“Makes sense.”
It was the only part of this situation that did, frankly.
“We can build your landing page while it’s working.”
“A landing page. Like my profile?”
“Basically, but it’s less extensive than the one you make for Facebook. You set a picture and add a short bio about yourself. That’s about it.”
“And this is what people will see when I appear?”
“That and a couple of short facts about why you’re a match.” He caught her blank stare. “That part will make sense when you see it.”
She pursed her lips. “What should I do for my profile?”
“What do you want people to know about you?”
There wasn’t much to say. She wasn’t the most boring person in the world, but she wasn’t exactly ready to start booking stand-up routines at the comedy club either. “Where should I start?”
“Well . . . Do you have any pictures of yourself on your phone?”
Who didn’t? “I could find some.”
“That’s a good place to begin.”
Together, they selected her main profile photo along with four others for matches to flip through. Ian didn’t offer much commentary or explanation on the ones he chose except to say, “That shows you’re an active person” and “This one shouldn’t give anyone the wrong idea.”
The wrong idea. That would be for the men just looking for a hookup. She was so not ready for that kind of date. What would she even do if a guy invited her home or tried to kiss her? She’d probably cry or lose her supper. Neither of those scenarios was particularly appealing.
Just one more thing to worry about with this plan.
By the time she had to write her bio, Haleigh gave control over to Ian. As long as she had the app’s architect around, she might as well put him to work. His eyes narrowed and his brow creased as his fingers flew quickly over the screen. He reread the words to himself, nodded, and passed it back to her.
Cautiously, she read the screen.
Laid-back teacher looking to cut loose after school. Straight-A students preferred, but not required. Dog lovers get extra credit.
She frowned. “That’s it?”
“Did you want to add something else.”
“No . . . it’s just . . . short.”
“It’s supposed to get people’s attention. Not earn you a 1600 on the SAT.” He shrugged. “If you want to be wordier, be my guest. It’s your profile.”
Haleigh wanted to argue, but he was probably right. Anyone using an app that had you pick your favorite burrito topping in lieu of answering an actual soul-searching question wouldn’t want to read more than a couple of sentences.
Besides, she couldn’t come up with anything better.
“I’m not really laid-back. Isn’t that false advertising?”
“You’re fine hanging out at a dive bar two nights in a row and confess to living in T-shirts and jeans.” He raised his glass in a silent toast. “Sounds low maintenance to me.”
He could go ahead and think that.
Taking a deep breath, she hit “post” and her profile appeared, complete with pictures, her age, and Ian’s pitch. “What now?”
“Your first setups should appear any second.”
She was about to ask how long it would take when an alert popped up:
Meet your first connection.
“Oh!” She held up the phone. “I already have one.” She didn’t give him a chance to see, though, because her phone pinged again, sending her notification of a second, and then a third match. With every passing moment, another appeared. Suddenly, she had dozens of men at her fingertips. Skeptical as she was about whether or not this would work, it was still kind of exciting to see a list of potential matches. Even if their connection only looked good on paper. “The list is getting longer.”
“Apparently, there are a lot of fish in Lincoln’s sea.”
“That’s good news for your company.” She scrolled through the list of matches a couple of times before selecting one profile to review. “You haven’t even officially launched yet.”
He waved off the remark, but he couldn’t mask the pride on his face. She didn’t blame him. After spending months planning and creating something, it had to be thrilling to see it come alive.
“Click on one of the profiles,” he urged.
She chose a guy named Brandon, age twenty-nine, who had jet-black hair and a strong chin.
Meet Brandon.
You both like Star Wars.
He drinks wine, too.
Want to send him a message?
“Star Wars and wine. That sounds like a solid foundation for a relationship.”
“Some have started on less.”
Ian was full of good points tonight. She would have told him as much when another idea struck.
“What am I supposed to say to these guys?” She flipped her phone facedown on the counter. “You saw me last night. I can’t make small talk.”
“You’ve done fine with me.”
“Yeah, but you aren’t trying to date me. There isn’t as much pressure.”
Something gripped onto her chest, making it harder to breathe. Before it consumed her, she grabbed the glass of water and slowly drank each drop. A jolt of pain popped into her forehead, a classic case of brain freeze, but at least she’d stopped the panic from taking over.
Ian hadn’t said anything, but concern was etched across his face. She should put him at ease.
“I’m okay. I just . . . wish I had a better grasp on how I’m supposed to do this.” She gestured to the phone. “Apparently, it’s easy to find people. But how do you actually get to know them without developing a case of word vomit?”
He stared, like he was waiting for her to burst into tears or grow a horn out of her forehead. After another moment passed, he shook his head and ran a hand over his cropped light-brown hair.
“Would a practice round make you feel better?”
Now it was her turn to gape. “Practice round?”
“I could get a few guys here—strictly for research purposes—and you could go on practice dates with them.”
