No More Terrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

  How fan-freaking-tastic for me.

  I let out a heavy sigh, pick up my cup, and drain the final dregs of tea. From my spot on the cold floor, I look around the room. I have a lot of work to get through before the gallery opens next week. I might as well get on with some of that work. Who knows? Maybe it’ll take my mind off Alex?

  I push myself up off the ground and wipe the grime from my shorts. Thanks to Larissa’s obsession with the color blue, I never wear it during the weekend, although right now, with the dirt on this floor, a nice, dark navy would have been a whole lot more preferable to the ill-advised white shorts I threw on this morning.

  I trudge over to the tools and collect the hammer, level, pencil, tape, and hooks. Consulting the Larissa-approved plan in my notebook, I frown. If Alex has rearranged the images already hanging on the wall, how will I know what goes where now? I’m still studying my plan when the door is flung open, and Larissa comes sweeping in.

  I look up at her in surprise. “Larissa. It’s Sunday. What are you doing here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood, and I wanted to see how the exhibition is coming along.”

  I spy a Cozy Cottage Café cake box in her hand before she hastily slides it into her oversized Tod’s purse (to be fair, everything’s oversized on Larissa, she is Hollywood petite, after all). I raise my eyebrows. In the neighborhood, huh? I smile to myself. Even an anti-sugar, anti-gluten, anti-anything delicious wellness evangelist can’t resist the lure of a Cozy Cottage cake.

  She runs her eyes over my outfit and crinkles her brow. “You forgo blue on the weekends?” she asks.

  I glance down at my Barbie pink (ironic, remember?) singlet, white shorts, and tennis shoes. Not a smidge of blue in sight. “I like to mix it up.”

  “I’ve got on cream camisole on under this today,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

  “You’re a rebel, Larissa.”

  “Blue can get a little . . .” She searches for the word.

  “Blue?” I offer.

  “Exactly.” She wanders over to the wall Alex hung last night and studies it. I hold my breath. Although she agreed upfront to allow Alex to arrange the images any way he sees fit, when it comes to her projects, she’s not exactly known for her laissez-faire attitude. Artistic license is very much Larissa’s baby. “Darcy? This isn’t what we agreed.”

  I take a few tentative steps closer to her. “I think it works, don’t you?”

  As she studies the images, she tilts her head one way and then the other. It makes her look like a confused puppy, trying to work out what her human is communicating. Food? Walkies? Fetch the ball?

  By now, I’m waiting right beside her, hoping she likes it. If not, it’ll mean a battle between her and Alex at worst, and at best, I’ll have to rehang it all. Neither is an appealing prospect.

  She turns to me and beams. “Alex Walsh is a visionary. A genius visionary.”

  I chortle. Alex is a lot of things, but a genius visionary? I’m not so sure.

  “You like it?”

  “I adore it. It speaks to me.”

  Ah, the ultimate seal of approval. I half expect Three Tooth Guy to open his sparsely-furnished mouth and start talking to us. But that would be silly.

  I give her a relieved smile. “I’m sure Alex will be super happy to hear that.”

  She grips my arm with her tiny hand and says, “He is exactly what I wanted for this space, Darcy. Alex Walsh is perfect.”

  My heart does that weird contracting thing.

  “Now, tell me. Have you got the caterers booked?” she asks, and I nod. “Everything organic, no animal products of any kind?”

  “Everything is vegan, ethically sourced, organic, and local. The only way we could be any kinder to the environment is if we didn’t serve people anything to eat at all. And before you ask, I’ve got the aura readers to act as serving staff so our guests have the option of an aura read while nibbling on their healthful snacks.”

  Don’t get me started. The things I’ve got to do when I work for Larissa Monroe . . .

  Larissa claps her hands together in excitement. “Wonderful. What about the technology, the music?”

  “We have Phillippe playing his lute, followed by Chinchu on their mandolins and triangles, just as you wanted. I’ve got the PA system from the usual crowd, and your steps are ready and waiting out back.”

