The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series

by Hilary Dartt

Delaney nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it.”

  When the abscess had burst, Doctor Kat’s drill had slipped, slicing Turbo’s gum wide open. Delaney packed gauze pads into his lower lip to stop the bleeding, then turned up the IV to get more fluids going. She changed her gloves, then carefully arranged the material she’d need to pack his gums once Doctor Kat extracted the tooth.

  It was messy, but within a few minutes, the tooth was out, the hole was filled and Delaney was stitching up the gash in Turbo’s gums.

  “Well done, Doc Collins,” Doctor Kat murmured as she typed the case summary into her computer. “I owe you a drink.”

  “I won’t turn you down.”

  ***

  That evening, the doorbell rang as Delaney stepped out of the shower.

  “That’s Mom,” she said to Pixie.

  She’d done her best to scrub the memory of Turbo’s blood off her skin and out of her mind, but she thought she could still smell it.

  “Perfect Plumeria body cream doesn’t have anything on Turbo blood,” she said to the cat as she wrapped the towel around her hair, threw on her robe and rushed to answer the door. “But Mom probably won’t notice.”

  When she looked through the peephole, she was surprised to see a deliveryman peering back at her. He had his arms around a huge box and Delaney could just see his eyes over the top of it. She opened the door.

  “Here ya go, Miss,” he said, hefting the box toward her.

  As she carried it to the dining room table, the doorbell rang again.

  “Come in, Mom,” she called.

  “I brought you a coffee,” Camille said as she breezed in. “To celebrate your first day. I want to hear all about it. Ooh, did you get a delivery? What is it?”

  Delaney couldn’t help but picture a pinball whizzing around a pinball machine.

  “Thanks for the coffee. I did get a delivery, but I haven’t opened it yet. Let me get dressed.”

  “Ooh, it’s from the flower company,” Delaney heard her mom say.

  She reemerged a few minutes later, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Camille came over to watch as Delaney opened the box. The rich scent of Tiger Lilies floated toward them. The bouquet was a gorgeous blend of the lilies, baby’s breath, some fuzzy-looking greenery and white roses. She lifted it out of the box and set it on the table.

  “Ooh,” Camille breathed again. “Beautiful. Is there a card?”

  “There is.” She opened it: “To Delaney. To celebrate your first day as a veterinarian. Cheers to doing what you love. Jake.”

  “Oh.” The flowers were from Jake Rhoades. The picturesque, the handsome, the rugged. The rock-star-sexy kisser. She melted into a chair and fanned herself with the tiny card. This was another definite sign he really liked her. A feeling of extreme happiness rose up in her torso like bubbles rising to the top of a glass of champagne.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Camille said. “You look faint.”

  “I think I need to sit down. This is the first time anyone has sent me flowers.”

  “You are sitting down,” Camille said, her smile spreading across her face. Which one is Jake again?”

  “Oh, Mom. This is a story you won’t believe.”

  She launched into the story of Jake, starting with the car accident (“He was so dreamy, I just couldn’t believe he’d stopped and helped me. And then he’d thought Summer’s kids were mine.”) and explaining the scene in the bar (“Of course I knew exactly what he’d order and I watched him all night … those jeans.”).

  “Then he was one of the guys Summer and Josie picked for me from FindLove.com! Can you believe it? I know Summer told you about one of our dates, but I haven’t told you all the rest.”

  Finally, she told about their chance encounter, when she’d been walking down Main Street feeling sorry for herself and he’d come out of the pizzeria and cheered her up.

  “To think, he’s been in Juniper this whole time and I’ve never seen him. And then, within a matter of weeks, I see him everywhere!”

  Camille listened, rapt, to the entire story. She sat perfectly still, but with the telling of each new detail, her eyes became more alight with excitement. Finally, when Delaney finished, she sat back, sipped her coffee and said with a calm that belied the energy radiating off of her, “Well, this is all very serendipitous.”

