by Nella Tyler
I wondered if he’d gone to the matchmaking service as soon as he’d come to the conclusion that he wanted to date again or if he’d tried his hand at dating on his own and come up empty. Zeke hadn’t given me any real, solid idea of who he actually was underneath the charming businessman façade he wore, and that was another issue we would have to address. If he really wanted to make an impression on a woman, he would have to learn to be genuine and spontaneous. I made a note of that in my case file for him, reminding myself to talk to him about it on the date we were set to go on. I thought—based on how quick he’d been to respond to the few pointed remarks I’d made at our first meeting—that he might at least be fairly reasonable when it came to taking feedback from me. I could hope so, at least. There were tons of guys out there who would say “Oh yes, you’re absolutely right. I’ll work on that,” and then turn around and keep doing the same things over and over again without even the attempt to correct a behavior. I guess we will see what kind of guy he is when I give him his feedback in a few days, I thought to myself as I shut down my computer for the evening and set it aside.
I glanced into the kitchen; I’d left the dishes undone since I wanted to get Brady ready for his early bedtime. I would do them, get a bowl of ice cream, and watch a little TV before going to bed myself. As I stood up to get started on the rest of my night’s activities, I thought that I had both the most boring and the most exciting life of anyone I knew.
Chapter Four
Zeke
The alarm on my phone went off at six thirty, but I was already nearly on my way out of the office by then. I was surprised at how excited I was—almost anxious—for my first practice date with Natalie. At least you know there’s not even a need for a goodnight kiss or a question of whether you’ll go to your place or hers, I thought as I gathered up my things to leave. Since I’d set our date for a higher end restaurant, I’d decided that the suit I’d worn to work was just as good an outfit to wear to it as anything else I owned; it would save me time at least in getting to the place. I had to admit to myself, even as I tried to play off the significance of the date, that I’d been thinking about Natalie a lot in the week since we’d met. She’d emailed me a few things to look at, all of them computer-based tutorials about topics like “active listening” and “conversation dynamics.” I’d gone through them, but I didn’t think I really needed their advice; after all, on a real date, I’d have every reason to pay attention, ask relevant questions, and take an interest, wouldn’t I?
I climbed into my car and navigated out of the parking structure next to the building, thinking about the date ahead of me. Even if it was only practice, I intended to take it as seriously as possible; I wanted to prove that I could learn quickly and that I didn’t need all that much work to be ready to meet women for real. In fact, I’d met a woman at lunch earlier in the day—cute, with brown hair and long legs, her makeup subtle but effective. If it hadn’t been for the agreement I’d signed with the matchmaking service, I would have asked her out; but I’d promised that I wouldn’t ask anyone out on a date until I’d completed their “training” with the coach and I had always considered my word to be my bond.
As I drove towards the restaurant, I thought about the fact that I was dating for the first time in years, even if it was just practice dates with someone who would never actually end up forming a romantic relationship with me. She was essentially more like a friend that I was paying to catch me up on what women wanted to see and hear when they went out with a guy. How sad is it that I had to hire a matchmaking service to help me get a girlfriend? I shook that thought away.
I had decided to go with the service instead of doing my own legwork in finding a girlfriend because it made the most sense. Online dating obviously wasn’t much of an option—Tinder, Ok Cupid, and the like all seemed to be people angling to get laid or too poorly-adjusted to be in a healthy relationship of any kind. Trying to ask women out or going out to bars to pick them up would take too much time and would just frustrate me. Better by far to have the service set up a few meetings with women that they had already figured out were compatible with me and go from there; I wouldn’t have to do the weeding out myself, and I was just about guaranteed a good time, even if individual dates or individual women didn’t work out in the long run.
I spotted a florist as I came to a stop at a light and an idea lit up in my head. Women loved flowers, didn’t they? It was such a tradition to get them on a date that it would make sense for me to come with a bouquet for Natalie. She’d appreciate it, and I was certain based on what she’d said the other night that almost none of the other men she’d worked with during her time at the company would have thought about it. Get those bonus points in early and she’ll let you out of training early, I told myself, doing a U-turn at the next light and doubling back towards the florist shop. I’d get her a bouquet, she’d be impressed with my taste, and in a matter of a few weeks, I’d be going out with women that I actually had some chance of having a life with.
I stepped into the shop and looked around for a moment. “Can I help you, sir?” I looked up from an arrangement of big, bright flowers and saw an older woman hovering at the entrance to the back of the shop, where I guessed the bouquets were made up.
“Yes,” I told her. “I’m meeting a beautiful woman for our first date together, and I wanted a bouquet that will just knock her socks off.” The woman nodded and came out onto the floor to help me.
“Do you know if she has any preferences? Or allergies?” I shrugged.
“I think she likes all flowers,” I said. I had no idea that women had any particular attachment to one type of flower over another. My mother had never seemed to, and my dad bought her flowers constantly.
