a dozen other problems."

  "Do you need any help with that?" Rob asked.

  I quirked a brow up. "Did you miss the part about me being a landscape architect? I can handle one jungle-y backyard, thank you."

  "I didn't miss that part," Rob said, his lips twitching with a smile. "I was offering free labor. I'm in the mood to rip up some vines."

  "Only if you do it shirtless." My cheeks flamed red when I realized what I'd said. My gaze flitted between his arms and his chest because there was no way in hell I was looking him in the eye right now.

  Rob dipped his chin down, chuckling. He ran his hand over the length of his tie once again and I barely kept myself from purring. "Happily," he replied. "If that gets me an afternoon in your garden, I'll wear—or not wear—anything you'd like."

  I looked at my plate and focused on rearranging the sandwich's layers. It was all I could do to wipe the fiery blush from my face and get control of my word vomit.

  When I glanced up, a group of men streamed through the door. Clad in tight navy t-shirts with Engine 10 printed on the back, they turned every head in the bakery. I watched them over Rob's shoulder for a moment, as fascinated by this gaggle of guys as everyone else.

  I started to say something to Rob about coming to the garden this weekend but stopped myself when I sensed someone staring at me. It took a minute to find the source of the stare among all those navy t-shirts, and by the time I did, he was headed this way.

  "Hello, Miss Magnolia," he said, propping his hands on his lean hips. "Didn't think I'd see you twice in twelve hours."

  "What?" Rob glanced between me and this unwelcome guest.

  "Ben," I gritted out, tilting my ne
ck to glare up at my noisy neighbor.

  "Who the fuck is Ben?" Rob asked.

  Ben glanced to my date. "Who the fuck is this guy?"

  Chapter Twelve

  My date was furious.

  Not gonna lie…it was pretty hot.

  I mean, I didn't like guys with anger problems. I didn't need any toxic masculinity in my life, thank you kindly. But this didn't feel like an anger problem to me. It felt like my noisy neighbor boy interrupting an otherwise lovely date and making things peculiar with the suggestion I saw him late last night.

  Yeah, I saw him. Technically, he saw a lot more of me than I did of him but that was beside the point. We weren't together last night. He was disturbing the peace and I was the concerned citizen who'd shut up him and his tile saw.

  And promised to help him with his remodeling efforts over the weekend.

  Jesus Lord, I strolled into some real special situations, didn't I?

  "Magnolia," Rob said, a sharp edge in his voice that raised goose bumps on my arms. The best goose bumps. Interesting goose bumps. I could get on board with goose bumps like these. Maybe not right now, in the middle of Flour, but at some point in the potentially naked future. "You know this guy?"

  "I'm wondering the same thing," Ben added with a flippant wave toward Rob. I swiveled my gaze toward him and damn, that t-shirt worked. The hoodie he wore last night, it hid all the goods. "Who's the suit?"

  "All right, listen," I started, holding both hands up. "I'm having lunch with Rob. He's a—a friend of mine."

  "I'd say we're past the point of friends," Rob argued, his brow creasing. This boy. He couldn't talk about anything more than no-strings sex but went all prickly porcupine at the suggestion of mere friendship. So damn prickly. "After everything we've shared and everything you've—ahem—seen."

  Still holding my hands up, I shot him a withering glare. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. One of the many wonderful things about me is that I don't forget." He started to argue but I shook my head, saying, "Hush now. I'm talking."

  "Can't wait to hear this." Ben crossed his arms—my god, how did anyone get forearms that ropey?—over his chest and rocked back on his heels. For real though, those forearms were straight out of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast.