Two Last First Dates Page 15

  “Here.” Josh passed me a bottle of water from the clip on his belt.

  “Thanks.” I took a large mouthful, feeling instantly better. I handed the bottle back to him and watched as he took a drink. I noticed he didn’t wipe the nozzle before drinking. It seemed odd, somehow intimate, almost.

  “Gosh, it’s lovely here,” I commented, looking at the young children splashing about in the pristine knee-deep water, their parents keeping a watchful eye.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “Mm-hm.” I took a deep breath. “Hey, what did you used to do, before you changed to the coffee bean thing?”

  Josh looked out at Rangitoto, the dormant volcano out to sea. “I worked for a big global company.”

  The words “vice president” from Bailey and Marissa’s dossier sprang into my mind. “You were a vice president?”

  He nodded. “I was Vice President of Finance.” He chuckled. “It seems a million years ago now.”

  “I bet.” I studied his profile, as I’d done that morning he’d behaved strangely with me outside the War Memorial Museum. How had he gone from Vice President of Finance at a large global company to coffee bean delivery guy?

  “Should we get going? I figure we could run back and we would have done a decent distance,” he said.

  “Sure.” I stood up next to him, and we began to jog back in the direction we’d come from. Someone caught my eye. I looked at him and looked away, doing a double take. I stopped in my tracks, gawping, my jaw slackening.

  “Everything all right?” I could hear Josh say in the distance once he must have realized I was no longer at his side.

  I watched as a man, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, stood laughing with a woman I did not recognize. He reached across and put his hand on her shoulder as they smiled at one another, looking so happy together. She looked up, and before I could even move, they kissed one another.

  “That’s my . . .” I trailed off. Somehow, I found the ability to move again and walked in a daze toward the couple, like I was a piece of metal being drawn in by a magnet.

  “Dad?”

  He looked over at me, and his smile dropped. “Paige. Honey. What are you doing here?”

  I gawped at him. Instead of answering his question, I posed one of my own. “Who’s that?” I nodded at the woman I had just watched him kiss only moments ago.

  “This is Gaylene.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders possessively.

  She beamed at me. “Hi, Paige. It’s great to meet you. Your dad has told me so many great things about you.”

  I blinked at her. Well, he hadn’t breathed a word about you. I was so confused. My dad was here, with a woman called Gaylene, laughing and kissing her?

  I looked up, startled, as Josh slipped his hand into mine. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You okay?”

  It was what I needed to snap me into action. I smiled at him, feeling the warmth of his hand in mine, grateful for his kindness. “Yes.” I swallowed and turned back to Dad and Gaylene. “Dad? Can we have a moment?”

  “Sure, lamb chop. Of course.”

  I loosened my hand from Josh’s and walked a few paces away with Dad. “Who’s Gaylene?”

  “I wanted to tell you about her, but there hasn’t been the right time. I’m sorry.”

  I looked into his eyes and could see just how sorry he was. “Who is she?”

  “She’s . . . well, I suppose you could say she’s my girlfriend.” He gave a small shrug, trying to suppress a smile.

  “You’ve got a girlfriend?” My eyes bulged out of my head. My dad, who spent every evening in front of the television, who allegedly hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since my mother left, had a girlfriend. What was this, a parallel universe where middle-aged dads had girlfriends and I had no career?

  “Yes. She’s really lovely, you’ll like her.”

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me about her? It’s not like she’s going to be my new mommy, Dad, even if this thing between you is serious. I’m a grown woman, you know.”

  “I know. And it is. Serious, that is.”

  What? “How long?”

  “How long have I known her? A while, but we only started dating recently. We met through that diabetes support group I mentioned to you.”

  I watched as he glanced over at Gaylene, who was sitting with Josh on the ground. She waved at us, and I lifted my hand to wave back. Weird. I just waved at Dad’s girlfriend.

  In the distance, a metaphorical penny dropped. All those healthy fats and proteins he’d been eating, the lack of chocolate bars ferreted away so I wouldn’t find them—which I always did—around the house. “Is that why you’ve gone Paleo on me?”