“Well,” the woman said, pursing her lips as she considered, “roses are classic, but you’ll want red ones—not white or yellow.” She plucked a big, stunning bouquet out of a bucket of water and showed them to me. “We use roses that are bred with their scent glands intact, so these will make a really great impression on your beautiful woman.”
“I didn’t know there were roses without scent glands,” I told her. “Thank you so much for your help.” I paid for the bouquet and for a vase to put it in, and the woman gave me her card in case I wanted to come back for a special occasion or just a second or third date. I was feeling pretty sure of myself when I got back into my car and started back in the direction of the restaurant, looking forward to the reaction from Natalie with I gave her the beautiful flowers. I’d have to think of something at least a little clever to say at the same time; I began considering that problem as I came to a stop at another light.
I decided that I would stick with being direct. Anything I thought of saying as I handed her the flowers came across as either cheesy or creepy in my mind, and if it was that way in my own head, I could only imagine what it would be like to Natalie. Better by far to do what I did best and just make it a gracious gesture.
As I drove, I thought about the fact that I was going on practice dates with a woman who wasn’t going to fall in love with me. In a certain way, it made total sense. I’d been out of the dating scene for years, and the matchmaking service not only wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t ruin their record by being an asshole to the women they set me up with later on, but also wanted to make as much money off of me as possible, as with any client. I didn’t begrudge them the opportunity, and the system seemed pretty fair all around.
Natalie seemed like a tough, but mostly fair-minded woman, and I could imagine that if she really did find that I was ready for real dating, she’d turn me loose and let me go on with my life. I’d been worried that I’d meet the woman who was supposed to coach me about dating and she’d turn out to be a little bit desperate or greedy, only going to the sessions so that she could get an expensive meal on someone else’s dime and rattle off a bunch of phony shit about embracing my inner child or being more mindful and “in the moment” about my life. While I hadn’t paid as much attenti
on to the rules that Natalie had given me at the beginning of our first meeting as I should have, I had read her well enough to consider her a no-nonsense kind of person.
Of course, there was also the fact that she was gorgeous. Her red-brown hair was stunning, and I wondered if maybe—just maybe—she would wear it down that night. Did she ever go on dates that weren’t work-related? She’d mentioned that she’d gotten into the line of work because she’d wanted to meet more people. It only made sense that she would have a rule about not forming anything other than a working relationship with her clients—too many guys who’d gone too long without having the female companionship they wanted would assume her friendliness was a sign that she actually was into them, and they’d make fools of themselves.
I had to wonder what her life looked like outside of the practice dates. She had mentioned being single, so obviously there was no boyfriend or husband, and it didn’t seem like she was really, truly looking for one. Was she just one of those people who preferred being single? I’d been like that until about three months before I’d signed up with the matchmaking service. I’d never had enough time to really devote to a relationship in my life before, which was why I hadn’t even tried until I did. But her whole life revolved around dating; I had to think that a real date with someone would be like a busman’s holiday for her. So how would she go about finding someone she could love if she couldn’t go on dates without getting into professional territory?
My thoughts circled around once more to the fact that I was actually on my way to a practice date with somebody. It seemed like the very definition of twenty-first century decadence, that people like me could hire a matchmaking service not only to find them a woman that they could possibly grow to love, but also hone the skills and abilities that it took to make them datable. I wondered what Natalie’s “rougher” clients were like and how she managed them. She’d certainly done well enough with me on the one occasion we’d been together so far. I could remember the sound of her voice and the expression on her face from different points in the evening we’d spent together. I wondered what kind of system of accountability the matchmaker had. I wondered if Natalie had found a way to ask people on a date that didn’t make her look like the idiot that I was as soon as I tried to get a date with someone.
I glanced at the bouquet of roses in my passenger seat as I approached Phenomenon. I thought that if that kind of offering was made, she’d have to be impressed. She would be in raptures, just like any other young woman I could meet. I was definitely ready to see her eyes light up and her cheeks go pink with a blush; it would be great. I found a parking space after a few moments of circling the restaurant. It was a place I hadn’t been before, but my friends raved about it. I knew that Natalie was waiting for me, and I was more ready than ever for her.
Chapter Five
Natalie
After struggling to find parking for about twenty minutes—and feeling grateful that I’d left the house early on the possibility that I might run late—I finally found a spot and hurried to get to the entrance of the restaurant that Zeke had told me to come to for our first date. I checked myself in the reflection on one of the windows along the perimeter of the building; I didn’t want to give Zeke the impression that it was a “real” date in the sense of me wanting to impress him, but I wanted to look professional and put-together. We’ll see what he’s like on an actual practice date, instead of at a regular meeting with me, I thought as I turned the corner and approached the entrance of Phenomenon.