  Larissa is so small I had to get some custom-made steps for her to climb up on so that she can speak at these types of events and be seen.

  “My steps! Darcy, what would I do without you? Did you have any success with the zoo?”

  “They won’t allow us to have any meerkats, sorry.” Truth be told, I didn’t even call the zoo to ask if we could have meerkats at the opening. Having been down that track with the wallaby fiasco, I already knew the answer.

  Her expression is pinched. “Oh. I was sure they’d say yes after turning us down for the wallabies. But I do so love meerkats. They’re so cute with their whiskers and the way they stand up like this.” She does a poor imitation of a meerkat. “Oh, look. It’s Alex Walsh.”

  Instantly, my heart squeezes as the body zings ping to life and my throat begins to dry up. There’s a lot going on for me right now. I steel myself before I turn around to see Alex walking through the door.

  “Come in, come in,” Larissa says, although by now he’s already inside the gallery with the door closed behind him.

  “Err, thanks, Larissa.” His eyes sweep to mine, and I say a quick “Hello.” He says it back and shoots me a smile that has those darn zings darting around like they’re in the Hadron Collider.

  Larissa reaches up to air kiss him, but because he’s so much taller than her, he needs to lean down, and even then, she barely makes it to his cheek. “Alex Walsh, I love what you’ve done here.” She takes him by the hand and marches him over to the cluster of photographs he hung last night. His eyes flash to mine once more, then he mouths “Alex Walsh,” and I’m forced to bite back a smile.

  Having feelings for a guy you once spent a long time hating, have shared the two most incredible kisses of your life with, and who you’ve got some major feelings for now can make every moment an emotional high-speed car chase.

  As he and Larissa discuss his plans for the other photos, they wander around the room with me and my trusty Labrador puppy notebook trailing behind.

  “Well, that all sounds amazing to me,” Larissa declares with a clap of her hands. “I can tell your synergy is working wonderfully, you two. I knew it would.”

  I lift my eyes to Alex’s, and we share a smile. Oh, if only she knew.

  “You two keep up the good work. Thursday is the big day. I cannot wait!” She air kisses us both—me with a lot more ease than Alex, clearly—and then she leaves in a whir of compliments and encouragement, her contraband Cozy Cottage Café cake hidden safely in her purse.

  In her absence, the silence that falls around us is in stark contrast to the Larissa whirlwind, and I feel instantly awkward. I gesture at the photos he hung last night. “I, ah, like what you did here.”

  “Thanks.” He smiles at me and it warms me right up.

  I momentarily forget he’s in love with someone else.

  “I wanted each section to tell its own story. This,” he fans his hand out of the collection of photographs, “tells the story of Three Tooth Guy, where he lives, what’s important to him, his life, I guess.” He points at the image of a smiling boy of about ten, holding out a milkshake. “I threw in this image of a kid at a lassi cart as a kind of an in-joke for you and me.”

  “You did?” I look at the image in relation to the others, and suddenly it makes sense. “I get it. Three Tooth Guy can’t eat solids because he’s only got three teeth.”

  “Exactly. And lassis are delicious. Have you ever tried one?” he asks, and I shake my head. “They’re made of yogurt. My favorite is mango. I’ll make you one someday.”

  Alex is going to make me a lassi someday? “I’d like that.” I smile at
him and he returns it warmly.

  “We should, ah, get on with hanging these photos, I guess,” he says.

  I wave my notebook in the air. “I’ve updated the plan with what you and Larissa agreed.”

  “You’re so organized.”

  I give a small shrug. “I try to be.” There’s no table to lay my notebook on so I stack a couple of the empty boxes and place it on top of them. “We’ve got twelve more sections to hang.”

  Alex comes to stand at my side, and we both study the revised plan. I tell myself not to do it, but I can’t help myself. I breathe in his delicious scent, those Hadron Collider zings doing overtime inside.

  “That all looks good to me. Let’s start by moving the photos into piles, and then we can begin to hang.”