“Practice dates.” She was repeating herself. Again. But as she did, his idea made some kind of sense. “So, you’d ask a couple of your friends to pretend they were meeting me for the first time and I could work out my jitters.”
“Basically.”
On the one hand, it was absurd. She was twenty-eight. She should be able to get through a conversation without having to rehearse. On the other, she could use the practice. If she wanted to come out of this with a date to the reunion, she had to try.
“Let’s do it. Let’s see who you’ve got.”
Chapter Six
When Ian arrived at Amarillo Sour the following evening, he expected to find a tense and borderline frantic Haleigh. Based on the number of questions she’d texted throughout the day, he was prepared for a wreck.
Should I dress like I’m going on a date?
What does someone wear on a first date at a bar?
Do I need to curl my hair or get a blowout?
What’s a blowout?
He’d been forced to consult Taylor and an intern. It hadn’t been the most comfortable conversation of his life. Their input seemed to calm Haleigh down, and he put it under the “worth it” column.
It was a shock, then, to find two of tonight’s fake bachelors pacing outside the bar. Apparently, Haleigh wasn’t the only one with stage fright. He groaned inwardly.
Ford, the bar’s owner and the first contestant in the evening’s speed dating session, intercepted him in the parking lot.
“Should I have dressed up for this thing?” Ford asked, gesturing over his shoulder.
Ian squinted to get a closer look at James and nearly laughed. The professor had upgraded his usual uniform of jeans and a leather jacket to a more fitted suit coat and dress shirt. In his right hand, he clutched a single red rose.
Who would hav
e guessed? The professor had moves.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“He came dressed like he’s taking her to homecoming.” Ford shook his head. “I thought this was a practice round. I didn’t realize we were supposed to bring flowers.”
“You weren’t.”
“Well, he did. And now he’s going to make me look like an ass.”
Again, Ian would have laughed, except he didn’t want to piss off the man who kept his favorite local beer on tap.
“I can tell him to ditch the rose,” Ian offered.
“No, that’ll make me look like a crybaby.” Ford shoved his hands in his jeans and glared at one of his best customers. “I’ll figure it out.”
Ian hoped so. It wasn’t like Ford to get hung up on anything, let alone a fake first date.
Leaving the other man to sulk, Ian moved toward James. The closer he got, the paler the professor’s complexion became. Great. One man was in danger of flipping a table and the other looked about ready to lose his dinner in the bushes. He had his work cut out for him. That wasn’t even factoring in Haleigh, who might be passed out on the bar floor. He grimaced. Ford didn’t run a complete dump, but who knew the last time that floor had been disinfected?
Unsure of how to deal with the professor, Ian defaulted to feigning obviousness. “How’s it going?” He thrust his hand forward to shake, but James ignored the gesture. “Thanks for helping us out tonight.”
“I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
“Sure, you can.”
James ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfectly coiffed locks. Somehow it looked even cooler than it did before. Lucky son of a—
“What’s the problem?” Ian asked. “You were fine last night.”
“I was four pints in when you asked me. I would’ve said yes to anything.”
Again, Ian found himself envying the man. If he’d said the same thing, people would’ve mocked him for being a lightweight. Yet, when the professor said it in his British accent, he sounded charming. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.
“Maybe you should have a pint o’ two before ya meet the gi’l,” Ian suggested, in his bad imitation of a British accent. “It might calm ya ne’ves.”
The professor squinted his dark eyes and stared at the building’s brick wall. “You might be onto something there.”
“I usually am.”
James fussed with the lapels on the jacket. “This is unchartered territory for me. I’ve never gone on a blind date before.”
It had also been a while since his last date. Ian knew that. And James knew Ian knew that. At least that would be something he shared in common with Haleigh. Not that he could say that out loud. The other man’s pride was still fragile, and Ian couldn’t risk freaking him out to the point that he left. It had been hard enough to find dates on short notice as it was.
“This is all practice.” Ian cuffed his shoulder. “She’s nervous too. That’s why we’re here.”
With fake dates one and two slightly calmed, but still in their respective states, Ian walked inside. He released a heavy sigh of relief when he found Haleigh chatting at the bar with Sidney. The closer he got, the more he saw the nerves in her body posture. A hint of stress etched around her eyes. Still, she was there and putting on a fairly good act.
And she wasn’t sprawled out on the floor either. Things were looking up.
“How’s it going, Champ?” He leaned up against the bar next to her. “Ready to go to bat or do you need a pep talk from the coach?”
Haleigh’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
“If you can’t find any joy in your work, what’s the point?”
She shook her head and mouthed “don’t worry about it” to an annoyed Sidney. Meeting his stare, she shakily raised the wine glass to her lips, though her expression never changed.
“Well? What’s your advice?”
Oh. That. He hadn’t actually expected her to want some. And he didn’t have anything prepared.
“Just a few pointers.” He folded his arms and stood straight again. “First, and this should go without saying, but no mention of your ex-boyfriend or the reunion.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Yeah. I’ve got that. Second?”
