Dating-ish (Knitting in the City Book 6)

by Penny Reid

  That made me laugh, and I pointed a teasing smile at him. “Yeah, you should be afraid.”

  “All I’m saying is, maybe the thought of disappointing you, of being a disappointment to you, or not being worthy of your awesome, is what’s really going on. In which case,” Abram gathered another deep breath and leaned back in his chair, “you’re no better off. Because you should believe him about that, too.”

  Matt: I have a proposition for you. Meet me at our coffee shop tomorrow at 10.

  Matt: Just in case you’ve forgotten, it’s the one where we bonded over The 120 Days of Sodom.

  Matt: Pun intended.

  “What’s that face?”

  I glanced up from my phone, finding Nico watching me with a concerned expression.

  Tucking my cell back in my purse, I shrugged. “It’s just my face.”

  I’d left my parents’ house after breakfast on Sunday, returned the car, and walked the few blocks to Quinn’s building. Nico, Fiona, and I were at Nico and Elizabeth’s place, putting finishing touches on the food and drinks for dinner. It was Sunday night and Fiona decided to throw an impromptu dinner party. Not wanting to leave Janie out, Fiona, Nico, and I had prepared the food at Elizabeth’s penthouse with plans to carry it over to Quinn and Janie’s to serve.

  “Sorry. I promise, I’m not the smile police. But who was that?” The tall Italian glanced at Fiona and then lifted his head toward my purse. “Was that work? Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head, affixing an unconcerned smile on my features. “No. It was Matt.”

  “What’s going on with you two?” This question came from Fiona; she looked confused. “Every time I ask Matt about it he says you’re working on a story together.”

  “That’s true.” I rolled a rectangle of melon in a slice of prosciutto, then placed it on the tray, pushing away my raw, prickly feelings.

  “It’s more than that,” Nico accused. “Look at her. She’s blushing. That always means something sexy is happening.”

  That made me laugh even though I didn’t feel like laughing.

  He pointed at me and looked to Fiona, as though appealing to her. “And now giggling? See?”

  “I see it.” She watched me with a pensive non-expression.

  “Now what’s wrong with you?” Nico asked Fiona. “Why do you look worried?”

  Her eyes cut to him. “Do I?”

  “Yes,” I answered for him, giving her a questioning look.

  She stared at me for a beat, then picked up the stuffed tenderloin she’d just finished covering in foil and handed it—oven mitts and everything—to Nico. “Take this next door, please. And tell them we’ll be finished in just a few more minutes.”

  He glanced between the two of us. “I see what’s going on here. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “You boys have your secrets, us girls have ours.” Fiona gave him a patient smile. “Goodbye, Nicoletta.”

  Releasing a grumbly sigh, Nico mumbled something under his breath about Dan and Kat, and then left the kitchen. Fiona didn’t speak again until she heard the door to the apartment shut.

  “How much do you know about Matt?”

  I struggled for how best to respond, finally deciding on, “We’re not dating, Fiona. We’re just friends.”

  And I wasn’t sure I even wanted us to be that anymore. Being just friends with Matt had been fine and dandy until I had to witness him being more than friends with someone else.

  “Has he told you he was married?”

  “Yes,” I admitted freely. “He also said he isn’t interested in long-term relationships.” I tried to sound matter-of-fact.

  “Good. I’m glad he’s being honest with you,” she said, her eyes betraying a hint of concern. “You should believe him.”

  Licking my suddenly dry lips, I rolled another piece of melon in the prosciutto. “Yes. He’s been very honest with me.”

  Something in my tone must’ve alerted her to how I was feeling, because she softened her voice as she asked, “And he told you about his old job? Wanting him back?”

  My head snapped up and I stared at her, my mouth working for a few seconds before I managed, “What?”

  Fiona rubbed her belly absentmindedly. “He told Greg they’re pushing him pretty hard about it, offering him stock options and his own laboratory, his own dedicated line budget. Did he tell you that?”

