Two Last First Dates Page 12

  But instead of brushing his lips sensuously against mine, he gave me a chaste peck on the cheek, like the sort of kiss you get from your aged auntie with the prickly upper lip, and immediately pulled away.

  What?!

  “Take care of yourself,” he said, giving my arm a squeeze. It felt decidedly brotherly.

  “Yes, I . . . thank you.”

  I didn’t know what else to say.

  He turned to leave, pausing only to wave at me from the bottom of the path. I stood and watched, dumbfounded, as he got into his car and slipped away into the night.

  As he rounded the corner and drove out of sight, my heart hit my belly. Was I wrong to think we had made a connection, we had something? Or was it only fleeting, dealt a fatal blow by my humiliating choking experience? I tried to swallow the rising lump in my throat.

  Perhaps this had been our last and only date.

  Chapter 12

  THAT NIGHT, LYING IN my bed, reliving every look, every touch, I let out a heavy sigh. It hadn’t felt like an ordinary first date. Bailey and Melissa had given us their blessing after vetting and researching Marcus so thoroughly. I bet they wouldn’t have left a single stone unturned in their quest to determine he was the right guy for me. After all, they knew how heartbroken I’d been: they wouldn’t have dreamt of putting me through that again.

  No, Marcus was clearly the man for me, and although my decision to give up on love was a mere handful of weeks ago, I felt like a different person now. I was someone who was willing and able, someone who wanted to be loved—by Marcus.

  Only, after everything that had happened between us tonight, I had absolutely no idea how Marcus felt about me. Was the fact he didn’t kiss me that big a deal? What was I thinking? Of course, it was. But then, we’d got on so well for the whole run up to The Incident—the one where I almost died from a piece of fiery goat stuck in my throat—and he’d been so affectionate and flirty and . . .

  Argh!

  I buried my head in my pillow, stifling the urge to scream. I didn’t want to alarm Dad, plus screaming would really hurt my poor throat right now.

  What did any of this mean? Did he like me? Did he want to see me again? Had I totally blown it? No. I needed to make this work. It had to work. I reached down the side of my bed and dragged my laptop up onto the bed, propping myself up. I powered up and went to a sales and marketing position search site. I scrolled through the options. I can’t be a waitress for the rest of my life. Before I had the chance to back down, I sent my CV off to a recruiter. I snapped my laptop shut. Words like “sensible,” “pragmatic,” and “career-minded” came to mind.

  I was going to win Marcus over, show him what a great catch I was, starting with getting my career back on track, back to Marketing, where I belonged.

  * * *

  My alarm dragged me out of a deep, dreamless sleep some hours later. I squinted at my clock, scrunching my eyes shut when I saw how early it was. On autopilot, I stumbled out of bed and rummaged around in my chest of drawers, looking for something to wear. I swallowed and my hand flew to my neck. Why was my throat . . . ? Oh, yeah, that’s right.

  I chewed the inside of my lip as my new friend, humiliation, made an appearance. God, last night! I squinted in the dim light and scooped my hair up into a ponytail in front of my mirror. I took in the bags under my eyes and my hardened, steely gaze. A bad sleep was inevitable after the way the date had ended, so I could hardly expect to look like a supermodel this morning.

  What was that thing Scarlett O’Hara had said? Not the thing about never going hungry again, the one about tomorrow being another day. Except today is tomorrow. So today is another day. Hmm, maybe it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.

  Whatever it was, I was resolved. I was going to do whatever I could to win Marcus over. After all, he was my vetted, fully sanctioned Last First Date: this was meant to work. It had to work.

  Throwing on my shoes, a pair of three-quarter length Lycra pants, a baggy T-shirt, and my old, trusty oversized sweatshirt that hides the lumps and bumps, I tiptoed downstairs so as not to wake Dad.

  As I rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I noticed a light on in the kitchen. A moment later I stood in the doorway, watching as Dad hummed away to himself, cracking eggs into a bowl.

  “Hey, Dad. What are you doing up?”

