by Nella Tyler
I was relieved to find that Zeke was a decent driver. He didn’t speed or try to cut across traffic, as we made our way to our mystery destination. “Come on, you can tell me already,” I said, watching out the window for any signs or landmarks that could tell me where we were going.
“Nope,” Zeke said, shaking his head. “It’s a surprise. You don’t get to know until we get there.”
“What if it’s not appropriate for my son?” I looked at Zeke wryly and stuck my tongue out at him. “Got a plan B?”
“According to the person I arranged this with,” Zeke told me, “it is an ideal place for families—even and especially families with toddlers.”
“We’re not a family,” I pointed out. He shrugged, grinning.
“I might have hedged a little bit—but it’s family-friendly and safe for kids. I think you’ll have fun there, too. Loosen up a bit.” I looked at him askance, but settled in to wait and find out where we were going.
After about fifteen minutes of driving, I finally caught sight of where Zeke was taking us: he pulled into the turn lane as we approached a sign that read Paint Balloon Course! And underneath that, I saw the words Messy fun for everyone! “Paint balloons?” I looked at Zeke and he chuckled.
“Well, Brady’s a bit young for actual paintballs, isn’t he?”
“Considering the bruises those leave behind, I have to agree,” I said.
“This should be a lot of fun,” Zeke said as he turned in at the entrance. I noticed—to my concern—that the parking lot had only about three or four cars in it. “We’ll have a chance to run around, pelt each other with paint, and have a good time.”
“Are they a new business?” I gestured to the almost-empty parking lot and Zeke’s smile deepened.
“Nope,” he said, picking a spot near the entrance. “I just paid for them to give us sole access to the place. Didn’t want to risk Brady getting trampled by someone else.” My eyes widened. Zeke had rented out the whole course for the three of us? The rest of the few cars in the lot must—I decided—be for the employees. Alarm bells rang in my head at the fact that Zeke had gone to such trouble, and had planned such an expensive date.
“Brady, we’re going to get all messy and covered in paint—how does that sound?” I knew I shouldn’t be asking my son what he thought of a date I was doubtful about, especially one that he was sure to love. But he was already in the car. He already knew we were going somewhere.
“Yay!” I smiled at Zeke, considering the situation. I should—I knew—ask him to take us to the plan B date he was sure to have lined up, but I didn’t want to upset my son or throw a wrench into things.
We got out of the vehicle and went into the building that led out to the course. “You three are going to have a great time,” one of the employees told us. “It’ll be great—no worries about anyone else, the full course at your disposal.” They gave us jumpsuits—pure white—and buckets of little paint-filled balloons. Brady looked adorable in his tiny white jumpsuit. I thought again about asking Zeke to take us somewhere else, but it would just be mean to the people who’d come in to work the course for the three of us.
We went out into the course, and Zeke and I gave Brady a head start. “It’s like hide and seek, buddy,” I explained to my son. “Go find your hiding spot, and we’ll come look for you.” Brady’s idea of a good hiding spot was not exactly strategic, so Zeke and I had to take turns pretending not to notice him until he ran out from behind whichever haystack or pile of debris he had chosen. Zeke and I alternated being “it”—chasing each other and my son, throwing balloons of paint, darting behind whatever obstructions we could to keep from getting hit ourselves. I had to admit, as we all splattered each other with paint and ran until we were breathless, that it was an amazing date, but it was an amazing date that felt too real—too much like a date that Zeke should be taking an actual girlfriend on.
I kept that thought out of my mind and threw my paint balloons, indiscriminately splashing my son and my client, and getting splattered myself. Brady—who always loved any excuse to get messy—laughed and shouted and screamed with joy, running himself into exhaustion between Zeke and me. I couldn’t quite make myself believe that what I’d agreed to was exactly okay, but I couldn’t make myself end the date or tell Zeke to take us somewhere else, either. I gave myself up to the fun of the date and tried not to think too hard about how much fun I was having. I would just have to deal with it later. I would just have to do put aside my professional issues and let my son—and myself—enjoy what time I had left with Zeke. He would be out of my life again soon enough, and I’d rather have memories than nothing.
