Counting on You (Amarillo Sour, #1)

by Laura Chapman

  She pulled a face. “I love it, but it still needs some work.”

  “You’ve gotta do it if you want to build your equity.”

  “I always mean to do projects at night and on the weekends. But between grading papers, helping with after school programs, and working out, my poor house always gets neglected.”

  “Well, at a certain point you have to stop making excuses and just put in the work.”

  Her back straightened, and she took a slow sip of wine rather than say anything. She knew he was giving sound advice, but she couldn’t help feeling defensive.

  He didn’t even know her and he was calling her out.

  They fell silent again. Patrick made an accordion with his straw wrapper. She took the opportunity to give the bar a closer look.

  With the rustic, chipped wood paneling from floor to ceiling, the worn, oval-shaped bar, and deer antler chandelier that created more ambiance than light, Amarillo Sour put the hole in hole-in-the-wall. Like an old pair of running shoes, it was comfortable instead of impressive. The longhorn-shaped neon lights and stills from old cowboy movies would fit perfectly into her uncle’s basement along with his collection of shot glasses and old whiskey bottles.

  She’d never been to Amarillo Sour before, and she could understand why. The FAC-squared crew didn’t typically frequent neighborhood haunts or dives.

  That was a shame. There was something homey about a place like this. Something about it that kept her from bolting even as the silence between her and Patrick grew louder with every passing second. Maybe the teachers should try going somewhere more cozy instead of trendy for a change.

  Her date still didn’t show any sign of resuming their conversation. She supposed it fell on her to make an effort.

  “Do you have any pets?”

  “I had a dog when I was a kid. But . . .”

  He turned away, but not before he betrayed the hint of dewiness in his gaze. Oh, no. She’d inadvertently opened an old wound. Worse, still, she didn’t know what to say or do to get past this. So, she gave him a moment. He took it and eventually composed himself.

  Patrick cleared his throat. “Losing that dog was maybe the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I don’t think I can do it again.”

  “So . . . no more pets for you?”

  “It just doesn’t seem worth it. Not when you know they’re eventually going to die and break your heart.” He sniffed again. “What about you?”

  “I have an Irish setter. Rudy.”

  “Oh.”

  Correction, this date couldn’t just be going better—it couldn’t get worse.

  The silence returned, this time with an extra edge. Patrick picked up his phone and scrolled through messages, or maybe even his Facebook feed. She couldn’t blame him. They’d exhausted their general interests without finding any common ground. Why had Dexter ever thought they might hit it off?

  In fairness, he hadn’t promised a love connection. He’d just promised to help her break the ice. Maybe an awkward evening had been the point. She’d survive it and realize she could get through the discomfort of meeting strangers.

  She could also spend the next few weeks coming up with a plausible excuse for skipping the reunion that didn’t give her away as a wuss.

  Either way, tonight had been a bust. Patrick would not be asking for her number—or a second date. And he most certainly wouldn’t be her plus-one to the reunion. That was too bad. Not a tragedy, but she wouldn’t have minded having the whole situation settled right away.

  Maybe she really wasn’t built for romance and relationships.

  On the same wavelength for the first time that evening, Patrick held up his phone. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I forgot I was supposed to grab a later dinner with some friends tonight.”

  She searched his face, trying to see if he was lying or telling the truth. It didn’t really matter. They both knew this was a disaster. Why prolong the agony just to be polite?

  “I totally understand. You should go meet them.”

  “I’ve got this.” Pulling out his billfold, he tossed a few bills on the bar. Then, he hesitated. “I can wait until you finish.”

  “I can manage on my own.”

  That was all the convincing he needed. Patrick downed the last of his drink and was up out of his seat with a “nice to meet you.”

  When the door closed behind him, she let out a breath. “Well, that sucked.”

  “Seriously.”

  She started at the deep voice and slowly turned to face the source. Her gaze met his slate blue eyes for only a moment before dropping to his chin, which had at least two days’ worth of whiskers on it. She couldn’t help but notice the way his knit gray shirt clung to his lean shoulders or the Link Digital logo emblazoned across the front. Living in Lincoln, she’d come across the same logo countless other times. It had become a joke of sorts for locals to see how many LD shirts they might run into on a given day.

  But she’d never had one of the wearers talk to her. She’d most definitely never had one witness her making a giant idiot of herself.

  The stranger lifted a pint glass to his lips, hiding a smirk. Heat rose up her neck until it flushed her face. Oh, that was too much. It was one thing for him to watch her humiliation. It was another to laugh at it.

  “Did you enjoy the show?”

  His eyebrows flew up.

  She breathed deeply, trying to keep her heart rate under control. She had to pull herself together before she fell apart. “Now that we’ve established you were eavesdropping, maybe you have a few notes.”

  The beer caught in his throat. He covered his mouth while his shoulders shook. Forgetting her humiliation, she grabbed the glass with one hand and pounded his back with the other.

