No More Terrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  “No!” I cry at the outlandish notion of Sophie sharing my high school story with Alex’s mother. “Can’t you see how much worse that would make it? And anyway, it was such a long time ago.”

  “Okay. But I’ll do it if you change your mind. Auntie Margie takes no prisoners, believe me,” she replies.

  “This puts a totally new spin on what’s happened between you two in the last few weeks,” Erin says.

  I hang my head. “Not for me it doesn’t.”

  Erin holds a mini scone with jam and cream up. “Here. Eat sugar. It’ll help.”

  I do as I’m told and pop the scone into my mouth. Although it tastes delicious, Erin is wrong. It doesn’t help.

  She picks up the teapot and pours more tea. “I bet he regrets what he did back then.”

  “I doubt it,” I harrumph. I think of that smug look on his face every time I see him. He knows what he did. He knows. And he finds it funny.

  “He’s probably reminded of it every time he sees you, and wants to make things right,” Erin continues.

  “Don’t forget that we live among unicorns and slide down rainbows with big, happy smiles on our faces every day, too.” I sulk and then pull my lips into a line. “I know, I’m being sarcastic. Trust me on this, he doesn’t want to make things right.”

  “Just kiss you,” Sophie adds with a grin.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I should never have let that happen.”

  “Which time?” Sophie asks.

  “Either of them!” I snap and instantly regret it. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “No worries. We get it.” Sophie stands up and pushes her chair into the table. “I need to go greet those people who’ve just arrived.” She nods at the podium where a group of middle-aged women is talking happily among themselves. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Darce. But you know what? You’ve got to work with the grown-up version of Alex now. Do whatever you can to put that high school stuff behind you. Otherwise, it’ll be a nightmare for you until the gallery opens.”

  “Sophie’s totally right. Move on dot com,” Erin adds.

  I cross my arms. I feel like I’m being told to pull my socks up by my mom. Whatever that meant. (I’m in a cute pair of silver sandals today, anyway, my small rebellion against the head-to-toe blue regime.) “I guess you’re both right.”

  Sophie gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. “We are right, Darce. Now, enjoy the rest of your high tea. This one’s on me.”

  We both thank Sophie, and she leaves to go greet the newly arrived gaggle of women at the podium.

  “You know, this whole high school past thing changes that kiss you two had in the kitchen.”

  “No, it doesn’t. All it says is that I’ve been an idiot when it comes to Alex for far too long.”

  “Maybe? Or maybe you’re meant to be together.”

  What is she talking about? I’m meant to be with Alex? How absurd. “Erin, that’s insane,” I scoff.

  She shoots me a sly grin. “Is it?”

  “It is,” I reply firmly.

  She turns her head, and I follow her gaze to see Alex standing at a nearby table. He’s concentrating on listening to one of the customers, his pink High Tea apron tied around his waist. He should look ridiculous in that apron, but somehow, he doesn’t. Somehow, he still manages to look incredibly hot.

  He lifts his eyes, and they flash to mine. Immediately, I look away. You don’t know where you stand with a guy like Alex. He’s the type who could let you down in a flash, and undoubtedly would. Guys like him are the reason why I agreed to the No More Bad Dates Pact in the first place.

  I’m done with guys like Alex.

  Chapter 17

  The problem with feelings is that they can be pretty tricky to control. Sure, there are things like deep breathing to combat worry, and deep breathing to deal with too much excitement. Oh, and there’s deep breathing to relax you and help you sleep better.

  There’s one thing I know for sure. Deep breathing does not help with feelings about Alex.

  I’ve been trying it, and so far, it’s had zero effect. Sometimes, it even makes the feelings that much stronger, which is the last thing I want to happen. He’s still right there, stuck inside my head, the memory of both kisses lingering on my lips.

  Sure, the glass or two of Chardonnay I had with Erin last night while watching Gilmore Girls at our apartment helped for a while, but even then, I had to remind myself about my four-point manifesto again before I left for work today.

