by Amanda Tru
“My mother said you’d be a troll, but you’re not!”
Not yet.
“I’ll just get me a coffee—”
Heath protested, assuring her that he’d been waiting for her order. That gave him an idea. In the future, get their order before they arrive. It can be waiting for them. Get the misery over with first thing.
To his relief, she agreed. “Thanks. I’ll just step into the restroom…”
Delaying the inevitable, Heath decided. Part of him just wanted to come out, sit down, and say, “Did you know that squirrels can’t burp or vomit?” and call it a night. Great. That’ll be on your mind now. Think if nice factoids. Like… Unfortunately, that had been the problem last time. He tried barn owls and their monogamous tendencies. Nice, romantic, not involving the less polite topics of conversation that exist in the world.
Polar bears. That’ll work.
Mary sat at “their” table, looking just as nervous as he felt. Because I terrify her or because she’s naturally nervous, too?
A soft, “Thank you,” preceded a bout of fidgeting. Cup lid off… fingers play with lid. Twirl with a stir stick… actually stir. Lick stick clean… spin it in place on the table. Return lid to cup… adjust lid until the drink hole matches up with the logo. Twice.
Oh, yeah. She’s nervous.
“My mother thinks you are autistic.”
You’ve never met me, she has never met me, all you have are a few profile answers to look at, and she can diagnose me like that? She should go into business or something.
“I don’t know, of course, but Mother is intuitive that way. Have you ever been tested?”
Heath choked on a sip of coffee. “I’ve never been accu—uh… no one has ever suggested that before.”
“I just wondered. You know, because of your message. You seem nice enough…”
“Thank you?” Heath tried to soften his frustration with a grin. After all, it wasn’t her fault he’d inadvertently insulted another woman and made this date awkward before it even had a chance to get started. “I just tend to get nervous around people I don’t know. Then I start babbling on and on about stupid zoological facts. Started when I was a kid, you know. Older people thought it was cute and it became a habit. But when you go out with someone, they really don’t care about the life cycle of a dung beetle or that barn owls are more monogamous than people. That’s the one I did last week.”
“Barn owls?”
He nodded. “They’re fascinating creatures, but I guess Camille didn’t think so. I should have stuck to polar bears. They’re amazing.”
“Really? How?”
Heath’s heart dropped to his stomach. No one but Jordan had ever asked a question, and even Jordan hadn’t sounded like she wanted to. “Um, well they date—sort of. There’s a courtship period where they play. In the snow. They ski and wrestle… slide down the hills. It’s all very flirtatious.”
“Oh, how cute!”
She hadn’t widened her eyes, wrinkled her nose, or bolted. In fact, she leaned forward—a classic mammalian sign of interest. Heath couldn’t wait to tell Selby. Success!
Buoyed by her response, he continued. “Of course, that’s after the boars duke it out to gain the favor of the sow. They can end up pretty beat up by the time it’s all over.”
“Boars? I thought we were talking about bears.”
“The male polar bear is a boar,” Heath explained. “The female is a sow. Did you know she has delayed implantation? The sow’s egg can be fertilized for as much as five months before implantation. Gestation is only three months.”
Somewhere between him explaining how the sow has to fatten up for implantation to occur and the time of the cubs’ weaning, Mary’s eyes glazed over. Heath pleaded with himself to stop talking. Self refused. At that point, he launched into discussions of interspecific breeding between grizzly and polar bears. “They call them pizzleys and grolars.”
“And the males are boars for them, too?”
“All bear males are boars.”
She stood, picked up her coat and purse, and took a step back. “One could say the same for some human males. Goodnight.”
As if a scene in a bittersweet movie, the moment the door closed behind her, a few snowflakes fell. Within a minute, those few flakes multiplied into a thick, steady fall. Heath gathered their trash, dumped it, and pulled on his coat to go.