  I had to shake my head, because he hadn’t told me.

  Fiona crossed to me and placed her hand on my arm, tugging me so we were facing each other. “Hey. Talk to me.”

  I had the sudden urge to sit down. “I don’t really know what to say.”

  Was he leaving?

  Was he going to tell me?

  Why hadn’t he told me already?

  Her probing stare intensified. “Did something happen? You seemed out of sorts on Friday night when we got home.”

  I laughed. Not a crazy laugh, more like a tired, sad, irritated-with-myself laugh, and crossed to the kitchen table, sinking into a chair. “I’ve been deluding myself for a few weeks, letting my hopes run away from me, but I’m honestly fine now.”

  As Fiona sat in the seat next to mine, I gave her the CliffsNotes version of what had occurred, including the visit to my parents’ house and my mother’s sage advice. I did, however, leave out my brother’s hypothesis. I hadn’t decided what to think about that yet.

  “Oh, Marie.” Just like my mom, Fiona reached for my hand and held it. But unlike my mom, her expression wasn’t sympathetic, it was equal parts frustrated and determined. “I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Matty Simmons. And as much as I’d like to see him with someone as amazing as you, there’s a reason it never occurred to me to set him up with any of my friends.”

  “And why is that?” I had to admit, I was curious about Fiona’s reasons. I trusted her completely, both her as a person and her judgment.

  “Did he tell you anything about his parents?” Her lovely brown eyes warmed with anxious affection.

  “No, actually.” He hadn’t. I’d asked a few times, but never pushed the issue.

  “I knew them, growing up. They’re still friends with my parents. Well, I guess they’re what my parents consider friends.” Her features rearranged into a look of forlorn sadness. “Matty’s parents are very cold people.”

  “They didn’t hurt him, did they?” A burst of worry cinched my throat.

  “They ignored him. He had a nanny who was very sweet. I babysat him on weekends and tried to give him lots of hugs and affection. And there was a chef on staff who adored him like a son—to a point—or a grandson, I guess. But his own parents had no time for him. The only people who gave him affection were paid to do so. And when those people left his parents’ employ, he never saw them again.”

  “That’s awful.” Tears stung my eyes as I imagined a child version of Matt, being ignored by his parents. My heart swelled with hurt on his behalf.

  “It is. It was. My parents weren’t perfect, but they told us they loved us, gave us their version of guidance, were there to answer our questions. He had none of that.” Fiona’s mouth curved to the side, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “If Matt told you he wasn’t capable of a committed relationship, he knows what he’s talking about. He’s an excellent person. He’s been married once and, as you know, it didn’t work out. He’s not the type to give up easily, or lightly.”

  I nodded, swallowing a lump of grief along with Fiona’s pill of wisdom.

  “He grew up without being held or treasured. I’m not saying he’s incapable of it, I’m just saying he didn’t learn from the people who should have loved him the most. His priority is his work, not people.”

  Managing a small smile, I turned my palm over and held her hand in mine. “Yes. He’s said something similar.”

  “Like I said, he’s a good guy, a really good guy, but you have such a big heart, Marie. You are entirely too generous and loyal and kind. You deserve someone who knows how
special and amazing you are. I don’t want to see you get hurt by someone who is simply incapable of giving you what you need. It’s not his fault. But you are so wonderful. You deserve someone who is going to put you first.”

  You deserve . . .

  “Don’t worry. I see things clearly.”

  Now.

  I was seeing clearly now.

  17

  Synthetic / Bio-fabricated Rhinoceros Horn

  A cultured, 3-D printed rhino horn which carries the same genetic fingerprint of, and is visually identical to, an actual horn; “printed” and made of synthetic keratin.

  Source: Pembient

  The café was much less busy this time, so I had my pick of spots. I’d selected the table. The coveted booth by the window, farthest from the door. The wall curved, creating a nook-type atmosphere. Noise was muted, making it feel private and cozy.

