Olivia
All of that said, it’s becoming increasingly hard to focus on the task at hand when I walk out of my apartment for date number three. Luca is standing next to his car, passenger door open, and a single rose in hand. Yellow.
“Is that for me?” I ask with a smile as I make my way down the steps in heels, calves on fire. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn heels this much. I am more of a strappy sandals kind of girl. But alas…this is the way when you’re in the dating scene.
“No, I just like smelling roses while I’m driving,” he says flatly, and I give him a look.
“Of course it’s for you,” he says as I stop in front of him. And I swear I can see his face shift as the scent of my jasmine perfume swirls around him. Men are suckers for jasmine, I’ve found.
“I love yellow,” I say as I take it from him.
“I know,” he says, holding the door open for me.
My eyes flash up to him. “Oh, really?”
“You wear it a lot,” he says. Then his expression shifts, and he stiffens. But I just smirk up at him.
“Has someone been snooping around social media?” I ask as I get in the car.
“Maybe,” he says.
“Tsk, tsk,” I say as he closes the door.
We drive mostly in silence, other than music softly playing. His car is pristine, which doesn’t surprise me at all, and smells faintly of cedar and citrus. He’s wearing blue, a color I haven’t seen him in yet. It’s the same hue as his eyes, making it very difficult to keep my eyes off him.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” he says. His tone is as dry as usual, but there’s a hint of something else in there.
This man is nearly impossible to decipher. He truly is grumpy as hell, stuffy and blocked off. But behind those walls, I get the sense that there’s something else. I just don’t know what.
And you’ll probably never find out because you’re not actually dating him…
“What song is this?” I ask in an attempt to shut my inner voice up.
“Someone New,” he answers.
“Hozier,” I say, and his eyes pull away from the road for a moment to meet mine.
“Yes,” he says.
“I love Hozier,” I say. And while he doesn’t say it back, his mouth ticks. He uses his thumb to hit the volume button on the steering wheel, turning it up three notches.
Luca finds parking in Waterfront, and as we walk a block or two, he takes my hand. No rush. No tension. The sea breeze is warm and salty, and I smile.
“Do you like oysters?” he asks as we round a corner towards a seafood restaurant.
“Not particularly,” I chuckle. Then I see the name of the restaurant we are headed to. North Current Oyster Bar. “Oh.”
“Have you been here before?” he asks.
Do I look like I’ve been here before?
“I haven’t,” I answer nicely.
“Everything on the menu is perfection,” he says as he holds the door open for me. Then, as he walks up behind me, placing his hand on the small of my back and his lips near the shell of my ear, he says, “You don’t have to order oysters.”
“Thank God,” I whisper, and I swear I feel him smile.
Our table is on the patio, right against the banister with the ocean spread out in front of us.
“This is amazing,” I tell him after we order our drinks. “I love the sea. Sometimes I forget we live near it. I’m always busy working. I forget how beautiful it is,” I say as I gaze towards the horizon where the sky kisses the waves.
“You’re beautiful,” Luca says, and my eyes dart back to his. The comment, a compliment, hits me in the chest unexpectedly, bouncing around in my nerves like a firecracker. I’m not quite sure what to do with it. So I blush and take a sip of my water.
But Luca’s eyes stay locked on me. And while he’s not smiling, I can tell he’s entertained by my reaction.
“You’re not used to being told that,” he says.
“Honestly, I don’t know that a lot of girls are,” I admit, setting my water back down and wondering where my cocktail is. If this is the tone we are going to have on date three, I am going to need the assistance of Hendrick’s to guide me through it.
“Men should say it more,” he says. “Especially when it’s true.”
And I have no response to that. His voice is factual. But the words hit heavily. A reminder of that bare minimum rule I mentioned before.
It’s part of the act, Livv. Now remember your role.
Our drinks finally make it to the table, and we order our food: a lobster roll for him and spicy ahi tacos for me. I take a sip of my muddled gin and tonic. Luca takes a sip of his bourbon, and his eyes land on me again, warm and intense.
“Tell me about your job,” he says, and I nearly choke.
“My job?” I ask.
“Yes. You’ve told me you work in communications. But I’d love to know more,” he says, swirling his glass.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details,” I smile.
“Try me,” he says, and I swallow back my nerves. I write scripts for a living. Surely I can write my way through this.
“I host a podcast,” I tell him.
“What kind of podcast?” he asks.
Fuck.
