The Dating Plan

by Sara Desai

  “Pav bhaji, chaat, panipuri . . . ?” Liam had loved her father’s Indian dishes.

  “I’m not listening.” But of course, she was.

  “Two grilled cheese sandwiches with ketchup and zucchini fries? Masala dosa . . . ?” His voice grew faint as she neared the end of the block.

  “Cinnamon sugar soft pretzels, tomato basil mozzarella toasts . . .” His voice faded away when she turned the corner. With a sigh, she leaned against the rough brick wall and let her laughter escape with a soft chuckle.

  Peeking around the corner, she watched him take a picture of the vacancy sign. That didn’t bode well if she wanted to keep her distance. Bad enough he knew where she worked, but to have him downstairs?

  Still, her vantage point behind the wall allowed her a few moments of unadulterated gazing at her teenage crush. His hair was brown, streaked with gold in the sunlight, tousled and just long enough to betray the rebel inside him. He was at once wild and civilized, and she could see him both in a boardroom and on his motorcycle, burning up the road as he sped down the coast on his next great adventure.

  He looked up, head turned in her direction. Daisy’s pulse kicked up a notch and she shrank behind the wall. He hadn’t seen her. Or had he? He didn’t know she was there. Or did he?

  “Goodbye, Daisy!” His raised voice was clearly audible even though she was half a block away.

  Her face flushed and she took off down the street as fast as her boots could carry her. She needed to keep her distance from Liam Murphy. Falling for him had never been a choice. Losing him had almost destroyed her.

  She couldn’t go through that emotional roller coaster ever again.

  • 7 •

  LIAM pulled open the door to the Rose & Thorn, an Irish pub in the Mission. Managed by his cousin, Ethan, it was a great little neighborhood dive bar first, Irish pub second, and had been his favorite place to relax when he visited the city. Now that he was back permanently, it had become a second home.

  He paused on the threshold to check out the small stage where he could find anything from a barbershop quartet to a Marilyn Manson cover band belting out the tunes. Tonight, a small jazz band was performing their set, creating the perfect mood with the dimmed lights and cozy atmosphere. Exposed brick walls, plank wood floors, Irish décor—everything from carved Celtic Trinity knots to historical maps—and a big stone fireplace gave the pub authentic charm.

  Breathing in the scents of hops and barley, he felt the tension ebb from his body as he grabbed the last seat at the bar. Sounds from the crackling fire and clinking glasses thrummed like a pulse beneath the low hum of chatter. For a few blissful hours he could forget about Brendan and the will, the houseful of relatives he didn’t really know, the end of the distillery, and the emptiness in his heart from the loss of his grandfather.

  “Hey, stranger.” Rainey Davis, the head bartender, looked up from the dishwasher where she was stacking glassware. She was wearing her usual Kiss Me I’m Irish tank top so people would overlook her Texas drawl, her red-gold hair a tumble of curls down her back. “Ethan got in a shipment of Middleton Very Rare this afternoon. You want a taste?”

  “Fill up a glass and keep pouring until I fall down.”

  “Bad day at the office?” She pulled a bottle from the case on the floor.

  “Bad week overall.”

  “Then I’d better drink with you.” She poured two glasses and passed one over to Liam. “What should we toast?”

  “To John Murphy, founder of Murphy & Sons Distillery, who died doing what he loved after he drowned in a vat of partially distilled spirit . . .”

  “My kind of guy.”

  “And to my grandfather, Patrick Murphy, who is soon to be turning in his grave.”

  They clinked glasses and Liam took a sip of the smooth, rich liquid. Peppery spices slowly began to soften, followed by a sweetness that was a mix of licorice, barley sugar, and a hint of honey, edged with a touch of sherbet. The finish was slow to fade. As he savored the spices, he added a drop of water to the glass.

  “My grandfather taught me that trick,” he said when Rainey frowned. “He said it mutes the alcohol and allows the other flavors to come forward.”

  “Ethan told me your grandfather passed away.” Rainey refilled his glass. “Were you guys close?”