  “I know.” Delaney said. “It is, right? But I don’t want to get my hopes up. This is like one of those times when I really like a guy and it’s too good to be true.”

  “Delaney, I’m going to be honest, here.”

  Delaney took a deep breath. Any portion of any conversation that started out with those six words required some mental preparation.

  “Okay,” she said. She took a sip of her coffee.

  “Whenever you think something is too good to be true, you make it so.”

  “What do you mean? You’re talking in code again, Mom. Why do you always have to come up with these clever ways to say things, things that actually just end up confusing me?”

  Camille, her expression knowing, said, “What I mean, honey, is that whenever something seems really good, you sabotage it. Without fail.”

  Delaney flinched. The truth hurt. But she didn’t have to ask for examples. She could think of a handful, on her own. The first, the big one, was the single callback interview she’d landed during her search for a vet job straight out of school. Sure, she’d tried to block it out. She didn’t even let herself think of it when she reminisced about that period in her life.

  Alex Spire, DVM, had been hiring. Delaney Collins, DVM, had applied. The first interview had gone well. Stellar, actually. She’d sailed through it. They’d had great rapport, good chemistry, solid communication.

  “It’s too good to be true,” she’d said to her mom on the phone after the first interview. “It was awesome.”

  That night, alone and filled with anxiety knowing she’d have another interview the next day with some of Dr. Spire’s staff members, she’d downed an entire bottle of Pinot Noir. Black Cat, 2004.

  The next morning, she woke up hungover and puking her guts out. She missed the second interview completely and because of the high number of applicants, Dr. Spire had written her off immediately … even though she’d been a shoo-in.

  And that wasn’t the only instance where she’d taken a perfectly good opportunity and foiled it.

  Her mom was still staring at her as if she could see the memories in Delaney’s mind. Delaney shrugged.

  “I think I’ve outgrown that, Mom,” she said, hoping that if she said that, she’d make it so.

  At least, I hope I have.

  “And now I’ve got to get to cooking class.”

  ***

  The scent and sting of freshly-cut onions filled the back room at Country Kitchen. Delaney’s eyes watered as she continued chopping, and she swiped at her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. Today, Wendy planned to walk them through a simple cucumber, tomato and red onion salad, followed by ham and pesto roll-ups.

  “Sorry you’re crying,” Beth said, handing Delaney a tissue.

  “No, you’re not,” Delaney said. “This is why you didn’t want to chop the onions. You don’t want to ruin your mascara.”

  Beth continued slicing her cucumber and adding it to the bowl, making a show of being industrious. Delaney could see her hiding a smile.

  “You’re right. Josh, the guy whose mom teamed up with my mom to send on a blind date? He invited me for drinks after this. So you’re right. I want to look good.”

  “Second date, right?”

  “Right.”

  Beth slid a tomato knife out of the block and began chopping the tomatoes while Delaney measured mayonnaise and vinegar for the dressing.

  “So how was the blind date?”

  “It was good, actually. Our moms might be onto something. He owns that auto shop, over on Beale Street? And he is really, really nice. We’ve read a lot of the same books and liked a lot of the same movies. We met for dinner and
talked for hours. I didn’t get home until after midnight.”

  “I remember when I was in high school, my friend Summer used to always say she was ‘talking’ to a guy until late into the night, but it really meant she was totally making out with him.”

  “We were talking, really,” Beth said. “I swear!”

  “Sure you were,” Delaney said.

  “Ready to toss?”

  Beth carefully tossed the dressing into the salad. Delaney added salt and pepper.

  “So how’s it going with the delicious stalker who stared at you through the window?”

  “He is delicious,” Delaney said. “It’s going good. I just want to jump his bones, but my friends are making me verify we’re exclusive, first. I told him I’m not seeing anyone else. His response? He’s super busy with opening his art gallery. So they want me to wait until it’s official. Or whatever.”

