by Nella Tyler
The hostess consulted her book for a moment and nodded. “Ah, yes—I see right here,” the woman said, nodding again. She looked up at me and smiled. “She’s been here a little while, actually. I hope you’re not running late?”
“Just on time,” I said, smiling back at her. “Five minutes early, in fact.”
“Good job,” she said. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you right over to her.” I followed the blonde as she stepped out from behind the hostess stand and started off across the dining room of the café, wondering which of the women at the tables was my dating coach. The matchmaking service had specifically kept me in the dark about what she would look like, insisting that my coach’s attractiveness was immaterial to their ability to get me ready for actual dating. I’d gone with it; after all, if my dating coach was hideous, she’d at least be pleasant—or so I could hope. And, it was probably for the best if I wasn’t attracted to her.
The hostess stopped at one of the tables and I took a second to look over the woman sitting at it. She stood, smiling slightly. Dressed in a blazer, a nice blouse, and a pair of jeans, she looked completely casual and completely professional at the same time. Her red-brown hair was pulled back off of her face, tied back in some kind of bun. Even with the blazer on, I could tell she had a good figure: full breasts straining at the front of her blouse even though she’d chosen something that wouldn’t show cleavage, and the cut of her clothes made her slimmer waist and nice hips visible. “Natalie, I assume?” I said, holding out my hand for hers. She shook my hand and the smile deepened slightly.
“Nice to meet you, Zeke,” she told me. “Please, have a seat.” The hostess left us as I sat down across the table from my new dating coach.
“I have to admit,” I said, picking up the menu but not actually looking at it, “I did not have high hopes when it came to going on a date with someone who was supposed to coach me.” Natalie chuckled.
“Why not?” she shrugged, gesturing all around her. “I’m very good at what I do, and a lot of what we’re going to be doing is mostly just…sort of fine tuning the instincts you already have.”
“But if I have dating instincts already, how is it that I need your help to go on dates?” I raised an eyebrow at her.
“Everyone’s got instincts,” she told me. “But if you don’t use a particular kind of instinct for a while, your sense of it sort of deadens over time. You become a little bit numb to it, and learning how to put it to use doesn’t come automatically.”
“I’ve always been a very instinctive person,” I said. “And a quick learner. I doubt I’ll need more than a few sessions to get back onto my feet.”
“I’m sure both of those things are true,” Natalie countered. “But at the same time, I’ve been doing this for two years; I’ve worked with dozens of clients in that time. Generally, it does take some time before the people I coach are comfortable enough in the process to actually make proper inroads on dating someone.”
“I’ll have to hope to prove you wrong,” I told her with a grin, “and earn the dating coach equivalent of a silver star then.”
“I know you won’t believe me,” she said, her eyes gleaming, “but I actually hope you do. I love to see my clients succeed beyond my hopes.” She cleared her throat and glanced down at the menu. “Would you rather wait until we’ve ordered to discuss all the business details, or should we jump right in?”
“Let’s order first, so we don’t keep the waiter hanging,” I suggested. She is actually really cute. Thank God. On the other hand, she might be a bit distracting. Oh well; I’ll learn fast with someone like this to keep me on my toes, at least. I looked over the menu and picked something almost at random; I didn’t really care what I ate that much. Natalie ordered one of the specials—the steak-frites—when the waitress came to the table and told us about them, along with a glass of wine to go with my beer.
“So, let’s discuss the dates to come,” Natalie said.
“I’d love to,” I told her.
“First, we have to talk about the ground rules,” she explained. I wanted to pay attention, but the first few rules were so basic and made so much sense that I could feel myself beginning to tune out in favor of simply admiring what she looked like, the sound of her voice. “As long as we have that level of mutual respect, I think we’ll be fine,” Natalie said, wrapping up, and I nodded.
“Of course,” I agreed. “I absolutely respect your experience and expertise.” I started in on my meal—some kind of chicken dish with roasted potatoes and greens.
“Now that we have the preliminaries out of the way,” Natalie said, “is there anything you want to know about me?”
“What got you into this line of work?” That was something I couldn’t help but be curious about.
“I sort of got into it for the same reason you’re getting coaching right now. I wanted to meet new people.”
“You don’t date clients though, do you?” She gave me a look, one eyebrow raised as she ate a French fry.
“Rule number two: no romance between coach and client,” she told me a little tartly. “We’re going on dates together as practice for you, to get you back into the swing of things—not for either of us to fall in love with each other.”
“Oh, right, sorry,” I said, picking up my glass and taking a sip of my beer. “I remember that now.” I leaned in closer to her slightly. “But haven’t you ever been tempted, since you’ve been doing this for so long?”
She laughed. “Most of the guys that I coach are…” she took a quick, deep breath. “Rougher around the edges than you. Very, very few of them are tempting from my standpoint.” She cut a bite-sized piece of her steak, dipped it into her aioli, and popped it into her mouth, chewing and swallowing before she continued. “And doing this job has given me the great benefit of knowing exactly what I want in a boyfriend—assuming I ever find it.”