  “We’d just reconnected,” Liam said. “He owned a whiskey distillery in Napa and I spent a lot of time there with him when I was a kid.”

  “You never mentioned it before.” She took another sip of her drink. “What’s the name? I’ll make sure I have a few bottles for you next time you come in.”

  “Murphy & Sons.” He drained his glass. “It’s mine now. Or at least it would be if I had a wife.”

  “I guess he didn’t know you very well.” Rainey had seen Liam leave with a different woman almost every time he’d come to the pub. She didn’t judge, but she didn’t pull any punches, either.

  “He did know me,” Liam said. “After we reconnected it was like we’d never been apart. We had a lot in common—same sense of humor, same political views, and even the same taste in whiskey. We had some issues—mostly because of my dad—but we were able to put them aside. I thought I’d found someone in the family who actually understood me.”

  “Are you talking about Grandpa?” Ethan joined Liam at the bar. Two years older, tall and broad-shouldered like all the Murphy men, his dark hair was long, tethered in a loose ponytail, and his blue eyes were set in a rough, craggy face. He was the only son of Liam’s uncle Peter, who had died when Ethan was young. “I got a letter that he’d left me some money. I’m going to use it to fix up the bar, maybe take another trip to Ireland.”

  Liam nodded. “He left me the distillery on the condition that I’m married by my next birthday, and stay married for a year. Brendan is furious. The distillery usually goes from eldest son to eldest son. I guess Grandpa decided to change the tradition because our father turned his back on the family business. Not only that, he expressed a wish that I continue the legacy by having kids.”

  “I guess he wanted to make sure there were some little Murphys running around to carry on the family name.” Rainey snickered. “Maybe you should find yourself a wife real quick.”

  “I’ve been through all my contacts.” Liam pulled out his phone and placed it on the counter. “Unfortunately, I’ve burned a lot of bridges.” He sighed. “I can’t do mail-order brides or green-card marriages in case something goes wrong, or they get attached, or they take half of the distillery when we get divorced after the year is up. The risk of involving someone I don’t know is just too high.”

  “You need someone you trust,” Ethan mused. “What about someone you work with? Or a childhood friend?”

  Liam swirled his drink around his glass. “I bumped into a woman from way back the other day at a conference. Her name is Daisy. She’s the sister of my best friend from high school. I thought maybe she could help me out, but we parted on bad terms ten years ago, and she made it clear that she still hates me.” He drained his glass and pushed it across the counter for a refill.

  “I thought most of the women you’d hooked up with in the city hated you,” Rainey said.

  “Not like this.” Liam sighed. “I stood her up for her senior prom, then left town without telling her and never got in touch again.”

  Without warning, Rainey leaned over the counter and slapped him lightly across the face.

  “What the hell?” His hand went to his cheek. He looked to Ethan for support, but his cousin was doubled over with laughter.

  “How could you?” she demanded. “You stood her up for her high school prom? What kind of scumbag are you? It was her PROM for chrissakes!”

  “I know it was her prom,” he spluttered. “I was supposed to be her date.”

  “If you’d stood me up for my prom, my dad would have hunted you down and used you f
or target practice.” She took an order from a new customer at the end of the bar, then returned to Liam. “And you thought you’d ask her to marry you? I’m surprised you got out of there with your balls attached.”

  Ethan frowned at Rainey. “I thought you didn’t have a dad.”

  “Well, of course I have a father.” She pulled two bottles of Budweiser from the cooler and slammed them on the counter. “That’s basic biology. The question is: Which of the dozens of men my mother brought home is the one? I like to imagine he’s the protective type—Don’t hurt my baby girl! and all that—and one day he’s going to walk through that door and ask what the hell I’m doing working here when he’s got a big house out in the country with a stable full of horses and a loving family who have all been looking for me since the day I was born.”

  “That’s a nice dream,” Liam said as she flipped off the tops with her bottle opener.

  “We all need a dream.” She carefully poured one bottle into a glass. “What’s yours?”