  “It is a good idea, if you don’t mind me saying so. I mean, I know I’m just your cooking class partner, but it seems like you’re pretty smitten. Exclusivity decreases your chances of having your heart broken.”

  “See, I think it’s the opposite. I mean, what if he never wants to be exclusive?”

  “What if he does?”

  Delaney wanted to stomp her foot, but didn’t. “You sound just like Josie and Summer.”

  Beth shrugged, a gleam in her eye. “I think we’re ready to eat.”

  Delaney was surprised to discover the salad was great. Who would have thought such a simple combination of veggies could produce something so mouthwatering?

  “The roll-ups are a bit more complicated,” Wendy said from the front of the classroom area. “Let’s get everything cleaned up and then we’ll prep.”

  As Delaney scraped the onion skin from the cutting board into the compost bin, she was startled by a voice in her ear.

  “You should have the talk. Force him to give you a straight answer.”

  It was Myron, the glasses-wearing half of the gay couple who stood behind her during class. Delaney flinched.

  “Why is everyone saying that?”

  “Because it’s true. Look, I know it’s uncomfortable, but it’s necessary.” When she moved aside so he could scrape his own cutting board clean, he continued, “You don’t want to be left wondering what he’s going to do if he meets some other cutie patootie. Right?”

  She shrugged. “Right.”

  As Wendy had promised, the ham and pesto roll-ups were only slightly more complicated than the cucumber salad. Together, Delaney and Beth rolled out pastry dough, then spread cheese and pesto onto it and topped those with slices of deli-style ham. They then rolled the dough up, sealed the seam and baked it.

  “This. Is. So. Good.”

  “You should cook this for Jake when you invite him over for pre-sex dinner,” Beth said.

  Delaney closed her eyes in ecstasy.

  “Seriously,” Beth said. She swallowed a bite of the roll-up. “I mean, now that you can cook, you’ve got to invite him over. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “You know,” Delaney said, “we’re definitely going to have to keep in touch. I can’t be left wondering what happens between you and Josh. And I’m going to need your advice.”

  “You’re right. You are going to need my advice. In fact, before we leave tonight, I want you to text Jake and invite him over for dinner this weekend.”

  “I don’t have his number. But I’ll message him tonight on FriendZoo or something. I guess this makes you an official, participating member of The Dating Intervention.”

  Beth winked.

  Just as class ended, Delaney texted Summer and Josie to get the go-ahead on inviting Jake over.

  A couple of hours later, she relaxed on her couch with Pixie and a cup of tea. Well, semi-relaxed, she thought. She hopped up every few minutes to check her computer for Jake’s reply to her invite.

  She knew Beth was right: having Jake over for dinner really did provide a good opportunity to strengthen their relationship. But what if she burned the food? What if she undercooked it? What if it tasted horrible? What if he said he wanted to keep his dating options open?

  Beth, of course, had provided a simple answer when Delaney had rushed through these questions at the end of cooking class.

  “Wine. Lots and lots of wine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Delaney entered Rowdy’s Thursday night feeling like things were looking up. She’d been messaging with Jake all week, saying things like Don’t you have any pets? I’d love to examine them. and Happy Humpday. Work was going smoothly. She managed to stay in the girls’ good graces by following their abstinence-related advice.

  She saw Benjamin right away, leaning over the table where his new beau sat. Their heads were close together and he winked at her when she raised her eyebrows at him.

  Then she saw Josie.

  She knew that look: Josie was mad. Spitting mad. As angry as a swarm of bees when a wayward dog invaded their hive. Josie stood beside their normal table, facing the entrance. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her eyes were narrowed, glaring straight into Delaney’s and her full lips were set in a straight line. Delaney paused, mid-stride.

  Only one explanation existed for Josie’s behavior: she found out about the application. Which meant she was a finalist for the principal position. Delaney felt a surge of excitement. She wanted to run to Josie, to hug her, to congratulate her. But she knew better.

  Josie was going to kill them.

  Where was Summer? Delaney didn’t see her corpse on the ground, so she was probably late.

