Chapter 2
EIGHT LONG MINUTES
“Absolutely not,” Skylar said.
“Absolutely yes,” Jessica said, taking another bite of salad. “When was the last time you had fun?”
“I’m having fun right now,” Skylar said. “I’m eating lunch with you. What more could a woman wish for?”
Jessica gave her the stare she used on the more trying sort of Year Five boy. “If this is your barometer, you need a new measuring stick.”
“Mixed metaphor.”
“I don’t care. It’s one evening. One simple Friday evening. What would you be missing out to do it?”
“Terrific Thursday. Pizza and TV.”
“Let me guess,” Jess said. “Oh—oh—Wait, it’s coming to me.
Hyundai Country Calendar. What’s it this week?
Let’s have a wee peek.” She pulled out her phone.
“Oh, well, I can certainly see why you can’t miss this one.
‘A Waikato woman with a passion for genetics runs a top Coopworth sheep stud on rugged coastal country, using scientific testing to produce hardy, parasite-tolerant sheep.’” She set the phone down.
“I rest my case. Come on. It’s moral support. Imagine the horror of doing it alone.”
“I thought it was meant to be fun,” Skylar said. “If it’s so much fun, why do you need me?”
“The fun,” Jess said, “comes from doing it together and talking about the hopelessness of the blokes afterward.”
“I thought I was going to find love. Which is it?”
“Well, you’re meant to. Whether you will … But what’s the alternative? You can’t want to be alone forever.”
“‘Alone’ is the last place I’d possibly be,” Skylar pointed out. “I have three children, one grandfather, one bathroom, and an evil cat.”
“Maybe don’t mention the cat during the dates,” Jess said. “Or the Year One teacher thing, either. Dress in something nice, wear heels, up the makeup a fair bit—not too much, though; don’t want to look desperate—and leave your lovely hair down. No cats, no kids, no dead husbands.”
Skylar took another bite of beans, greens, and grains.
It wasn’t as delicious as, say, a meat pie, but it wasn’t terrible, just a bit on the non-meaty side.
And possibly the bland side. Of course, “the bland side” probably described her existence.
“I know it’s speed dating,” she said, “but what else am I meant to talk about if I’m allowed to bring up precisely none of my actual life? ”
Jess waved an arm. “You know. Sport. Your favorite workouts. Music. Whether the PM would look better with a toupee, unless the bloke you’re talking to is wearing a toupee. You sparkle, is the idea.”
“And I’m sparkly exactly how?” Skylar asked. “I’m not sure I own a short skirt that fits, if that’s what you mean by ‘nice’. I’m not even sure I own a mascara anymore. Aren’t you meant to throw away your makeup every two years or something?”
Jessica looked at her in horror. “Every six months for mascara. You definitely need to come with me. View it as a training run. What’s the worst that could happen?”
As Jade emerged from the car, Zane said, “Remind me again why I’m doing this instead of relaxing with my kids and running over my notes before heading to the hotel tomorrow. The skipper has responsibilities, you realize. I can’t even have a beer. What sort of evening out is that?”
His sister adjusted the waistband of her skirt and her purse on her shoulder as Zane shut her car door.
“Stop whinging. This is good for you. Who knows, you might even meet somebody lovely. More importantly, you’re helping me write the humorous feature that’s going to propel me into a regular gig at the Herald, and as we know, it’s all about me.
I told you, I need a man’s point of view.
And the fact that it’s your point of view is the reason people will read it. ”
“Why did they agree to pay you for it if they didn’t think people would read it?”
Jade looked at him sidelong, and he sighed. “You didn’t.”
“Well, yes, I used your name. Of course I did! They wouldn’t have given me the assignment otherwise. And it’s an hour and a half, that’s all. You know they’re all going to want to date you. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel. Although it would be much funnier if they ran away screaming.”
“Shooting fish in a barrel definitely sounds romantic,” he said. “But I’m not that good-looking, if that’s what you mean, and I thought we weren’t using my real name. Not that the girls are likely to know me anyway.”
Jade scoffed. “Yeh, right. You’re the Blues skipper. You’re an All Black. Some of them are sure to recognize you. And you’re not handsome, exactly, but you’ve got the body and all, if a woman likes more of a stocky type, and your face is … craggy. That’s the word. Craggy. Craggy’s good.”
