Dating, Dining, and Desperation (A Dear Daphne Novel)

by Carlson, Melody

  “Congratulations.” She set down her coffee cup, preparing to speak.

  “I guess I’m a natural when it comes to cars and trucks. Probably because I’ve always loved anything with wheels. I think I’ve owned about twenty different rigs during my life. Right now I’m driving a Dodge Ram 2500 that’s loaded. I also have a 300—talk about luxury. Both are less than a year old too. But hey, you can’t very well be a top salesman and go around in a lame set of wheels, can you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Oh yeah, I have a Harley too. Can’t leave that one out.” Mr. Baldy chuckled. “Sorry to talk so fast, but five minutes isn’t long.” He glanced at his watch. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself now?” He paused to take a sip of his beer. “I like redheads.”

  “I’m thirty-four,” she said slowly.

  “That’s okay. I like older women too.” He laughed. “Hey, it’s not like you’re a cougar or anything. You’d have to be forty or thereabouts, don’t you? But I did have a cougar going after me once. She was like fifty but dressed like she was twenty. Pretty weird stuff.”

  Daphne nodded. “Anyway, I live in Appleton with two elderly cats named Ethel and Lucy.” She waited for him to react.

  He frowned. “Really? Cats? I have a Doberman named Butch. He’d probably like your cats. For lunch.” He laughed. “Just kidding.”

  She gave him a stiff smile. “I’m a writer and I work from my home. In fact, I’m pretty much a hermit these days. I don’t like getting out that much. My friend over there, Number Ten—”

  “Oh yeah, she is really hot.” He stared at Sabrina, then down at his card. “She’s next for me. And I’ve been keeping my eye on that one. Can’t wait to meet her.” He talked some more about himself, and then to Daphne’s great relief the bell rang.

  “Good luck,” she told him.

  “Who needs luck?” He jerked a thumb toward his chest. “When you got all this?”

  “Right.” She raised her hand, hoping she might get her coffee refilled before the next round. But already a short, slight man with sandy hair sat across from her. And then the bell rang. Thomas Grant was a nice enough fellow. An accountant, he seemed polite and well spoken, and he gave her plenty of opportunity to tell him about herself—and just to make herself clear, she explained that she was doing this against her will. Then just as the interview wound down, she suppressed the urge to yawn, holding up her hand again . . . hoping to get some coffee.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Daphne,” Thomas said after the bell rang. “Any chance I could get your phone number?”

  “Well, I . . .” She pursed her lips. “I, uh, I don’t think so. I don’t want you to waste your time on me and I’m not really looking for—” The bell rang again and the next “contestant” slipped onto the stool.

  “Hi, I’m Harrison.”

  “Hi, Harrison, I’m Daphne,” she said a bit wearily. “And I’ll warn you, I was brought here against my will.” She pointed to Sabrina. “My friend over there tricked me.”

  He glanced at Sabrina, then made a funny grin. “Welcome to the club.” Now he pointed across the room. “My friend Josh roped me into doing this with him. I’m trying to be a good sport, but my patience is starting to wear thin.”

  “Me too.” With short light-brown hair and clear blue eyes, he was nice looking. Dressed casually in a chambray shirt and jeans, it wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone. “What do you do, Harrison?”

  “For real?” He looked concerned.

  “You mean you’ve been lying to these women?”

  He gave a sheepish grin.

  She shrugged. “That’s fine. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Okay, for some reason I don’t mind telling you. I’m an architect.”

  She studied him curiously. “And that’s something you’re ashamed of?”

  He laughed. “No, not at all. But sometimes saying I’m an architect—only around certain kinds of women—can be similar to being a doctor or a lawyer. It’s like some women’s radar goes off.”

  Daphne laughed. “So what have you been telling women you do? Work at a gas station?”

  “Close. I’ve been saying I’m an auto mechanic.”

  She looked down at his hands. “Those don’t look like a mechanic’s hands.”