  “Oh, morning, lamb chop. I’m making breakfast.” He beamed at me before turning his attention back to his eggs.

  “I can see that.”

  “Do you want some? I’m doing a carb-free breakfast. It’s high in protein and healthy fats. It’s really good for you.”

  I raised my eyebrows, noticing a sliced avocado already placed carefully on a plate by the hob. I hadn’t thought Dad would know a healthy fat if it jumped out from behind a bush and slapped him on the butt, let alone have anything for breakfast other than half a loaf of bread, slathered with butter and honey.

  “Err . . . no, thanks.”

  “Oh, you should. You want to get yourself into a state where you burn fat for your energy, you see.” He smiled at me, looking as proud as punch. “I’ve gone Paleolithic.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You have?”

  “Yes! It’s all based on the fact we are hunter-gatherers and never ate things like cookies and cakes in the cave.”

  I chortled. “Unless the cave had an oven.”

  Dad’s face turned serious. “No caves had ovens back then, honey.”

  “Okay,” I replied carefully.

  “This is why I’m now eating things like this.” He pulled a packet of bars out of the pantry and handed them to me.

  I looked down and read the label. “Goji berry, cacao, and chia seed protein bars.” I looked back up at Dad. “Are you sure they had this kind of thing in ‘the cave’?” I did the air quote with my fingers.

  “Of course, they did!” he replied as though I was some sort of imbecile. “Not in packets, though. That would never have happened.”

  “No, I guess not.” I decided to change the subject. Dad’s blind enthusiasm for his new diet was a little unnerving. “Hey, Dad. I’m sorry about last night.” I was meant to be home, cooking for him, not out with a guy who may or may not be into me. “Something came up at work, and I needed to stay.”

  I would tell him about Marcus once—if—it became official.

  He shook his head. “They work you too hard, you know. You need to put ‘you’ first from time to time.”

  Huh?

  He pointed at me, nodding sagely, like he was some type of Paleo-hippie-lifestyle guru, wise beyond his years—not an overweight middle-aged man with Type II Diabetes and a penchant for reality cooking shows.

  Unsettled by the new, improved version of my father before me, I muttered, “I need to get going actually. I’m meeting someone for a run.” I opened the pantry door, grabbed my water bottle, and filled it up at the sink.

  “Oh, that’s the spirit. Got to keep fit and healthy, don’t we? ‘Use it or lose it,’ right?” Dad whisked his eggs in the bowl and began humming once more.

  Twisting the cap closed on my bottle, I furrowed my brow, watching him. “Yeah, that’s right, Dad.”

  What had got into him this morning? He was a happy, chipper kind of person and had been for as long as I remembered, even when Mom decided we weren’t for her and left. But “use it or lose it,” “high protein,” and “healthy fats”? This was all new.

  “Everything okay, Dad?” I asked, giving him a sideways glance.

  He looked up at me and beamed once more. “Oh, yes. Just great. You go and have a good run. See you tonight.” He gave me a peck on the cheek before returning his attention to his meal preparation.

  “Okay,” I replied uncertainly. I turned to leave, collected my car keys from the key bowl, and glanced back at him. He was spooning a lump of coconut oil onto a pan, still humming, looking like a strange, unfamiliar version of my dad. But happy, definitely happy.

  * * *

  Which was m
ore than I could say for myself this morning. With conflicting thoughts about my date with Marcus still rolling around my head, I reached The Domain where Josh was waiting for me, as he was each time we ran together. With a sigh, I slipped my keys into the hidden pocket on my pants and jogged over to him.

  He greeted me with his habitual smile. “Morning, Paige!” He had one of his legs up on the park bench, stretching down to touch his toes.

  “Hey, Josh,” I grunted in response, incapable of mustering much more enthusiasm today.

  He switched legs and shot me a quizzical look. “That doesn’t sound too good. Rough night?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all, and a sore throat.” I bent down to touch my toes, avoiding his inquisitive look.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Hanging my head between my knees, I thought about it. I didn’t know Josh very well, so telling him about my date disaster seemed . . . too personal. T.M.I., I guessed. So, despite my raw throat being a constant reminder of last night’s events, I opted for the career woes conversation, which had also been playing on my mind.