  So, with what amounts to only a tenuous hold on my totally inconvenient and evidently uncontrollable feelings for Alex, I arrive at the gallery on Friday afternoon with more than a dash of trepidation.

  In fact, I’m straight-up terrified.

  Through a series of short and to the point (me) and cheeky and even sometimes flirty (him) emails, we have arranged to meet today to begin the process of unpacking boxes of photographs I’ve had printed, framed, and delivered to the gallery. Between Alex, Larissa, and myself, we’ve agreed on a hanging plan, and I’ve got the notes on what goes where in my notebook, ready to get on with the job. Well, until Larissa arrives and rearranges everything, of course.

  I’ve had all the images Larissa chose delivered to the gallery ready to be hung. So, when I unlock the gallery door and push it open, the only thing in the room is a stack of boxes, labeled “Darcy Evans.” I shrug my jacket off, pull a Stanley knife out of the new toolbox I got with a bunch of hardware store-type things on my way over here from the office, and begin the process of opening each box. As I pull each one out and unwrap it from its bubble wrap, I distract myself from looking closely at each image. There’s no way on this sweet Earth I’m going to let Alex get to me through his photography. I’ve let that happen once before, and look at where that got me. In a completely ill-advised passionate embrace in a café kitchen with a man I hate, that’s where.

  Instead, I force myself to think about anything but the images in my hands. My mind roves around such important topics as: what I’m going to sing at karaoke with the girls on Saturday night; whether I should I sing that cute Taylor Swift song, or stick with the ABBA classics Erin is obsessed with (okay, me too); and whether I should pair my new white pants with my black high heel sandals or my favorite silver ones. You know, important things in my life that require deep thought and analysis.

  When my phone beeps, I pick it up and find a message from Seth.

  I can’t wait to see you again tonight.

  I smile. Seth is such a great guy, and what’s more, I’m going to watch him show jump tonight. I fully expect to swoon when I see him in his equestrian outfit, sitting atop his horse. Seth’s the one, the guy I should be focusing on. I tap out a reply.

  Me too! I’m excited to meet your horses.

  I add some kisses and hit send.

  A reply pings back immediately.

  Remember what I said about the spade xoxo

  I crinkle my forehead. The spade? Is he still carrying on about that? And what has a spade got to do with a horse, anyway? I shrug and type I will xoxo and press send then get back to work.

  I’m about ten percent of the way through my unpacking task, humming a song I heard on the radio in my car on my way to the gallery when the door swings open. Despite knowing exactly who it is going to be, when I notice Alex’s bulk filling the doorway, my belly does a flip-flop.

  I return my attention to unpacking boxes and continue to hum, acting as though I don’t know he’s here. As irritating as it is that he has this effect on me, I know it’s only because of that inappropriate kiss stirring things up for me. Nothing more. The weirdness between us is only temporary. It’ll pass, a lot like gas does. Yes, that’s it! My feelings for Alex are nothing but an inconvenient build-up of methane.

  I smirk to myself as I stall for time by peeling off the bubble wrap from another photo. With my back still to him, I walk over to one of the walls and lean the photo up against it. All the while, I recite my four-point manifesto:


  1. No smoldering.

  2. No kissing.

  3. Mention Seth a lot.

  4. Pray.

  I know I have zero control over number one (how do you stop someone from smoldering at you?), but I sure can control numbers two through four, and that’s exactly what I intend to do again today. After all, it’s been working up to now, so there’s no reason for it not to work today—even if we’re alone together for the first time since the day we kissed.

  He clears his throat behind me, and I know I’ve got to turn around. Time’s up. I need to face the music. Or Alex Walsh, which is infinitely trickier for me than facing music could ever be.

  I steel myself and turn. “Oh, hi, Alex. I didn’t see you there,” I say brightly.