  “Hmmm . . . good point. Guess I should keep them out of sight. But the truth is, I’m kind of a mechanic. I’ve been restoring an old MG in my spare time. At the rate I’m going, it should be driveable by the time I reach fifty.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-seven.”

  “I’m thirty-four. And it feels like I’m a little old for this crowd. So far you’re the first one who’s older than me.”

  “So what do you do, Daphne?”

  She considered this. “You mean for real?”

  He shrugged. “It’s up to you. But I was honest.”

  “I’m a writer.”

  He looked impressed. “Interesting. What kind of writing?”

  “Some freelance newspaper stuff. And I’m nearly finished with my first novel.”

  “Cool.” He nodded. “Any good?”

  “I have no idea. Sometimes I think it is. But then . . . well, I don’t really know.”

  “But kudos to you for going for it.” He smiled. “I’m impressed.”

  She was just explaining how she’d recently relocated to Appleton when the bell rang.

  “Wow, that was fast,” he said as he stood.

  “Yeah. For a change.” She smiled.

  “So, I didn’t really plan on this, but are you interested in sharing your phone number?”

  “I, uh, I guess so.”

  As the next guy stepped up, Harrison pulled out his phone and she quietly recited the numbers for him. “Thanks.” He smiled brightly. “I enjoyed chatting with you.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded nervously. “Me too.”

  The bell clanged again and he went on to Sabrina’s table. The next guy was in his twenties and so covered with tattoos that she wasn’t the least bit surprised when he told her he owned a tattoo shop in town.

  “So you’re kind of like a walking advertisement?” She feigned interest.

  “Yeah, pretty much.” And then he proceeded to tell her about each tattoo and when and where he’d gotten it and who had designed it and the meaning behind it and finally—thankfully—the bell rang.

  Daphne continued working her way through the remaining five-minute “dates,” trying to act interested for some of the sweeter ones and not bothering with the ones who seemed so full of themselves, they didn’t even notice anyway. But as she sat there sipping on lukewarm coffee, she kept thinking of Harrison. And once in a while she would glance around the room, spot him, and try to decide whether or not he was showing the same kind of interest in the other women as he’d shown to her. Was he telling them he was a mechanic or an architect? Unless it was her imagination, he just seemed to be putting in his time.

  When the final guy finished up his five minutes, Daphne looked over to where Harrison was talking to his friend Josh. Then Harrison’s phone must’ve rung because he was talking to someone. And then he seemed to be telling Josh good-bye. As he hurried out, Daphne realized she didn’t even know his last name. And she hadn’t gotten his number.

  “How did that go for you?” Sabrina asked in a slightly weary tone.

  “Long and exhausting.” Daphne reached for her purse.

  “I’m sorry. I guess you were right. It was a waste of time. You ready to go?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Sorry I dragged you into this against your will,” Sabrina said as they left McMahan’s. “It seemed like a good idea . . . at the time.”

  “So you really had a bad time?” Daphne felt sorry for Sabrina as they walked toward the car. After all, she’d i
nvested so much into this day. It was too bad. “You didn’t meet anyone you liked?”

  “Oh, maybe there were a couple worth getting to know better.” Sabrina sighed as she unlocked her car.

  “Well, there were certainly a number of guys who were looking forward to meeting you,” Daphne told her. “A lot of them thought you were the hottest thing in the room.”

  “Really?” Sabrina brightened.

  “Yeah. One guy—I didn’t catch his name, but he was a car guy with a shaved head—he couldn’t wait to meet you.”

  “Mr. Motor-head.” Sabrina groaned as she started her car. “Puleeze.”

  “Or you could call him Mr. Motor-mouth.”

  Sabrina laughed.

  “I’m sorry it was a bust for you,” Daphne told her.

  “Who knows, maybe it wasn’t. I actually gave out my number a few times. I mean, you never know. Five minutes is pretty fast. But truth be told, that seemed like a whole lot of work for very little payoff. And I’ll be the first to admit you were right.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Sabrina’s brows arched as she stopped for the traffic light. “You mean you met someone of interest?”