In his car, he pulled up the Betwixt app and archived Mary. That done, he found Camille and Whitney and archived them, too. It took a moment to find his way back to matches, but when he clicked the right spot, seven flooded into his inbox. Seven with messages from each. Waiting.
What have I done?
Three text messages about an assignment change—an email Selby hadn’t received. It also wasn’t the first time. She’d almost been an hour late for midterms thanks to a time scheduling change. A scroll through her spam folder showed the missing email, and a few flips back over the past few weeks showed a few more that should never have gone there.
Selby had just selected several to delete when she saw it. [email protected]. Dated January seventh. I thought his name was Cameron or something like that…
Ten names appeared. Five under a list labeled as chosen by a matchmaker and five generated by the computer algorithm that the guy had been so insistent about. The best part, however, came in a simple note that explained that Bailey was Camden’s—That’s his name! Not Cameron—partner and they’d decided to split the ten names he’d requested between computer-generated algorithms and handpicked matches by a personal matchmaker. Please let me know how the matches work out and if one list is a better fit for him than the other.
“Well, she is helpful anyway. Bet he got an earful and left her to mop up his mess. That’ll teach him.”
Eager to show her appreciation, she shared the story of her accidental subscription, Heath paying for it, and how she met a great guy. She told about the coffee date with Whitney and how Heath had almost come home sporting eau du caffeine and the barn owl date.
Last night was polar bears. He went with those because they’re playful and cute. Everyone likes polar bears… unless you talk about them beating each other up and the gestation of cubs. Heath said that Mary said the only boars out there weren’t just bears. I suspect she hinted that he was a male pig, too. Either that, or she doesn’t know the proper spelling of bore.
That done, Selby logged into Heath’s account and began sorting the matches. Hannah first. She screamed high maintenance. Heath could handle that, but he wouldn’t enjoy it and why not save her for a guy who liked trophy girls?
Ziva. Frankly, she sounded like the coolest girl on the planet, but Heath would be too tame for her. And though people often misjudged him, Heath was definitely more of an alpha male when dealing with others. Once he got comfortable with a woman, he’d not take orders well. Ziva wouldn’t put up with that.
“One last one…”
Amanda. Oh, yes. Amanda might be too perfect—and that meant a solid test after two more tries with someone who was a little too compatible in Selby’s mind. “You need to stretch each other a little. She’s in the same perfect boxes… no. No… She’s perfect—for practicing on. We’ll start with these three.”
All prepared with her argument, Selby strode from her room on a mission. Heath wasn’t in the kitchen, the living room, or his bedroom. A couple of text messages told her he’d gone to get milk.
Heath: Forgot last night. Sorry. Bringing Lucky Charms as penance.
That meant one thing. She’d eat. Cold cereal—gross. Except for those delightfully frosted oat things with gaily-colored, fake marshmallow shapes. At the table, his Bible. Open to Ecclesiastes chapter nine. Verse ten had been highlighted and a note written in his study journal. Even if that’s just using your hand to wave goodbye to someone else you’ve driven away and insulted.
“Ouch.” Selby read the verse again. “So, like that one old movie… something about doing thy ‘doggondest.’�
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The longer she sat there, staring at the open Bible, the notes, the evidence of her brother’s deep, sincere faith, the angrier she got. “Superficial idiots. Who cares if a guy talks about dung beetles when he will do anything for you? Who cares if he knows more about the mating habits of chimps than the chimps do when he loves the Lord more than life itself? Who cares? And barn owls? Camille doesn’t deserve him if knowing that barn owls are monogamous is somehow offensive. Her loss.”
“Glad you think so.”
That she didn’t blast a hole in the ceiling with her head might be considered proof of a benevolent God. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sneak? I kicked the door shut!”
Selby would have had the grace to blush—if she could have produced one on command. “Sorry.” Heath passed her the box of cereal, and she hopped up to kiss his cheek. “My prince charming.”
“You’re pathetic.” He dug out his disgusting “pillows” of wheat rejects and broke two in a bowl and poured milk over them.