  “Yes, it’s all part of it. Gaylene and I agreed to do it together, you see. She’s a wonderful support.”

  I ignored the uncomfortable twist in my belly. She’s achieved what I couldn’t.

  We both looked over at her again. This time she was deep in conversation with Josh about something. What on earth did they find to talk about?

  I smiled at Dad and drew him in for a hug.

  “What’s that for?” he asked over my shoulder.

  “Because I love you,” I replied, shocked when my voice caught.

  “Oh, lamb chop.” Dad squeezed me tighter. “Would you like to meet her properly?”

  “Sure. I’d like that.” I gave him a watery smile.

  He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and we walked together over to Josh and Gaylene. They both stood up to greet us, Josh in his usual bound-up-in-one-fluid-motion kind of way.

  “Paige, honey, this is Gaylene.”

  I reached my hand out and we shook.

  “It’s so lovely to meet you, Paige.” Gaylene’s face creased into a kind smile.

  “You too,” I muttered.

  “And you must be Paige’s . . . friend?” He glanced at me out of the corner of my eye. “I’m Rob,” Dad said to Josh.

  “Yes, I am. I’m Josh Bentley, pleased to meet you, Rob.”

  The men shook hands. I smiled weakly at them all. This was surreal. My dad and his girlfriend—I was still nowhere near being used to that one—and my would-be Last First Date, standing together on the grass at Mission Bay.

  “So, how do you know my Paige? Are you at AGD, too? That place works my girl too hard, you know,” Dad said to Josh.

  I shot a look at Josh, giving a small shake of my head, my eyes pleading with him not to mention that he knows me as a temporary waitress at the Cozy Cottage.

  “They do, Rob, they really do. We’ve done some work together, but I’m actually out on my own in the coffee business these days.”

  “Oh, I know who you are, now!” Gaylene exclaimed. “I saw you on TV. You run Ned’s Coffee.”

  I opened my mouth to explain she must have been mistaken, that Josh was the delivery guy, and the only way he’d be on TV would be if he was at a rugby match and they filmed the crowd, when Josh said, “Yeah, that’s me. Did you see that thing on local businesses on Your News last week?”

  My mouth slackened, and my eyes could have popped out of my head as I listened to Gaylene and Josh discussing how much his recent television appearance had done for his business. Apparently, Ned’s profits were up and he was even considering expanding his operation to meet the upturn in demand. Or something like that. I was too gobsmacked to catch the details.

  “But . . . but you deliver the beans,” I said to him when I had gained the ability to speak once more.

  Josh smiled at me and winked. “Only for special customers.”

  “Oh, I see,” I replied, not seeing in the slightest. Did he mean Bailey? Was Bailey his “special customer”? Did Josh have a thing for Bailey? An odd sensation I couldn’t identify passed over my chest.

  “We really should get on with this run. Haven’t you got somewhere to be tonight?” Josh said once we’d reached the path.

  Given recent developments, my date with Marcus had completely slipped my mind.

 
; “You’re right. Gaylene, it was . . .” What was it? Good? Weird? In the end, I settled on that platitude, “nice to meet you. And Dad, I’ll see you at home tomorrow. I’m out tonight.”

  After everyone had said goodbye and told one another how great it was to meet each other once more, Josh and I turned back and followed the path we had come. This time, though, I barely noticed I was running, so occupied was my mind with my thoughts. Dad had a girlfriend, who he looked totally in love with, and Josh was the owner and operator of Ned’s Coffee, one of the city’s most successful food companies. I felt like I was in a Salvador Dali painting, it was all so surreal.

  We reached the kayak rental place where we had met earlier on in the afternoon.

  “Hey, great pace on the way back here,” Josh said, checking his watch. “We smashed our time from the run on the way there.”

  I chortled. “It must be the fact I just met my dad’s girlfriend for the first time.”

  “About that.” Josh’s voice was soft. “Was that weird for you? I mean, you clearly had no idea your dad was in a relationship with anyone, right?”