I don’t know why I’m flustered. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. We’re on date three. Most people talk about this shit on date one. A form of small talk. Most people don’t mind talking about their jobs. But most people’s jobs aren’t designed to destroy the person they are on a date with.
“Relationship advice,” I say, and Luca casually takes another sip of his whiskey.
“Interesting,”
“Is it?” I ask.
“You don’t think so?” he asks, zeroing in on me. And I really wish he wouldn’t do that. It’s very hard to focus on the words coming out of his mouth when I can’t stop staring at it. His mouth, I mean. Those lips…that tongue…
“I just find it ironic,” he goes on. “You host a podcast about dating. I’m the CEO of a dating app. We work in the same field.”
“I suppose we do,” I agree, reaching for my drink again.
“Your tone says you disagree,” he presses, and I swear he’s amused. Despite the lack of a smile, there’s something in his eyes, a lilt in his tone. This is him amused. And it’s unraveling me.
“No…I just…I don’t think we promote the same things.”
“How so?” he asks.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t be telling him any of this. But that jawline, that gaze, those forearms…he’s just so persuasive.
“I’m not a fan of online dating,” I admit.
“And yet, we met–”
“You gotta try everything once,” I say, and he studies me again. And I decide to grab the conversational wheel. My turn to decide where we are going because right now, we are headed for a cliff.
“So if you run a dating app, would you consider yourself romantic?” I ask. I am going for anything light and fluffy here. But Luca’s expression remains unmoving as he answers with a single, fluff-less syllable.
“No.”
I snort a laugh. “What do you mean, no?” I ask.
“I mean, I don’t believe in romance.”
My eyes narrow. “How does that work? How can you create what you created and promote what you promote if you don’t believe in love?”
“I didn’t say I don’t believe in love,” he says. “I said I don’t believe in romance.”
“They’re the same thing,” I tell him.
“No. They’re not,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Love is an action. It’s two people being compatible in a sensible way, making a commitment, putting in the work, and making things work no matter what.
It’s based on lifestyle and common interests and an understanding of that commitment to each other. Honesty fulfilled equal trust.”
“And how is that different from romance? And chemistry?” I ask.
“Chemistry doesn’t exist,” he says and my eyes widen.
“It doesn’t. Chemistry is hormones fueled by the biological need to eliminate loneliness in your life or the desire to procreate.
Paired with sexual attraction, of course.
Pheromones influence it as well. But it has nothing to do with love and definitely nothing to do with compatibility. ”
“Wow,” I say, looking down at the table. “You sure know how to set the mood.”
“Why does that bother you?” he asks, and I set my drink down. I know the game we are supposed to be playing, but right now, he’s triggered something in me. Something deep and unhinged because it’s tied to everything I believe. Hence my job.
“Because people aren’t just a mass of cells driven by evolution to reproduce.
Our need to find a partner isn’t just primal.
It’s emotional. Connection isn’t based on chapter three of your biology 101 textbook.
It’s the unsaid similarities. It’s the feeling you get in your chest when someone can finish your sentences.
It’s the ability to know someone well enough that you can predict their needs, their emotional needs, before they ask.
It’s liking the same song. It’s sharing a milkshake.
It’s laughing at the same part of a movie no one else finds funny.
It’s reaching for the other person’s hand in the middle of the night when you’re half asleep. ”
“That’s elementary,” he says.
“No. It’s authentic. It’s a bond that no one and nothing can tear apart.”
“Unless one person is lying about that connection,” he says. “And it’s all a front.”
I bite my lip. I’ve hit a nerve, and despite it being a risky move, I am curious just what nerve that is.
“Why did you create a dating app?” I ask. “And don’t say because it looked like a lucrative opportunity. A man like you could come up with a million lucrative opportunities. Why dating apps? Why love?”
“Because the relationship I always believed in fell apart,” he says, and his words hit like a bullet.
I pause, careful before I go on. “Were you…married…?”
“No,” he answers flatly. “I’m talking about my parent’s marriage. And…their divorce.”
There it is. The reason why a man who never smiles, has the outward warmth of a shaken gin martini and the reputation of a womanizer (though I’m still on the fence about the last one) would throw his lifework into creating a dating app yet claims relationships are formulaic.
“You disagree,” he says.
“I do,” I say. “I think love is the only thing that makes sense in the world. And romance is a big part of that.”
“Romance is deceiving,” he says, and as our food comes, I simply smile at him.
“I guess we are going to have to agree to disagree.”