ObiWan: Sounds awful.
* * *
Alec: Are you serious? I’ll be out on a date with an actual woman.
* * *
ObiWan: Just be sure you don’t go back to her place and let her roofie you.
* * *
Alec: Dare to dream. I was matched with four women already, had conversations with two of them, and I have a date. All in one day. You should really look into this.
* * *
ObiWan: I’ll take a pass.
* * *
Alec: That’s such a Gemini thing to say.
* * *
ObiWan: ???
* * *
Alec: Just messing with you. I have no idea what that even means.
* * *
ObiWan: Hilarious. Not signing up for a dating app. Certainly not that one. I have no time for dating and certainly no time for crazies. I need to prepare for Florida.
The thought of going to Florida feels like a gut punch. I’ll be meeting with the greatest minds in astronomy, but I have to bring along the very last person who has any business at the mothership — Serafina Lopez.
I open the PowerPoint presentation on Gliese 486 and get back to creating more slides. After about fifteen minutes, my phone pings and I see that I have a match on the Star Sign app. “Okay, here we go,” I tell Mr. Spock.
The woman’s name is Gwen. Apparently, she’s thirty, has one rescue cat, and is a dentist. Huh. A dentist? On this stupid app? She’s already sent me a message:
Gwen: Hi Ben, I saw your profile. Pretty cool that you work for NASA.
Weird. That’s not usually the response women have when they find that out. Maybe she thinks I’m an astronaut. They’re the only ones who get all the babes.
ObiWan: I’m not an astronaut.
* * *
Gwen: I know. Your profile says you’re an astrophysicist.
* * *
ObiWan: I just wanted to make sure. A lot of people are disappointed when they find out I’m not going to pilot a shuttle.
* * *
Gwen: Really? That’s weird. Astronauts are just glorified pilots. It’s the guys like you who really make things happen.
She’s not wrong about that.
ObiWan: What type of dentistry do you practice?
* * *
Gwen: Pediatric. Most people find that strange because kids don’t exactly love the dentist, but I really enjoy it.
Ha! She enjoys torturing children. See? The app is a failure. It set me up with a sadist.
ObiWan: Sounds challenging.
* * *
Gwen: That’s what I love about it. I can usually calm them down and make it fun for them, which is actually very rewarding.
Hmm … why does that disappoint me so much?
ObiWan: So you have a rescue cat?
* * *
Gwen: Yup. Miss Pearl (as in pearly whites. #lamedentistjokes)
* * *
ObiWan: I have a rescue cat named Mr. Spock so…
* * *
Gwen: Laughing emoji face. Maybe this crazy app works.
* * *
ObiWan: You think it’s crazy too?
* * *
Gwen: Definitely. I’m not at all into astrology. My sister put my profile up and made me promise to go on at least two dates. She’s getting married in a few weeks, and she wants to make sure I don’t spend my life as a desperate spinster. (TMI? Did I scare you off?)
Okay, hang on. She’s obviously intelligent, loves cats, is great with kids, and she’s not into astrology. How is this possible? Am I chatting with a bot?
ObiWan: Not at all. I’m relieved actually because I think astrology is a bunch of hooey.
* * *
Gwen: Hooey?
* * *
ObiWan: You know, crap. Nonsense…
* * *
Gwen: Okay, if you use the word hooey, it means we have to meet.
* * *
ObiWan: What’s the correlation?
* * *
Gwen: I’ve deduced that guys who use the word hooey aren’t creepy weirdos.
* * *
ObiWan: Why, thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever texted to me.
* * *
Gwen: Laughing face emoji. What are you doing tonight?
Am I about to go on a date?
ObiWan: Just getting caught up on some work, but it can wait.
I hit send before I can change my mind, then I watch as she’s typing something back.
Gwen: I hope this doesn’t sound too forward, but there’s this little pub in Hell’s Kitchen that I totally love. It’s called The Salty Nuts. The owners are from Ireland and they’re an absolute riot. You wouldn’t want to meet me there for a drink, would you?
Huh. A drink. Much less pressure than an entire meal. Fun pub, so that cuts back on awkward silences because we can people watch. Wait. What am I thinking? I’m trying to prove my hypothesis that the app is garbage, not meet my soulmate.
ObiWan: Sure. Why not? Meet you there in an hour?
* * *
Gwen: Perfect! I have long blonde hair and I’ll be in a pink sundress.