  “Ah, no.” That was the understatement of the day.

  “He’s not married?”

  “God, no! His wife hasn’t been on the scene for many years.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Would that be your mother?”

  “Ah, yes.”

  I noticed Josh had an inquisitive look on his face, and I knew exactly why. I’d encountered it from other people many times before. I knew it was weird that I didn’t often think of my dad’s ex-wife as my mother. Only on Mother’s Day and perhaps my birthday every once in a while. She’d been gone so long, she didn’t really enter my consciousness any more. And I didn’t feel bad about it. It was simply the way it was. I mean, how could you miss something you never really had in the first place? And besides, Dad and I were a tight unit and always had been.

  Only, neither of us had been particularly honest with one another lately. I chewed the inside of my lip.

  Josh smiled at me. “I know you need to get going for this big date of yours, but if you want to talk about it . . .”

  My big date! He was right; I needed to get home to get ready. “No, I’m fine. Really. And thanks.”

  “No worries. See you tomorrow for that pool game?”

  “I’m going to whip your ass, you know that, right?”

  He chuckled, shaking his head. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter 15

  AT HOME, I SCRUBBED and plucked and shaved and buffed until I was shiny and raw. I wanted to look my best for Marcus, and as the saying goes, “no pain, no gain.” And oh, my, was there pain. I peered in the mirror after giving myself a particularly brutal brow pluck. My skin was all pink and puffy, thanks to stray hairs being wrenched from their comfortable homes. Ice. I needed ice. I’d read somewhere that Hollywood stars submerged their faces in tubs of ice to tighten the skin and make them look camera-ready. Even though I wasn’t expecting any paparazzi on my date tonight, I figured looking as good as a movie star wasn’t a bad idea.

  Let me preface this by saying, if you haven’t ever dunked your head in a bowl of iced water, I recommend you do, if only to feel how darn painful it is. All the ice from the trays in the freezer piled into the bathroom sink, I took a deep breath and lowered my head.

  Within seconds, my face began to sting like it had been attacked by a swarm of wasps intent on causing maximum pain. Before long, the headache set in, a doozey, right across my forehead. I had to pull out. It was too horrendous. I dried my face off and peered in the bathroom mirror. All the ice seemed to achieve was to make me look as red as a strawberry, the front of my hair hanging limply around my face.

  Note to self: find another way to achieve movie star looks without the risk of frostbite.

  I glanced at the time. Six thirty-seven? My tummy lurched. All this Arctic head dipping had taken my eye off the time. I needed to get a move on, stat! I patted my poor, pink face with moisturizer and dried off my hair. Next up was makeup. I’m not big on a lot of makeup, preferring to try to enhance rather than disguise. I applied some loose powder and blush, a wisp of eyeliner and some mascara. A sweep of red lipstick to contrast with my light blue eyes finished off the look.

  Satisfied I’d hit the right balance, I zipped up my dark blue, sleeveless tunic dress with a sparkly silver pattern and slipped on a pair of gorgeous navy patent leather heels that provided me with a good few inches to my frame. Marcus was tall; we’d look great together.

  One final inspection in my full-length mirror and I was ready for my big date. On our first date, I didn’t have time to get nervous because, let’s face it, I didn’t know it was going to happen. But this one? Let’s just say the butterflies in my belly were so numerous, they threatened to burst out en masse.

  I had no idea what was going through Marcus’s mind. Yes, he’d asked me out on a second date, and yes, he’d been flirty with me when he came to see me in the café. But our first date had ended so weirdly, I really had no clue what to think.

  And then there was Josh, the guy I was supposed to be dating, according to my well-meaning friends. Why had I told him about my date tonight? I let out a sigh. Josh was a nice guy and he seemed more than happy to help me out with training for The Color Run. But there was no spark, no excitement the way there was with Marcus. You can’t make that sort of thing happen; in my opinion, it’s either there or it’s not. And with Josh, quite simply, it was not.