  “I want to save the distillery.” Liam pulled out his penknife and rubbed his thumb absently over the surface. “My happiest memories are from the time I spent there with my grandfather. It’s my only real connection to the Murphy side of my family.” And wouldn’t that just stick it to his old man? His dad had never accepted that Liam was truly his son.

  Ethan raised his glass. “Let’s drink to broken families and damaged souls.”

  “How about you?” Liam asked Rainey after she had served her customer and poured herself a drink. “Do you want to marry me? Quick civil ceremony. A meeting with the legal trustee. Maybe one appearance in front of the family. We live our separate lives for a year. Then get divorced. I’d be willing to pay.”

  “Tempting as it is, I’m allergic to marriage,” Rainey said dryly. “Also, I’m running the Canadian Death Race in Grand Cache, Alberta, this weekend so a quickie marriage doesn’t fit into the schedule.” She held up a toned arm, covered in tattoos. “One more banner and I’ll have a full Death Race set.”

  “Impressive.” He was relieved she’d turned him down. Of course he’d had to ask—he’d regret leaving no stone unturned—but he and Rainey together were a disaster waiting to happen. “I guess Daisy is still my best option.”

  Ethan refilled their glasses. “I think you should just move on. Forget Daisy. Forget the distillery. I washed my hands of all that Murphy crap a long time ago. Your family. My family. There are no good Murphy relationships. No good Murphy businesses. You’re making a fresh start here in the city. You’ve got a good job. You’re going to meet new women. Why complicate things by dredging up the past?”

  Liam didn’t speak for a few moments as he mulled over Ethan’s suggestion. “I can’t let Brendan destroy it,” he said finally. “Besides the family legacy, there are jobs at stake. And Daisy would be a perfect fake wife. We know each other, so it wouldn’t be suspicious if we got together. And she hates me so there would be no relationship issues and no expectations.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Rainey shook her head. “I almost want to slap you again. What does she get out of it, other than an easy opportunity to slit your throat in your sleep?”

  Liam took a moment to consider. “Her family is trying to set her up in an arranged marriage. She’s not interested.”

  “Not worth it.” She grabbed a cloth and wiped down the already clean counter. “A year with a guy you hate versus just telling your parents to get the hell out of your life. I know which one I’d pick.”

  “It’s not that simple,” he said. For the Patels, he knew, there was no life without family. Every weekend there was a family gathering, dinner, or celebration. When Sanjay had a soccer game, thirty or forty relatives would show up to cheer him on. If Mr. Patel couldn’t make it home from work on time, an aunt or uncle would bring over a full cooked dinner. If someone had a problem, everyone rallied around to help. By contrast, Liam had rarely seen his relatives. His mother’s family lived in Florida, and his father’s family hadn’t wanted to be around his dad.

  “Sure it is.” Rainey brushed back a loose strand of hair. “If she tied herself to you for a year, she’d be giving up the chance to find that one person in the world who thinks you’re worth throwing down for when things go wrong. Don’t you want to find that person, too?”

  “I’m not relationship material.” He pushed his glass across the table.

  “You just told me you’re trying to find a wife.”

  “A fake wife.”

  She finished her drink in one gulp, a waste of good whiskey considering the cost. “I think I’ll get one of the bouncers to come over and pound some sense into you.”

  “I thought you already did that.” He looked to Ethan again for help, but his cousin just held up his hands in mock surrender.

  “I don’t even try to control her.”

  “That was a just a love tap.” Rainey narrowed her eyes. “If you do something stupid, like propose to a woman who hates you to get a distillery you don’t need and have no time to run, that’s when things really get rough.”

  • 8 •

  “GOOD morning, Mrs. Liam Murphy.”