  “There was this one guy,” Daphne said slowly. “I didn’t even catch his last name. But his first name was Harrison.”

  “You mean Harrison the mechanic?” Sabrina asked without much interest. “Nice looking and polite. But a mechanic? Really?”

  Daphne laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “He’s not really a mechanic, Sabrina.”

  “What? Then why did he say that?”

  Daphne shrugged.

  “What is he really?” Sabrina frowned as she drove through the intersection. “A bum? A criminal? Why would someone lie about his occupation? Did he even tell you what he really does?”

  “He’s an architect.”

  Sabrina’s eyes lit up. “Well, now that’s much better than a mechanic. But why didn’t he tell me that? Isn’t that kind of rude? Why be so secretive? It’s not like he’s in the CIA or FBI.”

  “Harrison and I could relate,” Daphne explained. “He was there against his will. Seems that his buddy roped him into it. Harrison was just trying to be a good sport without putting everything out there. Can’t blame him for that.”

  “Okay. I guess that makes sense. So did you get his number?” she asked eagerly.

  “No.” Daphne shook her head. “And like I said, I didn’t even get his last name.”

  “Daphne!”

  “But he asked for my number,” she said hopefully.

  “Good. So maybe this day wasn’t a complete wash after all.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “At least I found my sofa.”

  “And we had a nice lunch together,” Daphne assured her. “And really, Sabrina, despite all my complaining about the speed dating, which was mostly truly horrible, I had a good time today. And you were right, I did need to get out. Thank you.”

  “Who knows? Maybe this Harrison dude will turn out to be Mr. Right. He was nice looking enough. And well mannered. And an architect too.” Sabrina sighed. “Wow, Daphne, you might’ve just hit the jackpot!”

  She laughed nervously. “Well, I won’t be holding my breath. He may never even call.”

  “If Harrison does call—and if you guys do go out and you hit it off and you wind up marrying him—then you will have me to thank, won’t you?”

  “Yes, I’ll be forever in your debt and we’ll name our firstborn after you,” she teased.

  But as they drove home, Daphne hoped that Harrison would call her. She did want to get to know him better. And not because he was an architect either. At least she didn’t think so. However, what if he had been a mechanic? Would she have felt equally interested? Then she had to ask herself—did she really think of people like that? Was she truly that shallow? Did she measure a man’s worth by his job or career? Or did she judge him strictly by his character? The truth was, she wasn’t even sure.

  Chapter 19

  Due to feeling discombobulated over the whole speed-dating gig, Daphne had completely forgotten her plan to shop for something for Mabel on the way home from Fairview. But perhaps that was for the best. Daphne didn’t want her enthusiasm to insult Vera. Or even worse, she didn’t want to make Mabel feel inferior—as if something was wrong with her appearance. She didn’t want them to feel as if they were her charity case or she was looking down on them. So on Saturday morning, she made a batch of zucchini muffins, and while they were still warm, she filled a basket and carried it down to the forlorn little blue house and knocked on the door.

  “Daphne?” Mabel smiled as she opened the door wide.

  “I brought muffins for you and your grandma. Is she sleeping?”

  “I don’t know.” Mabel led Daphne into the messy living room where the TV was quietly playing cartoons. Right in front of the TV was a shabby blanket and pillow and a bowl with the remnants of colorful dry cereal in the bottom.

  “I’ll put these in the kitchen,” Daphne told Mabel. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was cluttered and messy . . . and smelly. Daphne longed to open the drapes and the windows to let some light and air in, but it wasn’t her place.

  “Here’s Grandma,” Mabel told Daphne as she came into the kitchen with Vera. Still wearing the same faded pink bathrobe, Vera peered curiously at Daphne.

  “Sorry to barge in again.” Daphne held up the basket of muffins. “But I wanted to share these with you.” She rambled on about her garden and how she had so many zucchinis she had to do something with them.