“I’m pathetic? Look who is eating the chaff—that part usually saved for animal feed.”
If he hadn’t been laughing the whole time, anyone watching might have thought Heath was angry. Between chortles, he gasped out, “Shows what you know. The wheat is cooked, smashed, run through rollers and stripped.”
“That’s even worse.” Selby couldn’t prevent a snicker or two of her own. “They take the stuff that yummy bread is made of and give it the texture and flavor of dried out straw. No wonder people are avoiding wheat these days. It’s really a protest against the travesty of what people do to the poor stuff.”
“Says the woman eating oats that smell and look like cat food.”
“At least they had the sense to add pink hearts to mine!”
Heath took a large bite of his cereal, chewed slowly, and swallowed with relish. Selby mimicked him, but as she finished, she added, “No one is going to believe that I’m not happier with my sweet, yummy goodness than you are with that soggy pile of scarecrow leftovers.”
A small splash of milk landed on the table as he almost dropped the bowl to the table. “You win.”
“We both knew I would.”
“I had to try,” Heath insisted.
“You did. And as your forfeit, you have to do a rapid-fire on the next three dates. I guess I got an inside scoop because I know all of them at once. Got a letter from Camden’s business partner. She has sense. So, you’re going out with Hannah, then Ziva, then Amanda.”
“Amanda seemed nice.”
She shot him a look. “You knew about all these girls and didn’t tell me?”
After another deliberately chewed bite of shredded wheat, Heath wiped his lips and leaned back in the chair. In a move that imitated their father exactly, he laced his fingers behind his head as if ready to settle in for a discussion. “Found a spot that shows everything last night. I didn’t know it was there. And apparently, I signed up for ten matches at some point.” He eyed her with suspicion. “Was that you?”
Selby shook her head. “Innocent as far as credit-card-charged, but I’ll have to find that spot, too. Do you want to message these girls and set this up or should I just send you when and where when I get it situated?”
His eyes closed, and anyone who didn’t know him would assume he’d just nodded off. Selby knew better. Praying. He was praying. “It’s against my better judgment,” Heath replied at last. “But I kind of feel like I should let you handle these first ones since I’ll probably botch them.” He leaned forward, eyes piercing her. “Are you sure this is right to do? How would you feel if you found out that you’d been used to help a guy get—never mind. You’d be glad you could help.”
“That’s right. Don’t forget it.”
Wednesday evening at five o’clock, Jordan led Arnie to her car and let him open her door for her. Once she’d settled behind the wheel, he shut it and hurried—as fast as he could shuffle—around to his side and climbed in. “You don’t have to do this, Arnie.”
“I want to. You’re going beyond your duties, and I appreciate it.” He offered her a wink. “We could even have coffee and cherry pie at The Diner afterward. You could tell me more about your new audiobook.”
Dinner at Marcello’s followed by The Diner? Possibly overkill for the little she’d done. Still, he was a dapper man, and she hadn’t had a date that good since—well, she didn’t know since when. For the first time since she’d done it, Jordan remembered the service she’d signed up for. Better see what’s up with that. I don’t think I got an email.
“When did you say the results of that test might be in?”
Jordan backed out of his drive and rolled down the street. “I dropped it off directly at the lab on Monday. If it got to the actual processing part of the lab by Tuesday, it’s not unreasonable to have word by Friday. Monday or Tuesday at the latest.”
“Velma told me that those fast tests on TV are faked—that it takes weeks.”
“It used to, and for court proof, it would have to go through more rigorous testing than they have to do for paternity, but trust me. If this thing comes back and says more than oh… eighty percent chance, I’d say it’s a given.”
“That much, huh. It’s amazing. We thought blood typing was the height of science when I was a boy. Watching blood serum clump together under the microscope—fascinating.”
“Kids still find it cool.”