  When he seemed to catch his breath, she handed him her untouched glass of water.

  “Here. Drink this.”

  He wordlessly accepted the water and did as instructed. This time when their gazes met, she found gratitude rather than humor. The last ebbs of irritation receded. It was pointless to be mad. He may have watched her crash and burn, but he’d also had an even larger audience watch him choke.

  That had to even the playing field a little.

  When he could draw a proper breath, he set down the glass. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. People swallow wrong all the time.”

  “No.” He wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. “I meant sorry about eavesdropping on your date with Pat. Then giving snarky commentary.”

  At least he had a conscience. “I know what you meant.”

  “If you want to give me hell for it, you can.”

  “I’m good. It was probably pretty obvious how bad I am at this.”

  “Bad at what?”

  “Dating. Meeting people in general.” She twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingertips, leaving circles of condensation on the bar. “Or maybe I’m just bad at talking to adults. I get along with the kids at school well enough.”

  “You’re a teacher?”

  “High school math. What about you?”

  “I work in app development.” He glanced down at his shirt and lifted a shoulder. “At Link Digital.”

  “That sounds interesting.” Very interesting.

  “Trust me. It isn’t.”

  “It’s exactly the kind of job my students want to learn more about.” As this year’s sponsor for Girls Who Code and chairwoman of the upcoming Career Day, she had enough anecdotal evidence to back that up.

  “Nah . . .” He turned away, like he was nervous. She’d probably come on too strong. That seemed to be a serious problem for her. She was about to apologize when he cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t beat yourself up about it, though. Dating issues, and such.”

  Her heart hitched in her chest. “You really did hear everything, didn’t you?”

  “I did—sorry. But a lot of people have a hard time d
ating.”

  “I could gold medal in it.”

  “Maybe. But look around. Most of the people in here are still trying to figure it out. See that guy there?” He nodded toward another customer in his early thirties. Clad in a fitted black leather jacket, the brown-haired man had an elbow on the bar and was staring into his whiskey glass. Every so often he nodded in response to the animated man gesturing wildly with his hands while he spoke.

  “Who is that?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  “That,” he lowered his voice, too, “is the professor.”

  “Does he teach at the university?”

  “No, it’s just a clever nickname.” He grinned to soften the sarcasm. “But yes, he teaches at the university. History, I believe.”

  “None of my professors looked like that.”

  “Neither did mine. They usually stuck to tweed and khakis.”

  Interested despite herself, she leaned closer. “What’s his story?”

  “A couple of years ago, the professor moved here from England. And he didn’t just come to teach.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “The story goes that he met an American while he was teaching at a university. She was doing some graduate work. They fell in love, and he followed her back here.”

  “I’m sensing a but.”

  “Oh, there is. A few months after he signed a three-year contract with the university . . .”

  “Oh.” She didn’t need him to explain the relationship had fallen apart. “That’s terrible.”

  Part of her wanted to pry for more details, but it really wasn’t any of her business.

  “Now, see that couple over there?” She followed his gesture. “There’s Lucy and . . . I can’t remember his name. But he’s an old high school friend of hers. He serves in some branch of the military. He’s back in town for a short stay. A sailor on leave if you will.”

  There was something oddly familiar about the woman with her thick locks of light brown hair and dark brown eyes. “I think I know her.”

  “She’s a teacher.”

  “Oh, of course.” She sat up straighter. “She works at one of the other high schools, but I’ve met her at a couple of district development days. I should say hi.”

  He stayed her by gently placing a hand on her forearm. “Maybe catch her next time.”

  “Why?”

  “Check out that body language.”

  They were huddled close together, their faces inches apart. Lucy’s finger trailed the man’s forearm while he toyed with that shiny hair.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. They may have come here tonight as friends, but that’s not how they’re leaving.”

  Of course, they were on a date. It was plain to see. Maybe she would’ve noticed it sooner if she weren’t completely out of practice. She really was clueless.

  “If they’re that close to . . . that, then it sounds like they’re doing okay.”

  “They are. But I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s heading back overseas next week. She’s staying here. What are the chances they’re able to develop anything more serious than a one-night stand?”

  Her mouth formed a perfect O. “Yeah. You’re right. That’s probably not what I’m in the market for right now.”

  “And that’s okay.” He pointed to her empty glass. “Looks like we need a couple of refills. I’ve got this round.”

  “Oh . . . I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “I try not to have more than one glass when I’m driving.”

  “Live a little.”

  “And, I usually don’t drink with strangers.” She caught his raised eyebrow. “I said usually. What you just saw was a major exception.”

  “Why not make another?”

  She eyed him closely. She had no business having a second glass of wine, particularly not with the man who’d spied on her bad date. That said, she was enjoying the banter. More, she’d even been able to forget about her sad situation for a few minutes.