  Instead of staring unseeingly at the worst novel ever written, I read a handwritten letter from my friend Camille, the software developer and my neighbor in the office co-op. She’d made good on her threat to take a vacation and was currently in Germany.

  And she’d met a man. A German man.

  Her words were cautiously optimistic as well as despairing:

  He treats me like a queen! Oh, Marie. I wish you could meet him. We met on my first day. I was a mess, coming straight from the airport to the hotel and my room wasn’t ready. So I checked my bags and decided to wander the city. I stopped into a bakery and he came out of the back. He’s so beautiful, inside and out. His father’s people emigrated from Somalia twenty years ago and his mother’s side is Bavarian. He speaks Somali, Arabic, German, French, and English. He owns a bakery! Isn’t that crazy?

  Anyway, I forgot my wallet in my bags and he gave me lunch on the house, joking I would have to wash dishes to pay for it. Then he sat with me and asked me all about myself. He’s amazing. I left, feeling like I was walking on a cloud. The next day I brought him the money to pay for my lunch and he wouldn’t take it, instead saying that I should let him take me out to dinner. So I did. And we’ve spent every day together since. Instead of sightseeing every day, I’ve been helping in the bakery and he’s teaching me how to bake. I’M MAKING BREAD!!! His parents live in Bavaria and I spoke to his mother on the phone last night. We’re going down there this weekend to meet his family. I only have two weeks left here and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I think I’m falling in love with this guy. How crazy is that? What am I going to do? I’ve spent my whole life building a career, a career I’m proud of, accomplishments that are meaningful. Am I going to give all that up to move to Germany and . . . do what? Date a guy? Who am I? I don’t even recognize myself.

  I’m so happy!

  And miserable.

  And confused.

  Tell me what to do!

  Love, Camille

  I smiled at her closing request, shaking my head. I had no advice to give her.

  I know it’s popular to tell people in these situations to follow their heart. Presently, I found that advice to be irresponsible. Your heart doesn’t pay the bills. Plus, hearts had death-wish proclivities, throwing themselves into situations that would ultimately lead to their destruction.

  Take me and my stupid hopes for instance.

  It might feel good in the short term to follow one’s heart, but in the long-term it meant finding a broom and dustpan big enough to sweep up all the shattered pieces.

  “How’s your friend?” Matt asked, startling me, just before he bent and placed a kiss on my cheek. He slid into the seat across from mine.

  I looked up, not surprised by his affectionate gesture—he often kissed me on the cheek as a greeting—but I was surprised by his sudden appearance. I hadn’t noticed him arrive.

  “Who? Camille?” I asked, irritated at the unsteadiness in my tone.

  An image from Friday night flashed in my mind’s eye, of Matt and the woman, his Battlestar Galactica shirt, her Star Wars shirt. Kissing. I’d never wished more for the affliction and subsequent relief of short-term memory loss.

  In truth, I’d been too open with him. I knew that now. I’d been too willing to throw myself into this relationship, hoping for more because I liked him so much.

  That ended on Friday. We were friends—just friends—and I was grateful for this lesson. I needed to stop confusing myself with hopes. Hadn’t I been the one who wanted to explore paid services as a replacement for traditional romantic relationships? Clearly, this was a sign from the universe that my time was better spent looking for a life coach and a professional dry humper in Chicago rather than the one I’d identified in New York City.

  “Who’s Camille?” he asked, glancing between the letter and me.

  “Oh, no one. Just a friend.” I cleared my throat and held up her note. “She’s on vacation in Germany and sent me a letter.”

  “A real letter? Don’t see many of those these days.”

  “No. I guess you don’t.” I folded it up and slipped it into my bag, trying not to notice how handsome Matt looked when he smiled. As was typical, he was dressed in jeans and a nerdy T-shirt. He’d also added a lightweight black rain jacket, which he was in the process of removing. His hair was wet, but I could tell he’d recently run his fingers through it as it stuck up and out at odd angles.

  I didn’t want to smooth it. I liked it when his hair was all crazy. It made him look like a mad scientist, which he sorta was.