Chapter Thirty Four
Zeke
I walked up to the entrance of Beurre, the restaurant I’d agreed to meet my date at, feeling nervous. In spite of all the coaching from Natalie, and in spite of the fact that I’d gone on a couple of dates with Brigitte from the coffee shop, this was a completely different kind of thing.
Katie had called me a few days before to set up the date. She had found me a match—the first of a handful of options I would have to choose from and who had me in their lists—and she wanted to know how it went and what I thought of the woman. I hadn’t told Natalie when the call had come, and I didn’t really want to think about why, but I promised myself that if the date with Chelsea was half as successful as the first one with Brigitte had been, I would tell her—without going overboard with singing the woman’s praises. I had learned my lesson about that.
I didn’t know almost anything about the woman I was meeting, other than her name. Katie had set it up so that my date would be waiting at my table for me. She had texted to confirm that Chelsea had arrived about ten minutes before I parked my car.
I approached the hostess stand, smiling at the woman there: she was a tall, willowy brunette, maybe twenty-two on the outside, dressed in all black. “I’m meeting someone,” I told her. “My date has arrived, but the reservation was under my name: Zeke Baxter.”
“Ah—yes,” the hostess said, mirroring my smile. “I’ll take you right to the table.” She grabbed a menu and gestured for me to follow her. “First date?” I nodded.
“It’s a blind date,” I told her. The hostess’ green eyes showed her intrigue.
“I hope you have a great evening, then,” the woman said. I followed her through the dining room, looking around. It was a typical fine dining restaurant, with the standard white tablecloths, crystal, and place settings. The floors were wood rather than carpet, but otherwise, it was like any other high-end restaurant I’d been in—and almost against my will I remembered my first meeting with Natalie. Don’t think about her. You’re on a date with an entirely different woman right now.
The hostess stopped at a table and I took a moment to smile at my date. Chelsea stood, and I saw that she was maybe two or three inches shorter than me—tall—with medium-brown hair streaked with reddish highlights and blue eyes. She wore a simple black dress and a set of pearls, and her fingernails were painted a soft pinkish color. I thought she was probably about twenty-five or twenty-six, around Natalie’s age, but other than that, there wasn’t much that seemed similar between the two women from a physical standpoint. “Pleased to meet you,” I said, reaching out for Chelsea’s hand. We shook, and I sat down across the table from her.
“You are…better-looking than I imagined,” Chelsea said, smiling slightly. She had dimples, which was at least slightly endearing, but the smile didn’t quite reach to her bright eyes.
“You imagined me?”
She chuckled, letting her hands rest on the tabletop. “Well of course,” she said with a shrug. “You didn’t imagine me?”
“I didn’t have anything to go on,” I pointed out.
“I managed to get Katie to give me a little description of you,” she admitted. “Then, too, you’re the third guy I’ve met through the service.” I resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow at that; Katie had told me she had four or five women total for me to
meet—I couldn’t turn my nose up at the fact that the women would have more than one potential partner to meet, as well.
“I’m glad that I exceed expectations then,” I said, smiling. “Should we get down to the business of getting to know each other—or do you want to order first?” Chelsea bit her bottom lip and reached for her glass of water, taking a quick sip.
“Let’s go ahead and order, that way we don’t have as many interruptions,” she said finally.
When the waiter came, I ordered the petite steak with roasted vegetables and duchess potatoes, and Chelsea ordered a grilled chicken paillard with a garden salad. I had no right to find that faintly boring, but I did. “So, tell me about what you’d normally be doing tonight,” I suggested as soon as we were alone once more.
“Most likely I’d be at home, reading,” she said. “Or listening to a podcast. Maybe both.” I nodded to that. “You?”