  “Thank you,” Vera said in a weak voice.

  “And I wanted to invite Mabel to come over again,” Daphne told Vera. “If it’s okay.”

  Vera just nodded. “It’s okay. If Mabel wants to go.”

  “Yes, yes.” Mabel jumped up and down.

  “I thought we might go to town,” Daphne told Vera. “If you don’t mind.”

  Vera waved her hand. “That’s fine.”

  “Can I get you anything while we’re out?” Daphne offered. “From the grocery store? Or is there anything Mabel needs?”

  “I, uh, I don’t really know.” Vera frowned, putting a hand to her forehead.

  “Are you unwell?” Daphne asked. “Do you need to go lie down?”

  “Yes . . . I think so.” Vera started to shuffle out of the kitchen. “Do whatever you think is best,” she mumbled. “Mabel can tell you what we need. Thank you.”

  “We’re out of milk,” Mabel declared.

  “Yes . . . milk . . . we’re out . . .” Vera kept going.

  “Let’s make a list,” Daphne suggested. “Do you have any paper and a pencil around here?”

  Mabel took off like a streak, returning with a school tablet and a purple felt pen. Together they looked around the kitchen, making a list of basic food supplies. And as they made the list, Daphne attempted to straighten a few things up, tossing some spoiled foods into the garbage and washing off a section of countertop next to the sink. With the list completed, she looked down at Mabel’s food-stained T-shirt that she’d probably slept in. “Is that what you’re wearing today?”

  Mabel shrugged. “Yeah . . . I guess.”

  Daphne pursed her lips. “I think you can do better. How about if we look in your room and find something cleaner to wear.”

  “Okay.” Mabel led Daphne down a hallway and into a small room where boxes and junk were stacked around the walls with just enough space left for a twin-sized bed.

  “Is this all your stuff?”

  Mabel shook her head. “No. It’s my grandma’s.”

  “Oh?” Daphne opened a closet to discover it too was filled with boxes and junk. “So where do you keep your clothes?”

  Mabel pointed to a laundry basket piled with kid-sized
clothes.

  “Oh?” Daphne peered down at the heap. “Are these clean?”

  Mabel shrugged.

  Daphne picked up a pair of jeans and, judging by the dirt-encrusted knees, decided this basket was definitely not freshly laundered. She perused through the squalid pile, finally unearthing a pink sweatshirt that, though wrinkled, was stain-free. She handed it to Mabel. “This will work.”

  Mabel didn’t argue as she switched shirts.

  “Do you have a comb or a hairbrush?”

  “I used to have a hairbrush,” Mabel said. “But I think I lost it.”

  “Toothbrush?” Daphne watched as Mabel’s mouth twisted to one side.

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  “Let’s put that on our list too,” Daphne told her. “And why don’t we put these dirty clothes in the washing machine before we go? That way they’ll be clean when we get back and we could put them in the dryer. And you’ll have some clean clothes to wear to school next week. Okay?”

  Mabel gladly agreed, leading Daphne out to the laundry area in the garage. “Do you know how to do laundry?” Daphne asked Mabel as she opened the washing machine.

  “No.” Mabel firmly shook her head.

  “Maybe it’s time you learned.” Daphne found a wooden crate to use as a step stool for Mabel. And with the little girl watching, Daphne explained the basics of loading the clothes into the tub and how to measure and put in the soap and how to turn on the washer. “Just like that.” As they listened to the water filling the machine, Daphne explained some safety rules. “Don’t ever open the lid or unload the washing machine until the cycle is completely finished.” She pointed to where the dial would turn straight up when it was done. “Okay?”

  Mabel nodded with wide eyes. “Okay.”

  “And when we get back, I’ll show you how to use the dryer.”

  As they went back through the house, Daphne felt she needed to have a quick but honest conversation with Vera. Privately. “Mabel. I want you to do what you can to clean up that kitchen. We’ll need room to unload our groceries. Put any dirty dishes in the sink and anything that’s garbage in the trash.”