by S. E. Babin
My date, if you could call him that, shrugged. "Good enough."
One thing people didn't realize about me until they did something to wrong me was that I could occasionally be passive aggressive. In a massive way. I didn't mean to be. But...sometimes I couldn’t help myself. Especially when I’d get pissed off. And right now, considering the effort I'd gone to getting this date, I was very pissed off.
I made an effort to widen my smile, but I put a little bit of grit behind my voice. "No, I insist. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable with me wearing heels and you wearing...boots that look like they've been well acquainted with cow patties."
A flash of something sparked behind his eyes. Was it amusement? Annoyance? I couldn't tell. Nor did I care. Now I was just in this thing because he'd managed to greatly annoy me.
“Also, take your boots off, please.”
He obliged and when he stepped in, the first thing I noticed was that he smelled good. Even through the faint odor of cow poo. Super good. Okay. So not a strike two yet. I shut the door behind us and led him into the living room where I told him to sit. "I'll be back in just a couple of minutes." He sat down, his large frame almost too big for my couch, and I hurried to the bedroom and did my best not to slam the door behind me.
I shucked off my dress, kicked my heels into the corner of the room, wiggled out of my support garments (which pissed me off even more because those were not easy to get into) and rummaged through my closet looking for the worst outfit I could put together in minimum time.
I stepped out in less than five minutes, admittedly looking much worse for the wear, but also way more comfortable than I was.
I noticed, with great satisfaction, that his jaw fell open before he closed it with a soft click.
"There," I said with a sigh, "that's much better." I grabbed my purse, noting with delight that it didn't even match my outfit a little bit, and motioned for him to follow me.
I heard him get up and I grinned all the way to the door wearing my paint splattered teal and pink Converse. I'd had to go into the deep recesses of my closet to find my acid washed overalls, and I'd paired that with an old Van Halen t-shirt. I'd washed my face free of makeup and tied my hair up in a high ponytail.
I looked positively ridiculous.
Just like my asshole date.
3
To call things frosty might have been an understatement. It felt like I'd wandered into an Alaskan blizzard and was about to be eaten by a large, angry bear. Lucas, my date, hadn't bothered to open the car door for me. He also blasted some offensive heavy metal music by a band whose vocabulary consisted of three words: Fuck, yeah, and anarchy.
So...definitely not what I had in mind for a first date with a supposed soul mate. The music was so loud we couldn't talk, but honestly, by now that was fine by me. I should have just turned him around and ushered him off my porch when he showed up looking like a reject hillbilly, but that would have been an insult to hillbillies everywhere.
I reached over and turned the radio down. "Where are we going?" I asked him. Stupid of me not to ask before, but I'd been a little blindsided tonight.
"Pete's," he barked and reached over to turn the music back up.
Pete's was a hole. Great.
I reached over again and turned it down. "Oooh, Pete’s. My favorite," I crowed, while silently trying not to die inside.
Lucas turned to me with a raised brow. "Really?"
"Yep," I said. "You never know if it's Mystery Meat Monday. Plus, it's like a guessing game to see who's trying to conceal the biggest weapon."
To my surprise, Lucas let out a little snort. But that was all I got from him. He turned the radio back up.
"FUCK YEAH ANARCHY!" the radio screamed.
Ten minutes later we pulled into Pete's, an establishment of ill repute and a place where you never knew where your food came from on any particular day. I steeled my stomach and gave it a good talking to before I shut the truck door, loudly, much to his annoyance and my delight. Then, for good measure, I accidentally scraped my zippered butt up against his paint job. Gently. Enough to leave a scratch, but also light enough to come out with a buffing. I noticed his lips pressed together and his eyes tightened at the corner.
Ha.
He didn't walk beside me or try to take my hand. Instead, he lumbered up to the door and was tall enough to ensure my short little legs couldn't catch up to him without getting winded.
Lucas, so far, was a massive jerkface.