“Watching TV, or if I wanted to be out of the house, maybe visiting a gallery, or checking out an event downtown. Do you like going out?” Chelsea half-shrugged.
“Not really. I mean, obviously it’s not like this is some kind of torture or anything—but apart from doing things like hiking, or surfing, stuff like that, I don’t really like to go out.”
“Those are out,” I countered, keeping the smile on my face.
“Right, but I mean, I don’t like things like big events or those kinds of social things,” she explained. I kept myself from frowning. I was willing to make a few compromises, but I liked having a social life, and I liked going out to places—not just to be outdoors, but also to meet with people.
“How about TV? Any shows you like?”
Chelsea considered. “I like Cosmos and some of the other educational shows,” she said. I pushed down my slight sense of disappointment.
The food came and we began to eat, asking each other questions and figuring each other out. I managed to keep myself civil, but it was obvious within fifteen minutes that it wasn’t going to go anywhere. Chelsea was a decent person, but everything she found interesting seemed boring to me, and everything that I liked was obviously not something that she was interested in—although she was polite enough not to comment to that effect. I knew that we’d manage to make it through dinner without causing a scene on either of our parts, but there was nowhere for anything to go. Some of her traits are exactly the opposite of what I asked Katie for, I thought as I talked about my work. She’s smart and obviously independent, but clearly she isn’t all that social. She doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, either.
I tried to make excuses for Chelsea, I tried to tell myself that it was more because she might have been nervous, or because it was a first date—but Natalie had sparkled even during our first meeting together. Natalie also has had more first dates, and first meetings, than probably anyone else you know, I pointed out to myself as we got to the dessert course, finally. She’s used to just…being herself. But I couldn’t quite believe that. There was something about Natalie that was genuine, and I thought that she had ended up becoming a dating coach because she was good at meeting and interacting with people—as opposed to becoming good at interacting with people because she had become a coach.
I told myself not to compare Chelsea and Natalie, but I couldn’t help it. Natalie’s darker hair, her dark eyes, her little half-smile, the dry wit and the sense of humor she possessed were so different from what Chelsea had to offer. If I had never met Natalie, or never kissed her, or had sex with her, then I might have been better inclined to enjoy Chelsea, but as it was, at best Chelsea was a dim, altered mirror of what Natalie had been from the first time I’d met her.
I paid for our meals and we stepped outside; I didn’t exactly know how to end the date—not when it was going bad on such a particular level, but not so badly that we were angry at each other. “How do you think we’re doing?” I shook myself out of my reverie at the question from Chelsea.
“Hm?” I sat down on a bench outside of the restaurant, not quite willing to start walking towards my car. She sat down next to me.
“The date? How do you feel about it?” I tried to think of a good way—a polite way—to answer the question honestly.
“I think it’s a first date—a little awkward,” I replied finally. “How about you?” Chelsea tilted her head from one side to the other, deliberating.
“Yeah, it feels like a first date,” she admitted. “A blind first date, at that.” She met my gaze and smiled slightly. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t move things along. Maybe things will heat up if we’re a little more private?” I cringed internally.
“I want to take things slow with whoever I’m dating from the agency,” I explained. “I’ve done one-night stands, and I don’t want to approach this situation with that kind of idea in mind.”
“That’s an admirable thing,” she told me, nodding. “But I mean…we could at least see what a goodnight kiss feels like, right?” I thought about it; a goodnight kiss wouldn’t kill me, but it would probably give the woman I was with the impression that things had gone better than they had. Why is she even fishing for this? She should be just as bored, just as uninspired as I am.
“How do you feel about me?” Chelsea raised an eyebrow at the question, silently asking me for clarification. “I mean—what are your thoughts on the date, really. It doesn’t seem to me like we have a lot in common, and I wonder if you feel the same way.”