“It’s okay to ask questions, but this isn’t a job interview. Keep it light. Easy. Somewhat superficial.”
“Then how will we get to know if we’re compatible?”
“You’d be surprised what you can learn about a person from talking about favorite childhood TV shows and best vacations,” Sidney chimed in. He glared at her. “What? Am I not allowed to talk? I do a lot more dating than you—”
“Third,” he continued, giving Sidney another silencing look, “Don’t overthink your answers. That doesn’t mean you should ramble on and on, but . . . be real.”
“Be real?” She shook her head. “What does that even mean?”
“You’ll figure it out.” Glancing across the room, he noted that Ford and James had each taken seats at different tables. They might as well get started. “See those two guys over there?”
“The professor and the bar owner?”
He nodded. “Those are your dates.”
That seemed to snap something in Haleigh. Her hand shot out and gripped onto his arm. “I thought you said there’d be three.”
“There will.”
“Where’s the third?”
“He’ll be here.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about it.” He extracted his arm from her grasp and turned her around to face the tables. “Let’s focus on one guy at a time. Get in there. Now.”
She grumbled something under her breath about how Ian was supposed to be coaching her, not bossing her around, but moved forward. At a pace that would make the tortoise look speedy. He bit back a grin, but only because he’d felt the tension in her shoulders. While this was only a dress rehearsal, she was worrying like this was opening night.
He should cut her some slack.
Shaking his head at himself, he moved forward and grabbed her arm. He waited for her to meet his gaze.
“You can do this.” His hand slid down to link with hers. “Just . . . try to have fun.”
“Fun?” She gave a humorless laugh. “Do you think there’s anything fun about this?”
“There should be.”
“Do you have fun when you’re on a deadline and you have no idea what you’re doing?”
“No.” He’d give her that. But if she didn’t change her attitude about this soon, the next few weeks were going to be a headache. For both of them. “There’s no point in doing this if you won’t be open to the possibilities.”
“‘Be open to the possibilities?’ You should write fortune cookies.”
“Haleigh, come on.” He gently squeezed her hand. “What’s the worst thing that can happen tonight?”
“I can pull another Friday.”
“Which wasn’t that bad.”
“Patrick bailed on me during the first round.”
“He’s one of the most awkward guys I’ve ever met.” When she only raised an eyebrow, he sighed. “Seriously. Whoever set you up should give up matchmaking. Do you have any ideas how many first dates he’s brought here and blown?”
“There have been more than one?”
“Oh yeah.” Her lip twitched, but she didn’t seem to completely believe him yet. “Trust me. It’s a running joke. I don’t know how the guy can stay in business as a real estate agent when he’s that bad at small talk.”
“Maybe he’s better when crown molding and curb appeal are the subjects.”
Ian chuckled. “See, you don’t have anything to worry about. Talk to Ford like you’re talking to me now.”
“We’re not talking. We’re arguing.”
“Let’s meet halfway and call it banter.” That earned him a grin. He gave her arm one more squeeze, then let go. “This is a practice. We’re all here to
help you. If you feel yourself freezing up, remember that.”
“You have your phone ready?”
That was how they’d decided he’d communicate with her throughout the dates. When a subtle nod or hand gesture wouldn’t work, he would shoot her a quick text with directions. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of plans, but he had a feeling nothing else about this experience would be easy. They might as well keep their line of communication simple.
He held up his iPhone. “I’ll be right across from you the whole time.”
Sparing him one more nervous glance, she crossed the room and started to sit next to Ford.
“You’re at a table,” he called out. When she gave him a blank stare, he shook his head and strode toward her. “You’re sitting at a table. There’s just two of you.”
“Right?”
“Sit across from him.”
Her mouth formed an “o.” Face flushed red, she took the seat opposite Ford. Ian settled into his own perch at the lookout table.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“It’s all good.” Ford flashed her a grin. He’d calmed down considerably from the deranged man who’d greeted Ian moments earlier. Reaching across the table, he shook her hand. “Haleigh? I’m Ford. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Haleigh.” She froze, then shook her head. “Sorry, you just said my name. I guess I don’t have to introduce myself again all over.”
“It’s all good.” He released her hand, but it took Haleigh another second to catch on and let go. “Do you come here often?”
“It’s only my third time. But you know that.”
Shaking his head, Ian sent his first message.
You’re supposed to pretend this is your first date.
But I’ve already met him. It’s weird.
Just go with it.
Darting him a quick glare, she turned her attention back to Ford. “I’ve been here a couple of times. I like it.”
“Do you?” Resting his elbows on the tabletop, he leaned forward. “What do you like about it?”
“It’s cozy. It kind of reminds me of my uncle’s basement.”
“So, your uncle has great taste in interior decor?”
“Oh, definitely not.” She pulled a face. “Sorry, but that doesn’t make it any less appealing.”
Counting on You (Amarillo Sour, #1) Page 6