They rode in silence almost to the square. But as she turned toward Marcello’s, Arnie sighed. “Jordie?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I an old fool for hoping? I had sisters,” he rushed to explain. “I was the only boy cousin on Dad’s side. I’m the last of our branch of the Holtzes. I know he won’t ever carry the Holtz name, but to think that I’ll die with a son and grandsons—maybe great-grandsons…”
A lump choked out any hope of a verbal response. But when she’d pulled into the parking lot and put the car in gear, Jordan reached over and gave him a hug. “I think having conflicting feelings would even be normal. Knowing there’s more family out there—great news. Not being sure if you’re ready to deal with a bunch of unfamiliar relatives… also totally understandable.”
“Wish I’d have invited him tonight. I don’t think I care if the DNA is a match. I want to be there for the boy.”
“He’s fifty.”
“To me, that’s a boy. I feel like I just became a man the other day.” Arnie put his hand on her arm. “Just hang on a minute there. I’ll get that door. My mother taught me right.”
Who could argue with gallantry? Not Jordan Aylward. Not at all.
On the way to Brunswick, Heath stopped in at The Diner and paid for coffee, pie, and tip. He’d planned to use a torn-out sheet of their order pads, but when Vickie the frowzy-headed server with her hair tucked in a net that looked ready to pop at any moment heard that he wanted to leave a note for someone as a surprise, she shook her head. “They use tickets like this all over the place. Let me get you a to-go box. We’ll cut the top off. It says ‘The Diner’ right on top with our logo and everything. Then…” she hesitated.
“She. She’ll know,” Heath finished.
“Oh, I do love a good romance.”
“You can’t tell her it was me. You’ll ruin it. She’s got to figure this out for herself.”
Vickie missed the implication in his words. “Now, how could I do that? I don’t even know your name.”
“All I’m saying is don’t give me away if it comes up. Please.”
When he walked in at twenty past eight, Vickie’s surprise transformed into understanding. “Oh! Gotcha. I’ll forget you were even here.”
“Can’t do that. If she notices you avoid me, she might get suspicious. Just treat me like any other customer. It’ll be fine.”
Now, if he could only make himself believe it. Between the very likely odds that Vickie would blow it and give him away and the even likelier odds that just seeing him… again… would make her suspi
cious, Heath planned for this to be his last chance at convincing her that there was more to him than a mind full of random and useless facts.
Except they’re not useless to me. Well, maybe the dung beetle. They aren’t mammals or even birds.
They did, however, fascinate him. When he was six.
He ate pie—cherry in honor of Jordan—and drank coffee. The coffee was in honor of the forty-minute drive home. If she paid attention to everyone in the room, the identical order might give him away.
The longer Heath waited, the more he hoped she wouldn’t.
Plates clinked, silverware rattled, and if percussion to the symphony of the diner, a bell dinged at random moments. A phone rang. Vickie’s laughter bellowed out over the room as she told someone that he needed more variety in his life.
Between bites of pie and sips of coffee, Heath prayed—of a sort. Most of the words he lobbed heavenward were jumbled, fragmented, weak. Only the comfort that the Holy Spirit would translate them into acceptable offerings to the Father kept him from giving up in defeat.
Then she appeared. A jingle of the door, a call from a booth behind him, a wave… she even met his gaze for a moment before she turned away and carried her note to the register and spoke low to Vickie. That girl—she’d get a double tip for it—sat Jordan where they could see each other without straining, but it wouldn’t make for a natural place for the eyes to rest.
She’s good.
Jordan’s surprise at the pie and coffee—visible. Not to mention, lovely. Heath hadn’t noticed it before, but that’s when he realized she used little if anything in the way of cosmetics. Maybe something on her lips? I think that’s a bit of shimmer. Or maybe it’s just lip balm.
He pulled out the notes on the gala he’d brought to go over and flipped through them, one by one. After each page, he looked up. Once he caught her gaze and nodded before looking down again. Why can’t I be this casual while I’m actually on a date? Maybe I need a lot of interaction with someone online before the date. Maybe Selby has this all wrong.