“I don’t think that two people have to have a ton in common to get along well together,” she said, half-shrugging. “I am used to living a pretty independent life, so I would expect to do things on my own, and sometimes with my boyfriend, but it’s not like I’d want you to come hiking with me every weekend or something.”
“I think…” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want her to think I was a jerk, but it was hard to say what needed to be said in a way that would make that impossible. “I don’t think it’s going to work between us,” I said finally. “I mean—don’t get me wrong—you’re gorgeous, and obviously very smart and very driven.” I smiled, hoping that I was taking the sting out of whatever she might feel for being rejected. “But I don’t think it would work out between us.”
“Why not?” She didn’t look exactly hurt so much as perplexed.
“Because I do need to have a good bit in common with someone I’m seeing to feel like I’m in a good relationship,” I replied. “I’m an independent person, too—but part of the reason why I’ve decided to use the matchmaking service is that I feel like I want more than my independent life.”
“We could find a happy medium,” she suggested. “Commit to doing a certain number of things together every week.”
“That feels like it’s forcing something,” I told her. “It feels like we’d be trying so hard to make a relationship happen that it wouldn’t even be worth it—for either of us.” I gave her a sympathetic smile. “For both of us,I think we deserve someone who’s exactly what we want and need—don’t you?” Chelsea thought about that for a moment.
“I can definitely see the benefit in finding someone who’s a little better suited towards me in terms of things he likes and dislikes,” she finally admitted. “Thank you for being honest with me. I appreciate it.”
“Thank you for being honest with me, too,” I said, rising from the bench and getting my keys out of my pocket. “I’m sure on your list somewhere, there’s a great guy who loves books and educational TV, who loves to go hiking and get active. Katie’s great at what she does.” Chelsea nodded again, and we shook hands once more.
I walked away from the restaurant feeling more frustrated than ever; it was hard to think that I would eventually find someone—other than Natalie—who could possibly be perfect for me. I got into my car and tried my best not to compare the two women; it wasn’t as if I had a chance with Natalie, and even if things had been okay with Chelsea, I knew it wouldn’t work out in the long run. I’d have to try again.
Chapter Thirty Five
Natalie
“You’re much better looking than I would have expected for a dating coach,” my new client Ethan Johns said as he looked me up and down from across the table. I smiled, trying to keep the pounding of my head as under control as possible. Ethan was as far away from Nathan as any of my clients possibly could have been in terms of how he looked, but the combination of a similar name and a tone in his voice that told me that Ethan was unlikely to listen to any of my feedback made me wary—and he was my first new client after the assault, to boot.
“Katie gave you the speech of not expecting to be attracted to me because that’s not the point, I take it,” I said. Ethan nodded.
“From that…I guess I just figured you’d be a grandmother or something.” Ethan was a thin reed of a guy, with scraggly facial hair and bottle-green eyes that bugged out slightly. He was dressed in a dress shirt and khaki pants, which was decent—if not particularly stylish—for the restaurant we’d agreed to meet at.
“Not a grandmother,” I said, keeping my smile in place. He’s awkward. You knew that going into this. Don’t hold it against him. “So, what do are you looking to gain from this coaching arrangement? Other than—obviously—the ability to be matched with other women.”
“I guess I’m just…” he shrugged. “I’ve never really been that great at flirting, which doesn’t make it all that easy to date.”
“Flirting is easier than you think,” I told him. “It’s mostly a matter of not taking a conversation too seriously.”
“You can teach me how to flirt?” He raised an eyebrow. “Not a single one of my friends has ever been able to get it across to me.”
“Trained professional here,” I said, jokingly gesturing to myself. “If flirting is part of what you feel you need to be a better date, we’ll work on it.” Almost unbidden, I thought about my last new client—about Nathan. I pushed the idea of him out of my head, reminding myself that Ethan was a new client, and that he’d shown no signs of being aggressive; if anything, Ethan seemed to have the opposite problem: he was too passive.