  I straightened up and stretched my arms above my head. “I’m trying to work out what to do with the job situation.”

  “Aren’t you happy at the Cozy Cottage? I thought you loved it there. And you’re doing that extra design work, right?”

  I nodded, thinking about how well the Cozy Cottage website and social media presence had worked out. “I do love it, but I kinda need to get back to my career.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

  Why? Was he crazy? “I can’t be a waitress all my life.”

  Josh lowered his leg from the bench and put his hands on his hips. “A waitress who designs incredible websites and comes up with clever marketing plans. Bailey showed me.”

  I blushed at the compliment—and the fact Bailey was clearly happy enough with my work to share it with others. “Thanks.”

  “Can you explain the Ryan Gosling thing?”

  “The what?” I asked, my cheeks heating up. I knew exactly what he was referring to. I’d stuck an image of Ryan Gosling, looking good enough to eat, on the site as a space filler until I’d had a chance to get all the photos I needed. Bailey had liked it and so had I. Until now.

  “Did I get that wrong? Wasn’t that a picture of a shirtless Ryan Gosling on the site?” He had a teasing smile on his face. His amusement wasn’t helping my blush.

  “Look, a girl can have a crush. And if I had to choose, Ryan Gosling is pretty darn good crush material.”

  He shook his head, his smile broadening. “If you say so. Hey, let’s get this thing on the road.”

  Relieved the attention had been removed from my fantasies about American movie stars, we began to jog, side by side, along the path, past the trees and the rolling grass. Being out in the park was a lot more pleasant than I had anticipated this morning, and I began to enjoy myself.

  “Did you like what you did before?” Josh asked as we passed a serious-looking runner going in the opposite direction, a look of sheer determination on his face. And sweat, a lot of sweat.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He chuckled. “You are a terrible liar, Paige. Did you know that?”

  I shrugged, laughing. He was right. I may have perfected the fake smile that could fool anyone, but lying was not exactly in my top five skills. In fact, I was amazed Dad hadn’t worked out I wasn’t at AGD anymore yet. I guessed it was because of his new Paleo obsession. “Busted.”

  “But you still think you should go back to it?”

  “Yeah. I do. It’s what I studied, and I’ve done it for years.” Plus, Marcus was a lot more impressed with Paige-the-marketer than Paige-the-temporary-waitress, for obvious reasons.

  “That’s not the best reason to do something you hate.”

  “I don’t hate it!” Did I?

  “You don’t?”

  “No, it’s,” I paused, trying to define Email Marketing Assistant in my mind. What was it? Stimulating? Important? Exciting? I settled for “okay.” “It’s okay.”

  “‘Okay’?” He chuckled. I glanced at him and saw him shaking his head.

  “‘Okay’ is fine. There’s nothing wrong with ‘okay.’ A lot of people out there are in jobs they hate and would be happy with ‘okay.’ More than happy: ecstatic.” I knew I sounded defensive. Plus, he appeared to have picked up the pace, and my breathing had become more labored.

  “If you say so.”

  “Yes, I do,” I replied, my voice more than a touch haughty. Anyway, who was he to advise me on my career choices? He was hardly at the top of his career ladder, delivering coffee beans to cafés.

  Beside me, Josh came to an abrupt stop, and I ran a few paces before I realized. I turned back and looked at him questioningly. Although I was secretly happy I could take a breather, I was at a complete loss how our conversation had taken such a turn for the worse.

  “What?” I asked, taking some deep breaths, my heart beating hard in my chest—and not just from the physical exertion.

  “Look, it’s your life. You can do whatever you want with it.”

  “I know. I can, and I will,” I replied, indignant. What was going on here?

  He narrowed his eyes, studying my face for a moment. He nodded, and then, without notice, he sprang back into action, running straight past me. Confused and unsettled, I took off after him along the path. But his pace was faster than before and he was significantly fitter than me, so before long, he was way ahead of me. I was left trailing behind, panting hard, running as fast as I could, and wondering what the heck had just happened.