  He’s in jeans and a white T-shirt, that typical smile on his face. I do my best to ignore the way the sight of him makes things zing around inside me. I don’t want zings. Four-point manifesto. 1. No smoldering. 2. No kissing. 3. Talk about—

  “Darcy Evans with a knife,” he says, punctuating my thoughts. “This could end really, really badly.”

  I glance at the Stanley knife I’m holding firmly in my hand. “It could.” I toss my hair and try out a different tack. “Do as I say, and the blonde goes free.”

  His shoulders shake as he lets out a laugh, and the sound makes me smile, despite myself. “You’re funny. I never knew that about you.”

  “Oh, I am very funny.” I give another indignant toss of my hair. “My friends tell me that all the time.” They don’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. “In fact, I’m a lot of things you don’t know about.”

  “I bet you are.”

  I ignore his suggestive lilt. “Yes, I am.” And I’ve got a four-point manifesto that’s going to stop you in your tracks. Take that, Alex, with your distracting smolders and impossibly good kisses!

  He stands, watching me for an uncomfortable moment before I tear my eyes away, breaking the weirdness between us.

  “We’ve got a lot to get through today,” I warn.

  “Where do you want me to start?”

  “There are still a bunch more boxes to unpack, as you can see,” I keep my tone even and professional as I gesture at the stack in the middle of the room. “I figure once we’ve got all the photographs out, we can begin to arrange them per the plan.” I walk over to my purse and pull out my Labrador puppy notebook, flipping over to the relevant page. “The photographs are numbered on the back, so all we’ve got to do is put them in this sequence, hang them, and our work here will be done.”

  “You make it sound so easy.” He comes to stand next to me and peers over my shoulder at my notebook. He’s standing far too close. Of course he is. It’s his thing. Maybe he’s got a personal space issue? Maybe someone should point that out to him? I bet he makes a lot of people uncomfortable with his closeness. Really, it’s a personal fault that could be easily rectified.

  “Good thing you’re so organized. Organized and funny,” he says, his voice low with an amused edge to it. I can feel his breath on my neck, catapulting those darn zingy feelings into overdrive.

  “Yes, it is,” I say briskly as I move away from him. I place my notebook on top of one of the boxes and begin to slit open another one with my knife. “I’ll open these boxes, and we can then both pull out all the photographs and put them in order.”

  “Sure.” He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get this beautiful synergy of ours going, shall we?” he says, quoting Larissa’s comment about the two of us.

  I shoot him a patronizing smile. “Yeah, let’s.” The only beautiful synergy I want with Alex Walsh involves him moving permanently back in India and me getting on with my life in peace.

  I set about opening boxes, and we work surprisingly well together as a team, removing bubble wrap, consulting my number plan on where to put each photograph, then leaning them in their respective groupings up against walls. When we talk, it’s about the task at hand. But, despite the perfunctory nature of our communication, there’s an unspoken tension between us. Larissa would no doubt call it our “synergy.” Whatever it is, it fills all the spaces in the room like an oversized balloon, and when he’s close to me, the balloon presses against me, making it hard to breathe.

  I run through my four-point manifesto in my head. Frequently. I can avoid seeing his smolder if I concentrate on working and avoid looking at him when he speaks. Easy. As for point number two (No kissing), well, not seeing Alex smolder should take care of that. Number three is talk about Seth a lot. That I can do, no problem.

  I straighten up and carry out an exaggerated movement to look at my watch. I hold my pose, arm in the air, as I look at my wrist and wait for him to notice. Finally, he looks my way and I say, “I can only stay until six. I’ve got an important event tonight.”

  He only glances briefly at me before he returns his attention to the work. “Sure,” he replies.

  No, Alex, that’s not the plan here. He’s meant to ask me why I can only stay until six, not simply accept it with a noncommittal and frankly disappointing “sure.”

  I try again. This time I throw my hands in the air. “Gosh, we have so much to get through. I really hope an hour and a half will be enough time. It’s already after four-thirty,” I tap my watch, “and I need to leave at six for an important event, you know.”