“If you’re a rock,” Zane said, opening the door to the bar for her and taking in the room from over her head. “And the ‘stocky type’? Pardon me? I’m not dressed right, either.”
“The time to think about that,” Jade said, “is before you leave the house.”
“You could’ve shrieked at me or something. That bloke’s wearing some kind of …”
“Linen trousers. Wide-legged. That’s the look this year.”
“They’re white,” he pointed out.
“Cream.”
He took another look. “Maybe for a back. No forward would be caught dead in that.”
She sighed and slapped a sticker onto his chest. “Gin up your casual-yet-sexy chat, Henry. You’re about to speed date.”
Her face hurt from smiling, and she was a Year One teacher! She practically smiled for a living.
“So what sort of sport do you enjoy, Sky? That’s a pretty name,” the man opposite her was saying now.
He was wearing wide cream linen trousers and a matching jacket with the sleeves shoved up, with an apricot T-shirt underneath.
His dark hair was short on the sides and a bit floppy on top, and his scruff was just-so.
Her own jeans were on the skinnier side, which had caused Jess to give her a quick, horrified glance before she’d recovered enough to pronounce her “gorgeous,” but that was what she’d had!
She hadn’t realized quite how out of style they were.
She was wearing boots with a good heel and a turquoise shirt that she’d always thought was quite nice, and she’d used a lint roller on the cat hair, but …
Oh. Sport. She considered saying, “Freeze tag,” but decided on, “I watch some rugby, and on my own, I’ve been enjoying lifting.” “Lifting,” apparently, sounded more dedicated and hip than, “I lift weights whilst watching TV.”
“CrossFit?” the bloke asked. His name was Trevor. “Or are we talking Body Pump at Les Mills? Though they’ve got the Heavy program now, which is a bit less cringe.”
“Body Pump it is,” she said, abandoning all hope and going for “cheery honesty,” or perhaps, “I’m tired of pretending.” “In my lounge, with dumbbells and the app. And the rugby is mainly when I’m watching my son play. How about you?”
She hadn’t realized you could actually see the interest drain out of a man’s face. She smiled again and said, “Never mind. We’re not a match, but you still have two more to go. Tell me who you have liked. Anybody tickle your fancy?”
“Uh …” He looked confused.
“Oh, come on. We have about two and a half more minutes, and surely you want to tell somebody how the evening’s gone.”
“Well, yeh, then. As you mention it. There’s a girl, Jade, who’s quite fit. Heaps of energy. Sparkling, you’d call it. Brimming. Like that.”
“I heard sparkling was good. Which one is she?”
“Two back,” he said, and glanced over. “Huh. She’s with some big bloke right now and seems to be telling him off. Waving her arm a bit. Think I should go over there and ask if she’s OK? Chivalrous, possibly.”
Skylar glanced over. No, she thought. Not possible. What’s he doing here? “I think,” she said carefully, “that that might be a bad idea.”
“Oh?” He looked disappointed. “Not respecting her agency, or something?”
“Well, mainly that that’s Zane Mahuta with her, and he’d probably break you in half.”
“Who?” Now, he looked disappointed and puzzled. Also offended, but seriously? A man in linen trousers was planning to tell off a hooker?
“All Black?” she suggested. “Hooker? Hard man? Plays for the Blues? Are you sure you’re a Kiwi?”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I’m more of a soccer man myself. More finesse to it. Arsenal’s my team.”
“Huh. The writhing around pretending to be injured doesn’t bother you? Running around beating their chests after a goal?”
“Expressing emotion,” he said stiffly, “isn’t unmanly. What, you still pine for the stoic Kiwi bloke? Swanndri shirt, stubbies, work boots, and beer with his mates? A bit behind the times, aren’t you?”
“Well, that’s certainly a point of view to consider.” It was a phrase she often found helpful with parents. “Good luck with Jade. The gong’s about to go. Nice meeting you, Trevor.”
The gong went at that moment, but Trevor paused before getting up. “How did you know the time that exactly?”