  We work together, and conversation begins to flow. He tells me about how he likes being back in Auckland, and how he was glad he bought his place when he did.

  “Can I ask you a blunt question?”

  “Darcy, most things you say to me are blunt.”

  “They are?”

  “Yeah. It’s ones of the things I like about you.”

  It’s one of the things he likes about me. One of them. I wonder how long the list is. I try to suppress a massive grin, but it busts out across my face anyway. “Thanks.”

  “So? What’s your blunt question?”

  My blunt question. Right.

  “How did you afford to buy your place? I don’t mean for that to sound rude, it’s just you’re a barista, not a president of some big company.”

  “From this,” he says with a sweep of his hands.

  “From your photographs?”

  He nods. “I wasn’t always this high-flying, minimum wage café worker you see before you now, you know.”

  “High-flying, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah. When it comes to making coffee, I’m the best. I can make you an Americano faster than you can say ‘antidisestablishmentarianism.’”

  “Antidisa-what?”

  He laughs. “It’s one of the longest words in the English dictionary. Didn’t you study history in high school?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t remember anything about that.”

  He gives a modest shrug. “I loved history. Next to art, it was my favorite subject. And in case you want to know, antidisestablishmentarianism is a word used to describe people who were against the disestablishment of the Church of England.”

  “And I bet you talk about the disestablishment of the Church of England, like, a lot, right?”

  His eyes dance with mischief. “Oh, yeah. All the time, especially when Jas and I hit the pool table. I’m very sophisticated, you know.”

  A giggle bubbles up and I snort. “That’s what I always say about you. Alex Walsh is so sophisticated.”

  “See? You agree.”

  He’s flirting with me. This feels amazing. I collect a strand of hair and twirl it around my fingers. If I’m going to flirt, I’m pulling out all the stops. “So, when are you going to make me this super-fast coffee, barista extraordinaire?”

  “I’m sure we can find a time. You’ll have to say the word, though. And I’m not sure how you’ll get on with it. It does have twelve syllables.”

  “That’s a lot of syllables.”

  “Exactly. I’m sorry, Darcy,” he says with a shrug, “but I just don’t think you can do it.”

  “Oh, you are so wrong. Challenge accepted. I will learn how to say antidis-whatever—”

  “Antidisestablishmentarianism.”

  “Yes, that. And you will lose.” I reach out and we shake hands.

  “Only, I’ll win,” he replies, my hand still in his.

  “Sure you will.”

  Our gazes lock. I could almost forget the fact he’s in love with someone else. I could step a little closer, I could place my hand on his arm, I could reach up and—

  No. I can’t do any of that. We would end up kissing and it would be absolutely wonderful, and then he’d go back to being heartbroken over another woman. Forget the nail file, I’d be up that creek with a toothpick for a paddle.

  I want more from him than to be some rebound girl. I want him to feel about me the way I feel about him. But Chetana broke his heart, messed him up, and then he was sent away. It would make a sad but romantic story if I weren’t the schmuck holding out for the guy.

  But I guess that’s all I can be to him. The schmuck. The girl he didn’t choose back in high school. The girl he might like to kiss occasionally but not be with. Not really.

  I shoot him the breeziest smile I can muster then turn away. I pretend to busy myself looking through my notebook, but all I can think about is how nice it would be if there was no Chetana, if I hadn’t spent all this time and energy hating him, if we could be together.

  And then, I feel his arms circle around my waist, and I can feel his breath tingling my neck. “Darcy,” he whispers, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

  I swivel around and pause for a nanosecond to look into his eyes. “I can’t, Alex,” I whisper, my resolve slipping.

  “Why not? I figured a girl who needs to write a four-point manifesto to avoid falling for a guy must feel something for him. Something big.” He brushes the hair back from my face. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “Like I do for you.”

  “But . . . Chetana.”

  “Chetana didn’t want me. And anyway, she is in India, probably married to another guy by now.”

  “Married?”

  He nods slowly, his eyes momentarily closed over. “I want to be with you. You and only you. You’re in here,” he touches his head, “and in here.” He places his hand over his heart.

