Chapter 8
After another grueling day at work, by the time I get home it’s after six.
I open the door of my apartment and find a bottle of champagne on ice sitting on the kitchen island. As soon as Grace hears the door slam closed, she bounds out of her room. She’s wearing a pink dress that hugs every curve, light make-up and her hair hangs long and wavy over her shoulders.
“Wow,” I say. “You scrub up really well, roomie. You look gorgeous.”
“Getting ready for my hot date. Ethan’s taking me out to dinner at Via Carota.”
“Oh, I’ve heard such good things about that place.”
“Me too.”
“What’s the champagne for?” I shrug off my coat. “Are we celebrating that you’re about to get wined, dined and laid again?”
“Yes. But we’re also celebrating because so are you.” She pops the champagne and pours two glasses, handing me one.
I take a sip. “Are you going to tell me what you’re talking about or do I have to guess?”
She brings up something on her phone and hands it to me. “A ninety-eight point two percent match, girlfriend. I’ve never heard of one being that high before.”
“Match?” It’s starting to dawn on me.
“Feast your eyes on Noah Steel.”
“Noah Steel ?” I laugh. “You’re joking.”
“It’s probably not his real name, just like Lucky Irish isn’t your real name. But who cares? Look at him.”
Still laughing, I glance at the photo on the screen.
I stop laughing, and zoom in a little.
Wow.
“Right?” Grace is watching my reaction with glee. “He’s freaking hot . And he’s already accepted the date.”
“He has?”
“The app set you up at a new place called Hopeless Romantic. It’s a boutique hotel but it’s got this trendy little bar and bistro downstairs. He’s agreed to meet you there tomorrow night. Seven o’clock sharp.”
“That’s so soon.” But I can’t tear my eyes away.
He is hot. It’s a stop-traffic kind of hotness.
His hair is a rich chestnut brown. He’s very handsome, but what holds my attention most of all is his eyes.
They’re a striking shade of blue. With light crinkles around them as he smiles.
He looks nice , is my first impression. Like he’d hold a door open for you.
But he’s also got this darkly sexy, manly thing going on.
You get the feeling he wouldn’t be too nice. There are layers there.
He’s outside on what looks like a deck with the wide open blue sky that matches the color of his eyes and wispy clouds behind him. He might be at a beach somewhere. The photo looks natural, not like it’s been staged for social media. It looks real and unposed.
“See?” Grace is grinning at me. “All you have to do is click ‘accept.’”
“But I know nothing about him,” I protest, despite the fact that my eyes are still glued to his photo.
“And he knows nothing about you, except the info that was required, which the app keeps confidential.”
“It does?”
“Yes. You have to meet him to find out more about him. That’s the idea.”
“What if he’s weird? What if he’s a psycho killer or something?” I can admit he doesn’t look like a psycho killer. He looks like a normal, well-adjusted, successful person. The shirt he’s wearing is a nice one. It’s open at his throat, revealing his tanned, corded neck and a hint of chest hair.
Help.
“If he is, then you politely take your leave and you never have to see him again. He doesn’t know your real name or anything about you.
” Grace squeezes my shoulder. “Take a breath, Luck. It’s one date.
You don’t have to do anything other than show up, have a drink with him, then decide if you like him or not. No drama. No stress.”
“But…what will we talk about?”
Grace laughs. “God, has it been so long since you’ve been on a date that you even have to ask that? Don’t answer, because I already know the answer.”
“Yeah, I haven’t been on a date in…a while.”
“I know. I’ve known you for a year and a half and I don’t think you’ve gone on a single date that whole time.”
“I’ve been busy.”
Grace rolls her eyes. “And that’s why you need my help. And here it is, in the form of a date with Noah Steel.”
“But what do I say to him?”
“You talk about the kinds of stuff people normally talk about on dates. Like your hobbies. Your work?—”
“I’m definitely not talking about my work. And I don’t have hobbies.”
She gives me an exasperated look. “You do have hobbies. You like to decorate your house. You like antiquing. You read sometimes, especially decorating magazines. You go to the movies occasionally. Every now and then you go to a museum or a play or a Broadway show. We saw Wicked for the third time just a few weeks ago. Tell him about that.”
“Those aren’t hobbies. Those are just…being alive and living in New York.”
“Stop being so difficult, Lucky. Talk about your favorite book, your favorite movie, your favorite artist. Just let the conversation flow naturally.”
Suddenly, the thought of sitting at a table with a total stranger and forcing small talk sounds terrifying, especially considering all the craziness going on in my life right now.
But Grace is right. It’s one date.
“Just relax and enjoy it,” Grace says encouragingly. “And who knows? Maybe this one date will lead to something amazing. Or not. But you’ll never know either way until you at least try.”
I sigh, feeling my resistance start to crumble. She’s not wrong. A few hours of escape from my spiraling thoughts does sound sort of nice. And if he looks anything like he does in his photo, it might not be awful to stare at him for an hour or two before I take my leave.
“You can do this, Luck. Just put all the other stuff to the side for one evening and be in the moment. It’s doable. You’ve got this.”
I’ve got this? “What do I wear?”
She thinks about this for a few seconds, then her eyes light up. “That little blue dress you wore to that Heights exhibition we went to a few months ago. It’s sexy as fuck.”
“Do I… want to look sexy? God, I’m so bad at this.”
“It’s because you don’t do it enough, sweetie. And yes, you absolutely do want to look sexy.” Grace asks gently, “So does this mean you’re ready to accept the date?”
I’m nervous. “Do you really think I should?”
“I really think you should, Lucky Irish.”
“Really?”
“ Yes .”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. What the hell. Let’s do this.”
I’m still holding Grace’s phone, which has gone dark. She guides my hand, bringing up the screen with the accept button. “You have to push the button. I’m not doing it for you.”
“Here goes nothing.” I do it. I click Accept Your Date with Noah Steel .
The screen flashes with digital confetti and fireworks. Then an address, the time and the date pops up, along with Noah Steel’s face in a little polaroid with hearts popping around it.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the confirmation that this is actually happening, but Grace tops up our champagne.
“This will be so good for you, Lucky, you'll see. Remember how it works. If you pretend you’re about to meet the man of your absolute dreams, it just might turn out that you actually do.”