  For a full second, Delaney debated, frozen mid-stride in the shaft of dusty sunlight coming through the door. Should she go sit with Josie? Should she back out the door and wait for Summer to show up so they could face her together? Summer probably wouldn’t show up for at least five more minutes, and what was she supposed to do with herself until then? Wither under Josie’s glare?

  I survived the Carpool Tuesday Inquisition. I can survive this.

  “It’s now or never,” she murmured.

  Shoulders back, head held high, Delaney approached the table and slid onto her stool.

  “Hey,” she said, as casually as she could, although her heart raced.

  “Hey.”

  “How’s your day?”

  “Fine.”

  “Mine’s good.” Delaney said. “Did a cataract surgery on a cat, had a couple of spays and a neuter. And a toenail trim on a Yorkie. You’d love that little guy. So cute.”

  Josie arched an eyebrow.

  “Remember that time you waxed my eyebrows?” Delaney said. “Freshman year? And you promised they’d look awesome but you accidentally waxed off some of the skin? I walked around for four days with scabs on my eyelids.”

  A hint of amusement reached Josie’s eyes, but her face remained immobile.

  “Wait for Summer,” Delaney said. The words tumbled out in a rush, filled with desperation and pleading.

  Josie had always had a temper, since the girls had met in junior high. Once, during a volleyball match in gym class, she’d served the ball at the teacher’s head because the teacher told her to try a little harder. Five days of in-school suspension. Another time, when she’d first gotten her driver’s license, another student told her that her Volkswagen Golf was ugly, so she’d put concrete mix in the gas tank of his old truck. Grounded for a month. She’d never do anything like that to her best friends, Delaney knew, but she did have a tendency to get very angry.

  “Fine,” Josie said.

  They sat in relative silence for the next five minutes, which inched by like a snail in peanut butter. Delaney remembered her dad using that expression one morning when she’d taken too long to get dressed.

  Finally, Summer walked in. She, too, paused in the doorway, before approaching the table with obvious caution, no doubt tipped off by the icy standoff at the table.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Finally, Delaney was able to let some of her excitement
out. “Josie’s a finalist,” she said.

  “That’s wonderful news!” Summer answered, relief lighting up her face even as she scooted her stool closer to Delaney’s before climbing onto it.

  Again, Delaney thought she saw a flicker of happiness in Josie’s eyes, but her stony countenance remained unchanged.

  “Wait. Isn’t it?” Summer said.

  “You guys,” Josie said, her voice barely registering above a growl. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” Summer said.

  “Don’t play dumb, Summer,” Josie said.

  “We wanted it for you,” Delaney said. “We know how much you wanted it. We saw you chickening out.”

  “Chickening out?” Now it was a growl.

  “Oops. But you used that phrase at The Blue.” When Josie only stared at Delaney, she shrugged. “Fine. Wrong word choice. But it’s true.”

  Benjamin walked over with their drinks, placed them on the table and then slipped away, probably close to drowning in the tension. Josie drained her vodka cranberry in one gulp, then re-crossed her arms.

  “We knew you weren’t going to do it,” Summer said, lifting her hands as if to surrender. “Despite how much you wanted to. We were just helping you.”

  “And our assumptions were only confirmed when we saw how much you’d already gotten done on the application. You were so close. We couldn’t just stand by while you gave up.”

  “When did you do it?”

  “That Friday it was due,” Delaney said.

  “How did you get into my account?”

  “Bigpenis, all one word,” Summer said.

  “I have to start using a different password.” Josie smacked herself in the forehead, then crossed her arms on the table and put her head down. “What did you put for that one essay question?”

  “Oh, you know,” Summer said. “A bunch of stuff about how awesome you are.”

  Josie sat back up. “You guys really put me on the spot,” she said. “When Scott called and said I was a finalist, I was, like, spluttering. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell him I hadn’t applied. And then I knew. I knew you guys had done it. You’re so interfering!”