  Eventually, after I’d slogged up the hill, pushing myself to do so, I found him, jogging on the spot beside the imposing neoclassical War Memorial building. I approached him with caution, not knowing quite what to make of recent events.

  He glanced at his watch. “You’ve made good time.”

  “Yeah, I, ah . . . wanted to see if I could catch up with you.” I bit my lip. “What was that all about?”

  He let out a puff of air. “I don’t know. Got out of bed on the wrong side today?” He shot me his cheeky grin, and although still confused, I melted a little.

  “Did I say something?”

  He gestured toward a spot on the grass, and we sat down together. As much as I knew the running was good for me—physically as well as mentally—sitting was so much more enjoyable, even if it was in my gross work-out clothes with Josh in a weird mood.

  He let out another puff of air. “Not really.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “Would you accept that old saying ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?”

  I smiled, relieved I hadn’t said anything to upset him. “We can go with that. Want to talk about it?”

  As he looked off into the distance, I studied his profile. Without his glasses, which held more than a passing resemblance to Harry Potter’s circular specs, he was a good-looking guy. Sharp nose, long lashes, full lips. Actually, from the side, he looked quite a lot like Ryan Gosling in La La Land—only without the zoot suit, piano, and Emma Stone, of course.

  After a moment or two, he turned back to me, and said, “I guess I don’t like seeing someone trying to force themselves into a pigeon hole.” He looked away once more. “I did that, mainly to please my dad, and it didn’t end too well. You see, I was working in one of those high-flying corporate jobs, throwing my everything into it. And then, something big happened, and I woke up and realized it was slowly killing me.”

  Killing him? That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? “What did you do?”

  He shrugged as he played with a blade of grass. “I left. And I haven’t looked back.”

  So, Josh left a big, high-flying job to deliver coffee beans. Huh. Interesting.

  “My job wasn’t killing me.” I could feel Josh’s eyes searching my face, almost boring into me. I cleared my throat. “I just didn’t like my boss and it was a bit dull.”

  “But you love it a
t the Cozy Cottage, right?” I nodded. “And it’s a really special place, you know that, don’t you?” I nodded again.

  Mental note: get drunk-from-the-Kool-Aid-Josh on the café promotional team.

  “Why don’t you take a step back and just let things come to you? That’s what I did with my career, and it’s worked out brilliantly for me.”

  Inside, I couldn’t help but scoff a little, despite feeling bad I was doing so. It struck me as a touch grandiose to refer to Josh’s bean delivery job as a “career.” “Okay. I might just do that.”

  “Cool.” He jumped up in one fluid moment.

  I, on the other hand, had to use a couple of limbs to push myself up off the grass, back to a standing position, looking about as fluid as a lump of coal. “Cool,” I confirmed with a smile. “Race you to the bottom?” I said, not waiting for a response.

  “Paige Miller, I’m going to get you!” he yelled as I swooped down the hill and away, feeling somehow lighter, and having no clue as to why.

  Chapter 13

  IT WAS SEVERAL HOURS later that day, after the usual café madness of baking, food preparation, customers, endless coffees, and lines of hungry customers, when I spotted Marcus walk through the front door. My heart leapt into my mouth. I was standing next to Bailey, balancing a tray of muffins in my hands, which I hastily stacked into the cabinet and bolted to the relative safety of the kitchen.

  What is he doing here? I placed the tray quietly on the kitchen counter and smoothed my hands down my apron, my heart rate picking up a notch or ten. I wasn’t sure whether he was here on his own, had come to specifically see me, or what was going on, but I knew in that moment, I wasn’t prepared.

  I drummed my fingers on the counter, trying to decide what to do. Go out there and act like nothing had happened? Like I hadn’t embarrassed myself completely, ruined any chance we’d had at making our date perfect, by choking on that piece of goat? Or stay in here, hiding like some type of fugitive?