He let the door slam in my face and I took one breath. Two. Three. I opened it and followed the bastard in. To his credit, he waited for me at the hostess stand, though one eyebrow rose like I'd inconvenienced him. The woman standing there looked like she'd gotten run over by a steam roller and then shaken by a dog. Her jowls sagged with both age and what had to be the effects of a centuries long smoking habit. Her eyes were rheumy and her hands shook as she tried to count out two menus. She kept having to stop and start over. I felt sorry for her, but I felt even sorrier for myself because I was probably going to end up in jail for date homicide before the night was over. However, I was so pissed I couldn't let myself walk away. It was in my nature to make him just as miserable as he was making me. What could I say? Stubbornness, Grace was thy name.
The woman came out from behind the hostess stand with a weird, rolling gait. I narrowed my gaze in confusion only to see she had a peg leg.
"Jesus Christ," I murmured to myself, only to see Lucas wince.
Interesting.
We followed the aging pirate to a dirty table, of course, situated right next to the bathroom. I hurriedly slid into the seat farthest away from the eye watering smell and forced Lucas to sit closest to it. His lips thinned, but he sat down and speared me with a glare.
The woman slapped down two sticky menus, said something garbled, and wobbled away, her bleached blond and pink hair moving in one piece.
"She was lovely," I said as I thanked my lucky stars I'd remembered to bring my hand sanitizer.
"Truly," Lucas said. His expression was still blank, but his tone was droll.
Was I being pranked here?
I carefully scanned the menu, being uber cautious about avoiding anything that had a hint of seafood in it. What could I order here that wouldn't kill me?
Fried. Something fried.
I finally found a chicken fried steak and potatoes, decided on that, but also decided to avoid the bread basket an equally unsavory waitress sat down in front of us. Lucas' face couldn't quite hide his distaste.
I felt something about this to be very off, so I studied Lucas as discreetly as I could. His hands told a story of never having to do a day's worth of hard labor in his life, something that belied his current state of hipster farmer dress. His build was lean and powerful but didn't seem gym made, more life honed. That could mean physical labor, but I didn't think so. If I had to guess, I'd say maybe swimming or some form of martial arts. The thing about me was I could read people, whether they wanted me to or not. Part of the clairvoyant territory. Even when I wasn't having a premonition, people unwittingly told me their story with just the way they looked and the things they said.
And every single thing right now was telling me Lucas had absolutely zero desire to be here right now.
I let out a loud sigh. "Out with it," I barked.
Lucas blinked and tore his eyes away from the disturbing basket bearing suspicious bread. "Excuse me?"
I rolled my eyes. "You don't want to be here. "
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Excuse me?" he said again.
"And you also appear to have an extremely limited vocabulary."
Lucas sat up straighter and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, and chuckled instead.
I tilted my head. "So...who forced you to do this?"
My date let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Grace."
I waved a dismissive hand at him. "Look, you've wasted an hour of my time so far, and I look like a Debbie Gibson MTV reject. So the
least you can do for me after enduring your bullshit is to get me out of here before I get sold into sex slavery, and at least provide me with a meal that won't give me a tapeworm." I stared at the bread basket again. "Or Ebola. Or both."
At that, Lucas' lips twitched and his mouth pulled into a wide grin. "You're right." He threw down a few bucks and rose from the table. But this time he helped me up, placed a warm hand at the small of my back, and escorted me out to his truck. He opened the door for me this time and even turned the station to current folk music.
Now this was more like it.
"Are you always this resistant to dating or was it just me that turned you into a giant turd?"
Lucas started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, maneuvering carefully to avoid the broken glass that littered the entire place. The car was silent, just as before, minus the terrible head pounding music, but the awkwardness had dissipated into something more comfortable. I was still unsure what to make of his sudden change of heart or if it was just my charming way of calling him out on his bullshit that seemed to do the trick, but Lucas was now acting like a gentleman. However, I was not so inclined to trust him now that he'd gone so far off the rails trying to make this date a terrible experience.