I spotted Zeke standing a few feet away from the door. He was tall enough that I could see him over the people traveling the sidewalk or going into the restaurant. I smiled, thinking that at least he’d been punctual this time—he was here even before I was. As the crowd around the entrance cleared a little bit, though, I saw that he had a bouquet of flowers in his hand—and my stomach lurched inside of me. They were roses. Red roses. Please, please tell me that he got them for someone else or just wanted to ask me a question about getting a woman flowers. Don’t let them be for me. Alex—before we’d finally split up—had always bought me red roses whenever he wanted to “apologize” for a fight or for some problem or another. Even before I’d gotten thoroughly sick of red roses from Alex’s choice of them as his peace offering, I had never particularly liked them. I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and closing the distance between Zeke and me.
“Hi, Zeke; it’s good to see you again,” I said, keeping my voice as optimistic and positive as possible.
“Natalie! Here, these are for you,” he said, displaying the big, gaudy bouquet with a flourish in my direction. I managed to keep the smile on my face, but my appetite began to leave me.
“I appreciate the thought,” I told him levelly. I made myself take the bouquet. “They’re very lovely roses.” I’d learned from experience that cutting directly to the criticism—even if I phrased it as gently as possible—only made my clients defensive.
“I knew you’d love them,” Zeke said. I glanced at his face and while he didn’t look quite as self-satisfied and triumphant as he had a moment before, he still looked hopeful.
“If I can make a suggestion,” I said, keeping my voice carefully pitched so that I wouldn’t sound whiny or bitchy or any of the other things that men so often accuse women of being whenever they criticize a gesture. “Flowers are wonderful, but I think that when you do go on your real dates in the future, it would be a good idea for you to find out which flowers your date specifically likes. It makes the gesture more personal.” Zeke’s eyebrows came together in a quick frown.
“Flowers are flowers,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, the florist said that this was their best bouquet.” I bit back the comment that threatened to fly out of me—the florist had almost certainly been lying to him about that; roses weren’t in season.
“Not all women love roses, though,” I pointed out as gently as possible. “Some women are even allergic. So if you’re going to bring someone a bouquet, try—and you won’t always be able to succeed in this—but try to find out if she has a particular type of flower that she just loves. It’ll really make a much bigger impact.” His frown deepened and I took a deep breath as surreptitiously as possible.
“Don’t I at least get points for the thought?” It’s not worth making the whole practice date awkward just to make the point to him. Revisit it later when he’s more receptive. I smiled up at Zeke.
“There really aren’t points, but I do appreciate the gesture.” I glanced at the flowers; if I had actually liked red roses, the bouquet would be impressive. “It’s a very nice bouquet,” I added, smiling more. “Let’s go ahead and get inside and get this practice session underway, shall we? It’s going to take a lot of work to teach him how to accept criticism from a woman he cares about, I thought wryly.
Zeke held the door for me and I composed myself as best as I could. The reminder of Alex had thrown me off a little bit. It wasn’t Zeke’s fault that I had such a bad association with the bouquet he had gotten for me. I had to be fair—he was trying to show that he was interested in learning, and that was the important thing. As long as he remained interested—and as long as he actually learned what I had to teach him—he’d do well.
The hostess led us to the reserved table and got some water for my bouquet, and Zeke and I settled into our seats. I was determined to make the most out of the first practice date; it would take a while to get through to Zeke, and I knew that, but if I could get some momentum going and establish a rapport and a level of trust, then I thought—I hoped—that I would be able to help him.
“I thought it might be easier if we both went for the tasting menu here,” he told me. “That way we don’t have to spend any time thinking about what to order; it’ll all just come out in courses.”
“That sounds good to me,” I agreed. When the waiter arrived, Zeke told him that we were going to have the tasting menu, with the suggested wine pairings, and in a matter of only a few moments, we were once mor
e alone with aperitifs in front of us. “So,” I said, taking a sip of mine and setting it down. “I don’t believe we’ve talked about what you do for work.”
“We haven’t,” Zeke agreed, looking almost a little startled. “Well, as I’m sure you’ve probably already figured out, I love my job.”
“Considering that you’ve been working so hard at it that you haven’t had time for dating in all these years, I would hope you love it,” I pointed out with a grin.
“I’m an executive, obviously,” he explained. “The company I work for is basically a charity middleman. We get funding and resources to charities around the world.”
“That must be very fulfilling work.”
“It really is. I like knowing that I’m not just making money for shareholders, you know? I like the idea that I’m creating some kind of positive impact in the world, even in my own way.” As he continued to talk, I revised my opinion about Zeke Baxter a little bit; I had known he was a businessman, and I’d known that he had all those traits that came along with it—the intelligence, the drive, the ambition—but I hadn’t thought of him having a desire to benefit the greater good.
The first course arrived as Zeke and I continued to talk. It was the same kind of conversation that he could expect to have with someone on a first date, which was exactly the way it was supposed to be. I started to steer the conversation towards my feedback, starting as gently as possible. “I think probably the biggest challenge you’re going to have to deal with is the fact that you’ve been so professional for so long,” I told him as someone switched out our plates.
“Is being professional bad?”
I shook my head. “Not in general,” I told him, grinning. “But would you want a woman you’re actually dating to be professional in her bearing towards you?”