  A heaviness settled in my belly. I knew I was breaking the beach pact with my friends. Hell, I’d even made up a story about the pact being in the presence of the Goddess of the Beach, just to get them to take it seriously. And here I was, about to go out with someone my friends hadn’t sanctioned. Pact or no pact, I knew they were wrong, and tonight was going to prove it, once and for all.

  We had agreed to meet at The Salon, a trendy new restaurant in the city I had heard about but never been to. A well-dressed couple pushed through the door, and I stood back for them, holding the door open for them as they left, chatting among themselves. I entered the restaurant, taking in the music, the conversation, the buzz of the place. It was popular, that was for certain, the place was packed to the gills with diners and people at the bar.

  I stood waiting for the maître d’, a man probably ten or so years older than me who was speaking with the couple in what had to be a fake French accent, it was so thick. There were so many “zes” and “zis” and “sank you vely much” it was a surprise he didn’t trip over his own tongue. I chuckled to myself. Just then, I felt a hand on my waist. I turned and looked straight up into Marcus’s eyes.

  “Hi, Paige.” He leaned down and gave me a kiss on the cheek, only this time it didn’t feel like my spiky aunt’s chaste peck. It was slow and lingering, his warm breath tickling me. “You look gorgeous.”

  I smiled self-consciously at him. I’ve always been attracted to self-confident people. I guess it was something lacking in me. I mean, it wasn’t like I was completely devoid of confidence, but I’m not like people like Marcus or Marissa. They seem to be effortlessly confident in a way I could only dream of. By being around them it would rub off on me somehow.

  “Thanks,” I say, basking in his attention. I took in his striped, collared shirt and slim-fitting pants. He may be dressed like your average twenty-something guy but his physique did something to the clothes, making him stand out from the crowd.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t pick you up from home to bring you here like a proper date. Next time, okay?”

  The ever-present butterflies whenever I was near him beat their wings in my tummy. Marcus was already talking about our next date?

  The couple in front of us dispensed with, the maître d’ turned and smiled at us. “Bonsoir. Welcome to Le Salon, zee restaurant of zee year. My name is Jean-Luc. ’Ow may I ’elp you?” he simpered.

  “We have a reservation for two under the name Marcus Hahn.”

  I watched as fake Jean-Luc ran his
finger down the reservations book on the podium in front of him. “Ah! Voila! Zer you are. Ah, we ’ave ze Louis room reserved for you. It is ze very special place. You are ze very lucky couple zis evening.”

  “Sure, great. Thanks.” Marcus widened his eyes in my direction, and I had to stifle a giggle. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Was this guy for real?

  “I bet his actual name is John Smith, and I’d bet my bottom dollar he’s from Hamilton,” I whispered in Marcus’s ear, and he laughed softly.

  We followed the maître d’ through the tables, past all the people laughing and talking at the bar, and into an area separated from the rest of the restaurant by some thick dark red curtains. It was a beautifully decorated room with a floral centerpiece and a collection of pale pink candles placed on a plate of glass on top of a crisp white tablecloth, bouncing the light around the room. Jean-Luc may very well be a bit of a fraud, but he was right, this place was very special.

  Once seated, Jean-Luc handed us two large leather-bound menus. “Your waiter will be wis you vely soon. You will ave ze exquisite dinner.”

  “Sank you”—Marcus shook his head—“I mean, thank you.”

  Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes at us before he turned on his heel and sashayed away back to his podium at the front of house. “A bientot.”

  I let out a giggle. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” he said with a shrug. “That accent was more fake than Pamela Anderson’s boobs.”

  I laughed, trying not to think of Pamela Anderson’s chest. I already felt so close to Marcus on this date. We were laughing and having fun. It felt different from our first date, the one that had gone so horribly wrong at the end.

  “This room is gorgeous,” I said, looking around.

  Marcus reached out and took his hand in mine, playing with my fingers. “Actually, Paige, I think you’re the gorgeous one. I’m so glad we’re doing this tonight.”

  I beamed at him. “Me too.”

  “You know, I have a good feeling about us.” His eyes were electric.