* * *
ObiWan: Okay. Tall, dark hair, and I’ll be in a T-shirt and jeans.
Exactly forty-eight minutes later, I step up to the door of the little pub just as a pretty blonde in a pink dress gets out of a cab. I stop and stare at her, then we both do that thing where you point at each other with a questioning look before nodding. Finally, we both laugh and hold our hands out to shake.
“Ben,” I offer.
“Gwen,” she says with a smile. “Oh, Ben and Gwen. That’s kind of cute.”
I chuckle, then hold the door open for her. “Nice to meet you.”
A tiny woman with shockingly red, spiky hair whizzes past us, saying, “Welcome to The Salty Nuts. I’m nut number one, Mary. Number two is my husband, Joe, behind the bar over there. Have a seat anywhere you like, and I’ll be right there to take your order.”
Gwen grins at her, then looks up at me. “See? Fun.”
“Very.” I follow Gwen to a booth near the back and we settle ourselves in while The Dubliners play over the speaker. The crowd joins in every time they get to the part about “the Irish Rover,” and I can’t help but feel oddly excited.
Mary arrives at our table. “Let me guess, first date?”
Gwen’s head snaps back and she grins. “How’d you know?”
“Because he’s being all polite-like, letting you pick the booth and go first. That’s usually a good sign.”
I give her a mock offended look, and say, “That makes it sound like you wouldn’t expect me to always be a gentleman.”
Mary leans toward me and confides, “You can’t keep that up forever, love. Trust me. At some point, you’ll need to just treat her like a regular person, or you’ll go, dare I say it, nuts.”
Her husband hurries by with a tray of beers and cuts in, “It’s not the being polite that makes you nuts, it’s the wife.”
“You old poop!” Mary says, shaking her head. Turning back to us, she says, “White wine for the lady and a pint of ale for Mr. Polite here?”
“He’s actually Dr. Polite,” Gwen tells her.
Mary gives me an impressed nod. “A doctor, are you? How nice.” Turning back to Gwen, she says, “Maybe don’t let this one get away. A doctor’s wife is a good life.”
Gwen chuckles, and I add, “Actually, she’s a dentist, so maybe I’d be the one with the good life.”
“Oh, he wants to be a kept man,” Mary tells Gwen. “Interesting … I’ll go get your drinks while you two plan the wedding.”
She zips off, leaving us in an awkward silence. After a minute, I say, “So, your sister is getting married?”
Gwen nods. “Yup. To her high school sweetheart.”
“That’s nice,” I say, wondering if it really is nice.
“It is. He’s a great guy, and they really love each other.”
“I’ve heard that helps in marriages
.”
Gwen laughs and we smile at each other. She is really pretty. And smart. So why don’t I feel any spark here? I’d like to say it’s because the app is crap, but who would have ever thought it would have set me up with a normal person?
The next hour flies by surprisingly fast. Gwen and I discover we have a lot in common, including the fact that we’ve both sacrificed love for our careers; we both would like to get married someday; and we both want to eventually end up in Florida (me for my work and her for the weather). I should “like her” like her, but I merely like her.
For some stupid reason, I find myself imagining what Serafina would answer to the questions I’m asking Gwen. How ridiculous is that? I’ve literally got the perfect woman sitting in front of me, and I can’t stop thinking about the woman I love to hate. What is wrong with me?
Maybe I’m putting up a wall because I so badly need the app not to work? That must be it. It’s called researcher bias. I believe the app won’t work, so I’m creating conditions in which it won’t. As a purist, I’m utterly disgusted by myself at the moment. There must be something wrong with Gwen. I just have to find out what it is …
Two hours later, Mary comes by with the bill and tells us they’re closing up for the night. Then she adds, “Being that you’re still here, things must be going pretty well.”
Gwen blushes and glances at me. Oh, no. She likes me. And I feel … nothing. I smile back at her, pick my wallet up off the table, and pull my credit card out. “Let me get the drinks.”
“I’ll buy next time,” she says with a shy smile.
“Sounds great.” But only because next time I’ll find out what’s wrong with her so I can prove this app is bogus…
Twenty-One
Serafina
“On paper, Howard looks like the perfect guy for you,” Charley tells me while peeling a banana.
“My flesh is still crawling,” I tell her as a full body shiver overtakes me. I swear that lunch yesterday — attempted lunch, rather — almost put me off my own app.
“How ‘bout this guy?” She sits down on the couch next to me and points to the screen on her laptop. “According to our program, you and Chaz Parker are an ideal match.”