  I can barely believe my ears. “I am?”

  A grin busts out over his handsome face. “Oh, yeah. You so are.”

  I reach up and push my fingers up into his hair, and he responds by pulling me into an earthshattering kiss. It’s the kind of kiss I’ve only ever experienced with one man—the man in my arms right now.

  When we finally come back up for air, after what can only be described as an utterly spectacular kiss, he presses his forehead against mine. “You know we just broke rule number two, don’t you?”

  Warmth spreads through my belly and a smile bursts out across my face. “I guess I’m going to have to race to rule number four as soon as I can.”

  “I don’t remember rule number four.”

  “Pray.”

  His laugh is deep and delicious. “And what are you going to pray for, exactly?” he asks.

  I pull back and lift my eyes to his, suddenly nervous. “I guess that all depends on you.”

  “Well, if you pray for a whole lot more kisses like that, you can definitely count me in.”

  “Oh, I was going to pray for a sold-out exhibition opening,” I tease. “But I guess I could throw in some more kisses if I’ve got to.”

  “You’re so kind.”

  “I’m very charitable.”

  “I can tell.” He kisses me again, and my head begins to spin. “Did your prayers involve me asking you out on a date tonight?”

  “The whole idea behind the four-point manifesto is to help me avoid you.”

  “Could you revise it?”

  “Let me see.” I throw my eyes up to the ceiling and tap my chin as though deep in thought.

  “Don’t leave a guy hanging here.”

  This time, it’s my turn to pull him in and kiss him. And I make sure it’s a good one, just to show him I mean business. “I would love to go on a date with you, Alex Walsh.”

  “Good.” And then he kisses me again. And again. In fact, we hardly get any more work done on the exhibition, we’re so busy kissing and talking and simply enjoying being together.

  And it is nothing short of perfection.

  Chapter 22

  The next few days are heavenly. We spend so much time together, getting to know one another, sharing our stories, our lives, that hating him feels like an emotion that belonged to an entirely different
girl.

  Today, with our work on the exhibition done, and the opening only hours away, Alex takes me to one of the places he says he loves the most in Auckland. So here we stand, me puffing a little more than I should for a walk deemed “easy” by Alex, on top of the rolling green of Mt. Eden, a dormant volcano not far from the heart of the city.

  “Isn’t the view here spectacular?” he says to me, his arm slung around my shoulders as we look out at the city below us and beyond to the sparkling blue of the Hauraki Gulf.

  I glance up at him, and warmth spreads through me. “It is.”

  He looks down at me and our gazes lock for a moment before he turns to face me, pulling me against him. “I never thought this could happen, you know.”

  “That I’d make it up the hill?” I tease.

  “Oh, I knew you could do that. You’ve got those lovely long legs, remember?”

  I laugh. “I forgot I had those.” I’d told Alex all about the hobbyhorse disaster and how Seth’s biggest regret when I ended things with him seemed to be that I wouldn’t become his show jumping partner with my ‘lovely long legs.’

  “That hobbyhorse guy was so right. You do have great legs, although I solemnly promise that I do not have any interest in you riding around on a stuffed toy at the end of a broom handle.” I laugh, and he adds, “Although it would be hilarious to watch.”

  I nudge his arm. “I would totally rock it and you know it.”

  He beams at me. “I bet you would.”

  I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. “So, what did you never think could happen?”

  His features grow serious. “That I could feel this way about someone new. And you know what? I’m so glad it’s with you, Darcy Evans.”

  I beam at him. “Me, too.”

  I press my lips together. I know it’s fast, and I know I may be rushing it, but what I feel is so intense, so huge, I need to tell him.

  “You know how people say the opposite of hate is love? It’s not true. The opposite of love is indifference. It’s when you really couldn’t care less about a person. You don’t put the energy into something as big as hating them, because they’re nothing to you.”

  “Are you going somewhere with this?” he teases. “Or is this a general observation you feel you have to share right now?”