I was now in this thing with zero expectations, except for that of a free meal. Which he would give me or I would raise holy mortal hell. Acting like that big of a jerk entitled me to some expectations and not getting food poisoning was one of them.
Several minutes later, Lucas pulled into the parking lot of an Italian restaurant I'd never seen before.
I looked down at my attire and back up to Lucas. "Umm. Are they going to kick us out of here?"
A small smile graced his face. "No. I know one of the guys who owns this place. We might get a few funny looks, but he knows me well enough to not ask any questions."
I let out an embarrassed snort. "Well, not much could make this night worse, I guess," I said before I slid out of the truck.
Lucas held the door for me this time and allowed me to walk in first. The hostess saw me, blinked several times, and opened her mouth presumably to tell me to leave their fine establishment, when Lucas walked in behind me. The woman's brow knitted and she gave herself a little shake.
"Mr. Marsh?"
Lucas stepped up to the station. "Yeah, Micki. Apologies for my unorthodox appearance."
An amused snort escaped me which promptly earned me an elbow from Lucas.
"Certainly, sir," though the woman didn't sound certain at all. She grabbed a couple of menus that didn't appear to be the least bit sticky and led us into the dining room. When she hightailed it for a table by the kitchen, Lucas cleared his throat. The woman stopped, squared her shoulders, and offered us a tight smile. "Your usual table then, Mr. Marsh?"
"Yep," he said, though his voice sounded icier than it had a moment before.
"Perfect," she said, her tone glacial. She led us over to a cozier area, where the lights weren't so glaring. It was romantic. And intimate.
And it made me wonder how many dozens of women he'd taken here before me.
Get a grip, Grace.
"Would you like me to tell Frank you're here?" she asked before setting our menus down and placing our napkins in our lap.
A grimace crossed his face. "I suppose," he said.
"Frank?" I asked.
"One of my brothers."
"He's the owner?"
Lucas nodded and picked up his water to take a long sip. "He's owned this place for twenty years."
"I've never been here before," I admitted, scanning the room and admiring the decorating talent.
"My brother makes the best spaghetti in Midnight Cove."
I didn't like spaghetti. "Oh, wonderful," I said and began to skim the menu while also trying to figure out how to skip ordering spaghetti.
A few minutes later we were spared from continuing to make awkward conversation when a large blond man with startling green eyes stopped in front of the table and stared at Lucas like he'd grown three heads.
"The hell?" was all he said. He skimmed Lucas' ridiculous attire, then sensing there was another person there, he slowly turned his head to me. His eyes widened.
"Lucas? Would you like to explain this?"
I didn't give them a chance. "He showed up at my door looking like a hillbilly hipster, so I was forced to change clothes."
He blinked at me, but after a second a slow grin began to form on his face. "And what were you wearing before then, if I may be so bold?"
"Heels," I said. "A dress. I'd even hot rolled my hair. But then this fool rolled up."
His brother's shoulders shook with laughter. "I see."
Lucas had the grace to redden in color. "It wasn't that bad," he insisted.
"And then he played terrible heavy metal music all the way to Pete's."
His brother's eyebrows went straight up to his hairline. "Pete's?" he echoed. "When Mom finds out about this she is going to murder you."
"Please don't tell her, Frank," Lucas pled while also managing to give me a blistering glare.
"And why are you still here?" his brother asked me.
I gave him a sweet smile. "Because I called him on his bullshit and I demanded to be provided with a meal at a place I wouldn't be poisoned at."
Frank's bright gaze turned thoughtful. "Even with your ridiculous attire, you are quite fetching." He held out his hand and I placed mine in it. He bestowed a light, skin tingling kiss on the back of my hand. "I apologize for my brother's idiotic behavior. I can assure you, beneath all of that offensive facial hair and garage sale clothing, there beats the heart of a chivalrous lion."