I can’t bring myself to look. “What does Chaz Parker do?”
“He’s a chef. That’s perfect for you. You know, because you love to eat and all.”
“What kind of chef?” I demand. “With my luck he works at a restaurant that only serves endangered species.”
“That’s not even a thing,” Charley scoffs. “It says he owns an Italian restaurant. Yum.”
“What’s his sign?”
“Aquarius,” she says. “Which, according to you, is the best astrological match for a Libra woman.”
I make a grabby motion at her to hand over her computer. Then I check out Chaz’s bio. Thirty-three, native New Yorker, loves parties, the Mets, and street tacos. “He does sound pretty perfect.”
I pick up my phone and fire off a quick message to Mr. Parker.
LibraGrl: Hi there, my name is Sarah. The Date for Your Star Sign app just pinged me with your info.
* * *
Chazzzzz: Cool, they sent me your deets too. I was busy at work when they came in, so I didn’t have a chance to check it out. So, you’re a Libra, huh?
* * *
LibraGrl: I am, and you’re an Aquarius.
* * *
Chazzzzz: A match made in heaven! I’m not working tonight. Any chance you want to come down to my restaurant in Little Italy? I could make you dinner.
* * *
LibraGrl: I’d hate to make you go in on your day off.
* * *
Chazzzzz: I love my work, so it’s no bother at all. Plus, I’d like to impress you with my culinary talents.
* * *
LibraGrl: I love being impressed. What time and where?
* * *
Chazzzzz: Noodle on Mulberry Street at six thirty?
* * *
LibraGrl: I’ll be there. I’ll be the tall brunette in the orange sundress. How will I know you?
* * *
Chazzzzz: I’ll be the chef.
* * *
LibraGrl: Lol, good point. Okay, see you tonight, Chaz.
* * *
Chazzzzz: Looking forward to it.
“I’m going to let Chaz cook me supper tonight,” I tell Charley. “What do you think about that?”
After taking another bite of her banana, she says, “Way to get back on the horse, Ser. I really think this might be your guy.”
“Maybe, but I swear Professor Goatee really knocked me off my game.” I yawn and tell her, “I think I’ll take the rest of the afternoon off and have a nap. I’ve been burning the candle at both ends with our app work and Wake Up America! I’m going to need to clone myself if this keeps up.”
“Go catch some zzz’s,” she tells me. “I’ll work for a bit longer and then let myself out. Send me a text tonight and let me know how it’s going.”
I shoot her a thumbs up and drag myself off to bed. I’m pretty sure I’m unconscious before my head even hits the pillow. I sleep for three solid hours and only wake up because my phone starts pinging like a video game. I look at the screen to find a slew of incoming texts from Ben.
DrBananaPants: Our flight leaves at noon on Sunday. The show booked us at the Radisson at Cape Canaveral.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Make sure you bring comfortable shoes.
* * *
DrBananaPants: And make sure you bring sunscreen.
* * *
DrBananaPants: You might also want to bring a sun hat.
Apparently, my nap is over. I pick up my phone and text back:
LibraGrl: I’m from Florida. I know how to dress for the weather.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Oh, okay.
* * *
LibraGrl: What time is your first meeting on Monday?
* * *
DrBananaPants: Not until noon so I should be able to show you around for a bit first.
* * *
LibraGrl: I know my way around.
* * *
DrBananaPants: What? How?
* * *
LibraGrl: My family and I must have visited NASA at least a half dozen times over the years.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Really? You never mentioned that. Did you go to space camp?
* * *
LibraGrl: There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Ben. And no to space camp.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Waltraut said the car would pick you up at eight and then you’d pick me up. That ought to give us plenty of time.
* * *
LibraGrl: Sounds good. Are you bringing your Star Trek figurines? If so, I’ll bring my Harry Potter Lego collection and we can have a battle on the plane.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Ha ha.
* * *
LibraGrl: Come on. That was funny. Anyway, I gotta book, I have a date tonight.
* * *
DrBananaPants: Really, with who?
* * *
LibraGrl: I’m pretty sure you don’t know him.
* * *
DrBananaPants: How do you know if you don’t tell me who he is?
* * *
LibraGrl: His name is Chaz and he’s a chef. Do you know him?
* * *
DrBananaPants: No.
* * *
LibraGrl: There you go. I’ll see you Sunday morning, Ben.
Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3) Page 11