  Layla’s voice crackled over the speaker in Daisy’s Mini Cooper. They usually caught up in the mornings on the way to work if they hadn’t talked the night before. It made the drive from Bernal Heights to Organicare’s offices in SoMa almost bearable.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “You’re right. It’s not funny,” Layla said. “But now that the family knows you’re engaged, everyone wants to know who he is. Some of the aunties even tried to bribe me to divulge his last name—special jewelry for my wedding, snacks from India, saris they were keeping for their daughters . . .” Layla was engaged to Sam Mehta, and with the wedding only ten months away, they were well into wedding planning.

  “I trust you,” Daisy said, laughing. “I know you won’t break.”

  “I was tempted by Nira Auntie’s offer of a ten percent discount on a wedding lehenga at her store. You know how she overcharges.”

  Daisy slowed the car for the usual traffic jam. She preferred taking the 280 for the occasional glimpse of the Bay, but her map app had shown the 101 route could get her to work in substantially less time.

  “At least you’re free now,” Layla said. “Until you break up with your fictitious fiancé, they’ll leave you alone. You just better hope no one realizes that Liam is the same guy who stood you up for our senior prom.”

  “I’m not totally free. I still have to go out on a date with Roshan.” Daisy sighed. “Dad guilted me into it. He thinks he knows me better than I know myself.” She lifted a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek and mentally checked herself. Her hair instantly frizzed if she touched it with anything other than her fingers at any time other than in the three seconds after she stepped out of her shower.

  “You might want to go on that date,” Layla said. “My dad said he was the ‘real deal.’ And it would be good to have an accountant in the family.”

  Daisy groaned. “I don’t want to get married, but if I ever did, it would be to someone interesting, someone who takes risks.”

  “Accountants take risks.”

  “Adding numbers by hand instead of using a calculator? I’m not talking about that kind of risk. I’m talking take-your-breath-away risks. Unexpected risks.” She popped a fluffy pav in her mouth. The delicious breakfast treat was one of her favorites, and no one made them like Layla’s mom, who often dropped by with food when her dad was away.

  “You’re talking about Liam.” Layla knew all about Daisy’s recent encounters with Liam and had not been impressed.

  “You should have seen him . . .” Daisy allowed herself a small smile. “He looks like Hrithik Roshan in Mohenjo Daro.”

  “If I had seen him, especially when he showed up at your office after you told him you n
ever wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t be standing.”

  “The first time I saw him was straight out of Bollywood,” Daisy continued. “One minute I’m ordinary me, stressing because Tyler dragged me to the pitch session even though he knows I’m an introvert at heart, breaking the pad dispenser, watching my ex-boyfriend and my old boss going at it in the restroom, running through the conference center with an armload of pads, and the next I’m kissing the man I hate most in front of the man who broke my heart and the man I’m supposed to marry.”

  “Orson didn’t break your heart,” Layla countered. “You weren’t into that relationship at all. You were just tired of bad dates and Orson was—”

  “Nice.”

  “I was going to say available. But ‘nice’ will do. Also the word ‘boring’ comes to mind. After our first double date, Sam said he couldn’t handle another. He said he wanted to shoot himself when Orson described his favorite art house film as a two-and-a-half-hour phantasmagoria of bourgeoisie misery, and then proceeded to outline it for us miserable scene by miserable scene.”

  “It was a good film.” Daisy drummed her thumb on the steering wheel, willing the traffic to start.

  “You texted me ‘help’ twenty times from the theater. You said you wanted to stick needles in your eyes.”

  Daisy bristled. “We all have to make sacrifices in the name of love.”

  “But that’s the point. You didn’t love Orson. If you did, you wouldn’t have come out with me to Larry’s Liquid Lounge the night after you broke up. You wouldn’t have hooked up with that dude who said he was about to be deployed and it was his last night in the city.”

  “I thought I was doing something good for my country,” Daisy retorted. “What if he never came home again?”

  “If you’d really loved Orson you would have been sitting in front of the TV in your pajamas, eating ice cream, feeding Max pakoras, and watching a Marvel movie marathon. Look what happened when Sam and I broke up. I spent a week eating dal and drinking vodka until I passed out in a pool of vomit on the floor of my parents’ restaurant. That’s true love.”