  One more glass couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay. Why not?”

  “Besides, we can change that. We don’t have to be strangers.” He extended his hand. “I’m Ian.”

  She took it, and the warmth of his palm against hers sent a tickle up her spine. “Haleigh. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” He released her hand, breaking that spark of electricity, and signaled one of the bartenders. “And if you’re up for the challenge, we can have that drink together.”

  She paused and pulled up her shoulders. “Okay, then. Thank you.”

  He introduced her to the bartender, Sidney, who returned with their refills a moment later. The woman made no attempt to mask her amusement. Well, great. She’d obviously caught the show, too.

  In an effort to mask her embarrassment, she raised the glass to her lips.

  “Wait.” He held out his glass to hers. “Here’s to taking chances.”

  She could drink to that. She toasted his glass and sipped, appreciating the way the wine both chilled her throat and warmed her chest on the way down.

  He drank his beer and set it down. “So, you know I couldn’t help overhearing your date with Patrick.”

  “Yeah, we covered that.”

  “And I know we only officially met a few minutes ago, but I feel like—what with the eavesdropping and all—we’ve gotten to know each other a little.”

  “Or you’ve learned my most embarrassing secret. I only know you develop software and—based on how well you know the lay of the land—you apparently spend a lot of your time hanging out at a bar.”

  “Which is pretty much all there is to know about me. Except that I like watching both sports and nerdy TV shows, and that I wish I could have a dog, but my apartment won’t let me.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “We’re practically married. Should we spend Christmas with your family or mine?”

  He snorted. “Now that we’re friends, and I know that you need a date to your reunion and you’re on a deadline, I wanted to run something by you.”

  Her heart fluttered. Was this guy she just met going to help her get a date? No, that was crazy. But maybe he had some advice. She’d been sarcastic when she’d asked for it earlier, but it really couldn’t hurt.

  In fact, it might be better coming from a stranger than any of her work friends. It would certainly keep Nina from spreading the details through the rumor mill.

  “I’m listening. Not that I know if you have the credentials to give lectures on—”

  “It’s not a lecture. And I’m not a dating expert. Well, not exactly. I’m not an expert,” he repeated and cleared his throat. “But I have done a lot of research on dating. Or at least my company has, and I’ve used it for my job.”

  “I thought you build apps.”

  “We do. Our new app—one that’s coming out next month—is a dating app.”

  “Like Tinder?”

  “Kind of, but not really.” He launched into an explanation about how the app was part game, part matchmaker. That it helped connect people who’d really get along without making the process cumbersome. So far, it sounded good.

  But how did she fit into this?

  “We’re actually trying to find one more person to try it out.”

  Oh. He needed a guinea pig. “Why?”

  “We’re close to the launch date. While our feedback has been good, it hasn’t been personal. We haven’t been able to see it from the inside.”

  “Why doesn’t one of your employees try it?”

  He shook his head. “That’s not objective enough. We need someone who can give us an inside look, while not influencing the outcome. Someone local. Someone who can find a good match that we can brag about to our investors. Someone with a good story.”

  Someone desperate enough to give it a try with an audience. Someone like her.

  She could see the logic. That didn
’t mean she liked where this was going. “So, you want me to try your app and report back.”

  “Only if you’re interested. No pressure. I just thought with your need of a date and our need for a tester . . .”

  She wasn’t sure what was crazier—that a stranger was trying to get her to try a dating app he’d built or that she could actually see the benefit. Something had clicked in her head when he’d brought up analytics and figures. Plus, while she might not be able to trust her heart or instincts to find a date, maybe she could put her faith in the science behind the app.

  There was just one problem.

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “The app?” His brow creased. “It works. I can show you—”

  “No.” She covered his forearm before he could pull out his phone for a demonstration. “What if I try the app but no one likes me?”

  His frown eased away, replaced by sympathy. “Someone will—”

  “You watched what just happened, right? You heard my lame story. I’m not a safe bet.”

  “There’s never such a thing as a safe bet with dating.”

  That was probably true. It didn’t put her at ease.

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Would you just think about it?” He reached for the pen someone had left behind after signing their check and scribbled on a napkin. He slid it over to her. “Take as much time as you need, though, the sooner the better. We both have deadlines.”

  She stared down at the digits. He wanted her to consider his proposition and to call him.

  Part of her said no. Absolutely not. She didn’t have time to play with someone’s app while granting them a backstage pass to how it went.

  Another part, one that was growing louder, said why not? What did she have to lose?

  She had a lot to consider. Slipping the napkin into her purse, she slipped the strap over her shoulder.

  “I’ll give it some thought and let you know either way.”

  “That’s fair. Like I said, take your time.”

  She glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to see it was almost ten. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed out this late. “I should probably go.”

  She reached for her wallet, and he shook his head.