“I’m a Year One teacher. Five-year-olds. I also have three kids, the kind of cat that leaves hair everywhere, and a scary mortgage. I’m a widow, too. Reckon I’ll find a date?”
Trevor practically bolted out of there. It had been worth it, though.
She marked her card with yet another Not for me, and thought, Two to go. Eight minutes each. Sixteen minutes. She could do sixteen minutes.
What was she meant to do about Zane Mahuta, though? Introduce herself? Not introduce herself? How embarrassing was this going to be?
Help.
By the time he planted himself in his eighth chair, Zane was in a bad mood, and the fizzy water with lime he was drinking wasn’t doing much to cheer him up.
On the other hand, this one was dead fit, in a homespun sort of way.
The kind you’d see on Hyundai Country Calendar helping to run her family’s sheep farm and think, “Well, she works for me.” The kind who’d get letters from hopeful farmers after the show.
Her hair was a mix of red and gold and curled in corkscrews that had to be natural, she had pale skin and freckles on her nose and not much makeup, and her lips turned up at the corners as if she just couldn’t help smiling.
Until his eyes met hers, at least. Then she looked like she was about to bolt for the door.
She actually shifted her chair backward.
“I’m not that bad,” he said.
“What?” She blinked at him. Her eyes were green and shaped like almonds, and they tilted up at the corners, too. Like a cat’s. Maybe she didn’t look quite as wholesome as he’d first thought.
“Oh.” She got the smile back. “Are you grumpy because you got told off back there? What did you say?”
“What?” Now he was the one blinking. “When?” He looked at her name tag. Sky. Was that a name? She looked like a Sky, though. Sort of open.
“Two dates back,” she said, and he had to work to remember what they’d been talking about.
“She was going off on you, my so-called date thought. He wondered if he should go over and rescue her. I told him that probably wouldn’t end well.
Of course, he only wanted to do it so he’d look heroic, and that wouldn’t have happened if you’d bent him like a pretzel.
She’s sparkly, he said. I was told I should be sparkly tonight.
Pity the most I ever get is a bit fizzy. ”
“Oh, I dunno.” He was feeling better, somehow. “I’d say you’re doing some sparkling. And I don’t bend people like pretzels. I’m required to be a good citizen. Helpful. Friendly. Like that.”
“Huh. How would you say you’re doing with that?”
“It’s a goal,” he said, “not an achievement.”
“Ha. So what was the story back there, now that we know you’re not always such a good citizen? Were you behaving inappropriately?” Definitely sparkly. Teasing, anyway. He was a sucker for women who teased, probably because it didn’t happen much. Apparently he was scary.
He grimaced. “No. That’s my sister. Thought I wasn’t making an effort. Course I’m not making an effort. I didn’t even want to come!”
“Me either. Dragged along. Friend in my case, not sister.” She held up her stack of cards. “Every one a no, so relax, you’re off the hook. I’ve already given up. Well, I’d probably given up some time back, to be honest.”
“Hard to believe,” he said. “I don’t see a reason for that.”
“No?” She put both elbows on the table and leaned forward. She was wearing the kind of blouse that buttoned not tremendously far up, so the leaning was distracting. “I have three kids and one cat. I teach school. I am undatable.”
He laughed. “I have three kids myself. Widower. No cats, but I recently had some rats. Don’t ask. I’m only datable because—”
“Because of your job,” she said, “Henry. Seriously? Henry?” Now she was the one laughing, so he had to join her, didn’t he?
It was that upturned mouth. “You’re too datable, is what you are.
No, thank you. But who would’ve thought that I’d meet somebody else my age whose spouse got hit by a bus or whatever? Is this a bonding moment?”
His smile died fast. “Yeh,” he said, “no. Not really.”
The gong went. She said, “What? Did that sound callous?”
“Got to go.” He stood up. “Match on Saturday.”
“But we’ve still got two dates to go. Also, I should probably say—”
“Got to go,” he said again. “See you.”
Could this evening get any worse? He’d let his guard down once—once—and she’d come up with that?
He was so hot, he didn’t even realize until he was halfway to Jade’s place that she’d said she had three kids. Three kids plus three kids was …
Well, yeh. Ridiculous.