  He straightens up, placing his hands on the small of his back and stretching. “Don’t stress out. What we don’t do today, we can do tomorrow. Sophie’s given me the weekend off.”

  I grind my teeth. Why won’t he take the bait? I’m blatantly dangling it in front of him, after all.

  He returns to his work.

  I’ve had enough. “Come on, Alex. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

  “About what?”

  Seriously?

  Exasperated, I reply, “Don’t you want to know what this important event is that I’ve got to leave at six for?”

  He places one of the photographs against the wall and turns back to face me. “I’ve got a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

  “I don’t have to,” I huff. “I’m just making conversation. That’s all.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Please, tell me, Darcy, what is the important event you’ve got to leave to go to at six?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. His tone doesn’t sound in the least bit like he actually wants to hear why I’ve got to leave at six. But since it means I get to create a boundary from my four-point manifesto with him, I leap on it.

  “Funny you should ask, Alex.” I give him a sly, triumphant grin. “I’m going to see Seth compete in a show jumping event,” I say proudly. “Seth’s the guy I’m dating, in case you forgot,” I add for good measure. No point being subtle about it now. That ship has well and truly sailed, crossed several oceans, and docked in a foreign land by now.

  I search his face for a reaction, fully expecting him to show he’s impressed. Who wouldn’t be impressed by a show jumping event? Horses, people dressed in equestrian fashion, tricky, daredevil leaps over high things. Royalty. Not that there’s going to be any royalty at Seth’s event tonight, of course, but they do attend these sorts of things. Really, you never know who might turn up (the fact they all live on the other side of the world is totally irrelevant right now).

  He raises his eyebrows, and I can tell he’s secretly impressed. “Show jumping, huh?”

  “Yes. Seth owns three horses, you know. He’s eventing tonight with one of them,” I reply, using the term Seth himself used. “I’m taking some of my friends along to watch.”

  “Are you into horses?”

  “Well, yes. But most importantly, I’m into Seth.”

  Why is he not getting this?

  He studies my face for a beat, then two, before he replies, “You’re acting weird again.”

  “No, I’m not,” I snap. “And what do you mean I’m acting weird again? When have I ever acted weird?”

  “All week, and I know why.”

  My heart rate kicks up
a notch. Don’t mention the kiss, don’t mention the kiss. “Oh, do you, now?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s because of what happened between us in the café kitchen.”

  He mentioned the kiss. Dammit!

  He licks his lips as though priming them to be kissed once more, his eyes beginning to smolder.

  I take a step back from him. At all costs, I must avoid the smolder! Instead of looking at him, I concentrate on a spot on the wall just to the left of his face. “That should never have happened. And I only kissed you because I felt guilty about opening that box of photographs.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “You kissed me because you felt guilty?”

  I raise my chin defiantly. “Yes.”

  “That’s a new one for me. I’m not sure I’d kiss someone out of guilt.” He pauses before he adds, “Not like that, anyway.”

  My eyes dart to his face. Yup, full-force smolder.

  I clear my throat as I push away the memory. “As I told you, it’s not going to happen again. I’m dating Seth.”

  “The show jumper.”

  I toss my hair and arrange my features into a confident smile. “Yes, the show jumper. Which is why I need to leave here soon, so I can watch him riding his horse.”

  He nods slowly, and I can almost feel his eyes boring into me. “Well, I hope you have a good time.”

  “I’m positive I will.” I give a brief nod and return my attention to the work. As I unwrap another photograph, I press on with point three in my four-point manifesto: mention Seth a lot. “Seth is a really great guy. I think you’d like him.”

  “Sure.”

  “He’s so sweet. Very thoughtful. So unlike other guys our age.”

  “Good for him.” He crosses the floor to where I’m standing.

  “Actually, I’d say it’s good for me. I’m the lucky one to have a guy like Seth.” I watch him for his reaction.

  His eyes flick to mine as he places his hand on the photograph I’m holding. “I’m really happy for you.”