“What’s that?” I said, smiling to myself. She wants someone rich, good looking, and hung—that’s why she’s meeting so many guys like you through this date coaching thing.
“I want a guy who respects me,” she said. “Who cares about me. Who wants to share his actual life with me.”
“What about money?”
Natalie shrugged. “Money is nice, but it’s not the end-all-be-all. I’ve been with guys who have money—not rich, but comfortable.” She made a face, wrinkling her nose. She shook her head. She’s too cute for all this, I thought. Someone should snatch her up, give her a big house to take care of. “Respect, mutual love, those things are more important to me.”
“Are you sure about that?” I grinned. “Money makes the world go ‘round.” Natalie gave me another look, and I felt a jolt like electricity run through my body.
“If money took care of everything, then you wouldn’t be here, learning how to date properly.”
“Oh! Good point,” I said, waving my fork a bit. “Although you have to admit: money bought the service of you teaching me how to date properly.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” she said. “So, tell me: what are some of the things that you’re interested in?”
“Interested in?” I shrugged. “I haven’t really had much of an opportunity for a personal life.” I wracked my brain to try and come up with something, I had to admit that I had become boring over the years. “I like the usual stuff: movies, music, hiking, all that kind of stuff.”
“We can work with that,” she told me. “When do you want to set our next date for?”
“I set this up through my personal assistant,” I said, shrugging. “He can confirm all the details with you.”
“I would rather make sure that we’re in agreement on the date before we part ways,” Natalie said firmly. “It’s a good habit for you, even if you do have a personal assistant. The women you’ll eventually date will expect for you to make dates with them, not your PA. So best to get in the habit now, don’t you think?” She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side slightly, and I smiled.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “Next week? Do I have to pick a day now, or can I wait until I have my schedule to look at to confirm?” Natalie rolled her eyes, though her lips were still curved up in a little smile.
“Next week is fine,” she said. “I’ll get in touch to confirm the specific day, and we’ll go from there.” She gave me a longer look and pressed her lips together. “I really hope that you’re taking this seriously, Zeke. I would hate for you to be wasting your money and my time.”
“I am taking this all very seriously,” I told her. “We should order something for dessert, don’t you think?” I spent the rest of the evening trying to figure out what kind of woman Natalie was, and by the time we parted ways at the door to the café, I thought that it was a good thing indeed that I’d have a couple of months to get to know her. Good practice, anyway, at getting to know a woman who isn’t one of your employees, I thought to myself. As I walked back to the office to grab my car and head home, I couldn’t quite get Natalie out of my mind. Maybe it was because it had been so long since I’d dated anyone, or maybe she was unusually pretty and unusually confident in herself, but she struck me more than almost anyone I’d met in years. This could be interesting, at least, I thought as I put the night behind me and focused on getting home.
Chapter Three
Natalie
A few days after my first meeting with Zeke, I was at home, getting Brady ready for bed. It was one of the rare occasions when I’d had a full day off. While I only worked thirty hours a week, those hours were scattered between dates with coaching clients and meetings to discuss my clients, so it wasn’t often that I had a day completely and totally to myself. Brady and I had gone to his favorite park to feed the ducks, the zoo to look at the animals, and had ended at the library, where I’d helped him pick out his bedtime books for the rest of the week. He couldn’t quite read yet, obviously; he was only three. But I’d started reading him bedtime stories as soon as he started talking, and it had become part of the routine—something that I could have one of his babysitters or his grandparents do that was soothing for him even when I wasn’t there.
“All right, my little man,” I told my son as we finished clearing off the table. “It’s six o’clock, which means we need to start getting ready for bed.”
“I like when you’re here,” Brady told me, looking up at me through his eyelashes. He hugged my leg tightly, nuzzling against the spot just under my knee.
“I like it when I’m here, too,” I told him, smiling as I got down to his level to give him a hug. I lifted Brady off of the ground and started to carry him through the apartment towards the bathroom.
“But you like working,” he pointed out.
“I do,” I agreed. “Not as much as I like you.”
“Why do you work, then?” I set him down on the bathroom floor and started to run the water for his bath while I thought about that question. He was too young for me to explain it to him completely, obviously.
“Well, Mommy has to have money to live,” I told him, testing the water with the inside of my wrist. “And I like my work…even if I don’t like being away from my cute little boy.”
“You meet friends?” I nodded.
“I meet a lot of friends,” I said. “Lots of friends.” I thought about possibly putting Brady into daycare when he turned four; it would be good for him, to get him around more kids and into a more structured environment. He already had a good vocabulary for his age; I thought it was probably because of all of the reading—at least, I hoped so—and the fact that I always spoke to him like a normal person. “Why don’t you tell me about some of your friends?” I began stripping off Brady’s clothes while I let the bathtub fill, adding a capful of his favorite bubbles to the water; they helped him sleep, or so the label said.
“Sarah’s nice,” Brady told me; Sarah was one of his babysitters. “She plays cars.”