I gently pulled my hand away. "Forgive me if I don't believe you right away. I'm just here for the meal now. I think any chances of a second date are pretty slim to none."
His gaze sharpened with interest, but he turned back to his brother when Lucas cleared his throat none too gently.
"If you're done flirting with my date, I'd like to order, please."
"Well, someone needed to do it, bro." He leaned closer. "And you should have let her keep the dress on. I bet her legs are incredible."
Heat flushed my neck and crept up to my cheeks.
"Go. Away." Lucas glared at his brother but was rewarded with an unrepentant grin as Frank flipped out his pad and asked what we wanted.
"We'll both have the spaghetti," Lucas said and closed his menu.
I wanted to wail with despair, but I pressed my lips together to keep from saying a word.
Frank gave his brother a look that told me if I hadn't been there, there would be violence. "I apologize, sir," Frank said, going into both waiter and gentleman mode, "I don't recall hearing you ask the lady what she wanted."
A look of both surprise and anger floated onto Lucas’ face. He had the chance to save face, but chose not to. "I told you she wanted spaghetti."
Frank looked to me. "Do you really want spaghetti? Your face says you'd like to flay my brother alive, so I'm guessing not." He shrugged, took the menu from me, and opened it up to the pasta section. He pointed to an item on the menu. "This is one of the best things we offer, in spite of what my spaghetti obsessed brother told you."
I skimmed over the offering, saw that it indeed looked delicious, so I nodded. "Thank you."
Frank's smile sent a shiver down my back. "You're welcome. I again apologize for my blockheaded Neanderthal brother. He's usually not such a tool." And with that, he gathered up our menus and left us in silence.
I broke it first. "I like your brother."
"I don't," Lucas muttered.
A new waiter interrupted our silence with a basket of bread, herbs and oil. This time the bread didn’t look like it had been through a nuclear blast.
Come to mama. I loved me some bread.
I tucked into it with gusto, not bothering to offer it to Lucas first. Even though he wasn't as rude as he'd been before, he was still kind of a butt head. I would have offered some to Frank, though.
He saved me from spaghetti.
I poured the oil over the herbs, gave it a quick stir with the small spoon provided and dunked my bread into it, covering it with a glorious amount of deliciousness.
Lucas' expression was torn between admiring and horrified. I waved my piece of bread at him and took a huge bite of it.
He shook his head and tore of a much smaller piece. I also noted he showed way more restraint with the oil.
When I'd finished chewing, I studied him. I wished I could see him without the Grizzly Adams beard he had going on. I thought he was handsome, but if he shaved that thing and he had a weak chin, I'd have to take that back.
"So what's the deal with you, Grace?" Lucas said suddenly.
I chewed thoughtfully and shrugged. Eloquent as always. "What about you?" I said after I swallowed.
"Asked you first."
"I have some siblings. My parents get on my nerves a little bit. I have a shop in the back of my yard."
His expression sharpened when I mentioned my work. It also got a little wary. "Oh yeah," he said softly, trying to seem like he was uninterested. "What do you do there?"
"You know it's rude to ask someone what they do right away, right?"
Lucas laughed. "No, it's actually pretty common, but I suspect you don't want to tell me. Which makes it so much more interesting." He leaned back in his chair, a picture of casual grace, and waited.
I shrugged. A lot of people in the town knew anyway, because most of them had been the recipient of a prediction, either paid for or blurted out unwittingly, usually at a wildly inappropriate time. "I'm a clairvoyant," I said. "Born with it, not a charlatan," I added because you would be surprised at the amount of people here who didn't believe in people like me. Kind of funny for a town that prides itself on its claws, fangs, and witches.
His expression abruptly shuttered. "A clairvoyant?"
I nodded, a little wary. "Yep. Why? Got a problem with people who can tell the future?"
Lucas shook his head. "I don't. Though I can imagine other people might be a little bit uncomfortable with it."