  Calibrating my smile to polite, I asked, “Are you hungry?” already knowing the answer. Matt was always hungry.

  “Ha! Funny. I already ordered, they should bring it over soon.” Matt’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “Is there anything wrong?”

  I shook my head, widening my polite smile. “No. Not at all.”

  His gaze seemed to sharpen. “Are you sure? You seem different.”

  “Just tired.” It was true. I was tired. I’d spent entirely too much time obsessing about what to do with my hopes that had interfered with my ability to write. “I’m behind on a deadline. I was up late, working.”

  “Oh.” His eyes lowered to my cup of tea. “Are you hungry? Can I grab you anything?”

  “No. Thanks. I ate breakfast before I came.”

  “Why’d you do that? Is the food here terrible?” He looked worried.

  “No, not at all. The food here is great. As you know, I’m on a budget and eating out is expensive.”

  I’d been forthright with Matt about my lack of inclination to splurge on non-essentials weeks ago. I wasn’t willing to go into debt in order to go out for fancy meals, or buy the latest gadgets. Dinners had always been at my place. My refurbished second-generation iPhone worked just fine, as did my thrift-store Coach bag. I slept better knowing I had a nest egg for emergencies as well as the beginnings of a robust retirement account.

  “I would’ve paid for breakfast. I’m the one who asked you out. Go on, order something.”

  “Like I said, I’m not hungry. You know I don’t let my friends pay my way. So, yes, that means sometimes I’m that stick-in-the-mud who won’t go out, or orders just tea, but—as you also know—I’ll happily cook dinner at my place anytime.”

  “I still maintain that you making dinner is not fair either. That’s just the same as you taking me out; you’re paying for the labor and the food, just like I would be.”

  I crossed my arms. “Moving on, what’s this proposition you mentioned?”

  “Changing the subject?”

  “You can’t force me to talk about something I don’t wish to discuss.”

  “You always do this.” He gave me his sly smile. “I’ll allow the subject change—”

  “You’ll allow?” I rolled my eyes, chuckling.

  “—only because we have much to discuss today—but let the record show, we still haven’t come to a consensus yet. We’ll discuss this food matter in the future. Back to your friends. Quinn. Janie. How are they?”

  “Oh.” I uncrossed my arms, surprised by his inquiry. �
��Janie. Yes. She seems okay, but understandably frustrated with the bed rest. I think they’re just ready for the pregnancy to be over and I can’t say that I blame them. It’s been tough.”

  He appeared to be listening intently. But then, out of the blue, he asked, “Do you want kids?”

  I flinched, opening and closing my mouth for a few seconds before answering honestly. “Yes. I do. If it works out that way, and it’s the right choice for me and my partner.”

  Matt nodded slowly, inspecting me. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “If I recall, you said something similar when we first met. When I asked you what you were looking for in a partner.”

  “About kids?” I didn’t remember the subject of children coming up before now.

  “No. When I asked you what you were looking for, you said you were looking for the right person. You’re the first and only person—that I know of—who has responded that way. All participants, both male and female, typically list off attributes. We theorize that what is most important to a person can be extrapolated based on the attributes he or she lists first.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, if I ask someone, ‘What are you looking for most in a partner?’ And he says, ‘I want someone tall, and wealthy and smart,’ then we extrapolate that physical appearance matters most, then money, then intelligence. But if someone answers, ‘I want someone kind, with brown eyes, and who likes to travel,’ then we extrapolate that person values personality first, then physical appearance, then hobbies and shared interests.”

  “Fascinating. You never mentioned this before.” It was fascinating. I tried to think about how I would have responded if I hadn’t said the right person, but I couldn’t. I mean, I didn’t want to be involved with a jerk, but a jerk wasn’t ever going to be the right person for me anyway.

  “It never came up before.” His sly smile emerged. “But you can imagine how confused Dr. Merek was when I told him what you said.”

  “He was confused?”