I nodded along as my son listed off all of his “friends”—from the other kids he played with at the park to his babysitters, asking questions here and there to keep him going. Even though I worked, I wanted him to always feel like his mom was involved, interested in his life; I knew he was too young to have a thought that complicated, but I wanted to put it in his head before he ever could. After a while, his attention wandered onto other topics that he always seemed fascinated by: why some dogs were big and others small, why he wasn’t allowed to touch frogs, why the monkey bars at the playground were so high. I let him play in the warm water and relaxed, taking in the sight of my son. He looked more like his father than like me, but I had never really cared. Even if Alex wasn’t part of my life and never would be again, Brady was more than a reminder of a relationship that hadn’t worked out.
“Saw Jenny’s papa,” Brady said randomly, looking up from his alphabet floating toys.
“Did you? What’s he like?” I wondered what brought the thought on, what had jogged loose the idea of someone’s father.
“Nice,” Brady told me. “He likes swings.”
“Who doesn’t like swings?” I grinned at my little boy. “It’s almost time to get out now, and we’ve got to wash your hair before we do.”
“Mama,” Brady said, pressing his lips together and looking at me almost sideways.
“What, baby?”
“Are you lonely?” I stared at my little boy in shock at the question.
“Who put that idea in your little head?” I tried to smile, but I knew it was only a halfway effort.
“Jenny’s papa,” Brady told me. “Said you’re lonely.”
“Well I’m not,” I told him firmly, but with as much positivity as I could manage. “I’ve got you!”
“You need a papa,” he said. I laughed.
“I have a papa,” I pointed out. “Grandpa is my papa.”
“No,” Brady said, shaking his head. “Like Jenny’s papa.” He frowned, almost pursing his lips, and I could see him trying to put the thoughts into the words he wanted. “Like Jenny’s mom has.”
“Oh, you think I need a husband,” I told him.
“What’s husband?” His frown deepened. I sighed.
“That’s a bit complicated, little one,” I told him. “Jenny’s papa is Jenny’s mama’s husband.” I took a deep breath and tried to think of how to explain it in a way that a three-year-old could understand. I knew he couldn’t remember his father, not really; Alex hadn’t shown up in Brady’s life since the divorce, and Brady had only been about one when that had happened.
“You need one,” Brady told me solemnly. “So you’re not lonely.” I laughed and shook my head.
“Maybe one day, little bit,” I told him. “Now come on—no more stalling. Let’s get that hair washed.”
I finished up Brady’s bath and got him out of the water and wrapped up in a towel. He was already starting to yawn when I got his pajamas on, and by the time we were curled up in his bed and I was reading him his bedtime story, he was nearly asleep already. I managed to get through the short little book nonetheless, and as he finally began to doze off, I felt the last stresses of the day start to leave me.
I crept out of his bedroom as quietly as I could, and my thoughts turned to Zeke. We were going to have our first real date in a few days’ time—he’d had his personal assistant call me to let me know the specific day—and I wasn’t sure what to think. My first impression of him had been good; he’d come up to the table looking put together, in a pair of jeans and a nice shirt, and the light had gleamed on his clean, light brown hair. His bright blue eyes had almost glowed. You have to admit, of all the clients you’ve worked with, it’s hard to imagine him having a hard time getting a date, I had thought to myself as we shook hands.
But then my optimism took a turn for the worse as I realized he wasn’t really paying attention to me; he was nodding along, occasionally saying something neutral, when I went through the ground rules—and at that I wasn’t even sure that he was interested in knowing what could and couldn’t happen between us. He
considered me a tool, that much was clear. He wanted to get through the coaching and get on with his life. In that sense, he was like almost every businessman I’d ever worked with.
I sat down to work on my initial report for my boss on the subject of Zeke Baxter. It was only a little after seven, and I would have plenty of time to get it done before I went to bed for the night. On the one hand, he had a stable income, obviously more than he needed, and he was good looking. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure that he actually knew how to have a romantic conversation with anyone. Just how much work is it going to take him to get ready to date on his own? I shook my head and began to write. The issues that I could see right from the get-go were that he tended to only actively engage with those topics that interested him completely or topics that he thought were most relevant to his interests. If it was anything else, he tuned out. Masterfully, but I had been able to tell when he was and wasn’t paying attention to me throughout the date.
He was friendly, sociable, and even a little charming, but the listening skills were an obvious sign of broader problems. Fortunately, I wrote in my report, he doesn’t seem to objectify women as a general rule, but it will still take a great deal of work to teach him active communication skills and appropriate conversation dynamics. I finished the report with the idea that the initial few months that the matchmaking service had set for him might not be enough, unless he was—as he’d said—a fast learner, and emailed it to my boss for her to review.
I wasn’t all that surprised that Zeke had set our first practice date at a restaurant; it was a safe choice, a comfortable choice, and one that a lot of my clients in the past had gone with. I had looked up the restaurant online when his assistant had given me the name and address, and it was fairly fancy—I would be eating a dinner that would probably come out to the same amount of money I spent on groceries in a week. But I hoped that I could steer Zeke towards something more unique for our second session together; if he was going to stick with nothing but meal-dates, then I wouldn’t have any chance to properly get him in shape, and that was the ultimate goal.