Chapter 6 The Date I Didn’t Sign Up For
The Date I Didn’t Sign Up For
Harper
I’m sprawled across my bed in my most comfortable leggings and an oversized t-shirt, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok and trying to pretend I have any interest in studying for Monday’s exam.
The plan for tonight is simple: order Chinese food, read a book that just came out, and absolutely, under no circumstances, leave this room.
Then Maddie appears in my doorway like a woman on a mission, holding two dresses draped over her arm and wearing a look that means she’s about to ruin my perfectly planned evening of hermitude.
“No,” I say without looking up from my phone.
“You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”
“You’re about to say something about the double date I forgot about because I have selective memory when it comes to things I don’t want to do.
And I’m about to tell you that I’m not feeling well.
” I let out what I hope is a convincing cough.
“See? I’m sick. Possibly dying if you google my symptoms.”
Maddie rolls her eyes so hard. “That’s the most pathetic fake cough I’ve ever heard, and I once listened to you try to convince that teacher that you had bronchitis when you just didn’t want to give your presentation.”
“That cough was very convincing.”
“That cough sounded like a fake dying walrus.”
She flops dramatically onto my bed, the dresses fanning out between us like white flags of surrender. Except I’m not surrendering. I’m staying right here in my fortress of cotton and takeout menus.
“Harper,” she says in her most reasonable voice, which immediately puts me on high alert.
She grabs the bookmark from my nightstand and puts in my book, setting it aside.
“This one is normal. A genuinely good person. He doesn’t live in a locker room or measure his worth by how many pucks he can hit in a row. ”
“My standards aren’t that low.”
“Could’ve fooled me based on last Friday’s history.”
I throw a pillow at her. “Rude.”
“But accurate.” She dodges the pillow with practiced ease. “Look, I’ll sweeten the deal. Tacos for a straight week if you come tonight.”
“You actually agreed to a month.”
“Two weeks, but only for Taco Tuesday. And I’ll paint your nails every day.”
It’s tempting but not tempting enough to drag myself out of my comfortable cave of denial. “Nope. Still sick. Might be contagious.”
Maddie’s eyes narrow, and I recognize the shift in her expression. She’s moving to DefCon 2: emotional manipulation.
“Remember Christmas two years ago when grandma cornered you about when you were getting married to Bobby and whether you’d gained weight, and I faked having a sudden, excruciating toothache so you could sneak out early?”
I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Low blow, Mads.”
“Yeah, well, this is my toothache moment. You owe me.”
And damn it, she’s right. Grandma had been in rare form that Christmas, armed with unsolicited life advice and passive-aggressive comments about my togetherness with Bobby. Maddie’s dramatic dental emergency had been the perfect escape route.
“I hate this,” I mumble through my fingers. “Don’t make me do this!”
“No, you don’t. You love this, which is why you’re going to put on one of these dresses and come be social with me.”
Before I can protest further, she’s off the bed and attacking my closet like a woman possessed. I watch in horror as she rejects outfit after outfit with muttered commentary.
“Too nun-like.” A cardigan gets tossed aside.
“Too funeral.” My black blazer joins the growing reject pile.
“Too ‘I’ve given up on life.’” There goes my favorite hoodie.
“Hey!” I sit up indignantly. “That hoodie is so cute.”
“That hoodie has holes and stains and needs to be trashed.”
She continues her rampage until she finally emerges victorious, holding up a fitted black sweater and dark jeans. “This. With the knee-high boots. Sexy but approachable.”
“I’m not approachable.”
“Exactly why you need the sweater to soften your resting murder face.”
I burst out laughing. “I do not have a resting murder face.”
“Harper, you once made a guy at Starbucks apologize for existing just by looking at him.”
“He was taking forever to order! There were people behind him!”
“You made him cry.”
“I did not make him cry.”
Maddie gives me a look that clearly says she’s not buying it. “Put on the sweater, Harper. Think of it as community service. You’ll be saving one poor college boy from an evening of disappointment.”
Ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of my mirror wearing the black sweater, jeans, and boots combo that Maddie selected.
She’s done something to my hair that makes it look effortlessly tousled instead of like I’ve been lying in bed for three hours, and somehow convinced me to put on makeup that’s subtle enough to look natural but polished enough to suggest I actually tried.
“See?” she says, beaming at me in the mirror like she’s just performed a miracle. “You look like a functioning human being.”
“I don’t like this,” I mutter, adjusting the sweater’s neckline. “I’m at a turning point in the book, and you’re essentially forcing me to go on a date with a complete stranger.”
“I’m encouraging you to expand your social circle.”
“By threatening to call in ancient favors and bribing me with tacos and nail polish.”
“Whatever works.” She grabs her purse and keys, clearly considering this battle won. “You’ll thank me when you meet him.”
“I’m going to thank you by haunting you after I die of boredom.”
The restaurant Maddie chose is exactly the kind of place that screams “safe first date”. It’s cozy but not too intimate, with twinkly lights in the windows and the kind of menu that has something for everyone. It’s the Switzerland of dinner venues, neutral territory designed to offend no one.
I’m mentally rehearsing my “nice to meet you, but I suddenly remembered I have an emergency” speech as we walk through the front door. The hostess barely has time to ask if we need a table before Maddie’s waving enthusiastically at someone across the room.
“There they are!” she says, like she’s just spotted long-lost relatives instead of her date and whatever poor soul got roped into this for the evening.
I follow her gaze to a table near the windows where two guys are sitting.
One of them, presumably Maddie’s Sirus, is animated and grinning, the kind of person who probably makes friends with strangers in elevators.
The other one looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else on the planet. Perfect.
As we get closer, I get a better look at my designated entertainment for the evening. He’s wearing a casual t-shirt, has dark hair that’s neatly styled but not overly styled, and the kind of posture that suggests either military training or really good manners.
My first thought is: Not my type. He’s too clean-cut, too put-together, too... safe.
My second thought is: But I like his watch.
It’s a simple, classic piece. It’s nothing flashy or trying too hard to impress. The kind of watch someone wears because they actually need to know what time it is, not because they want everyone to know they can afford expensive accessories.
He stands when we reach the table, which immediately earns him points for basic politeness that’s apparently rare enough to be noteworthy.
When he extends his hand for a handshake, his grip is warm and firm without being the kind of bone-crushing display of dominance some guys seem to think is necessary.
“Harper,” he says with a small smile. “I’m Cole.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply automatically, falling back on the social programming that’s been drilled into me since childhood.
For just a flicker of a second, I catch something in his expression. Relief, maybe? Like he’s as surprised as I am that this interaction isn’t immediately painful.
“So!” Sirus says loudly, gesturing for us to sit. “Maddie, you look amazing. Harper, great to finally meet you. Cole’s been looking forward to this all week.”
I glance at Cole, who’s already settling back into his chair with the kind of careful neutrality that suggests Sirus might be embellishing just a bit.
Maddie slides into the seat next to Sirus, immediately launching into conversation about something that happened in her sociology class, leaving Cole and me to figure out our own dynamic.
The silence stretches for exactly long enough to become noticeable before Cole leans slightly toward me, lowering his voice so only I can hear.
“So,” he says with the hint of a smirk, “you’re the one I’m supposed to steal away so Sirus can have alone time with Maddie.”
I blink, caught off guard by his directness. “You don’t have to try too hard. I’m here under duress.”
His smirk becomes a full smile. “Perfect. Then we can make it look like we’re fulfilling our wingman duties while counting down until we can make a socially acceptable escape.”
Across the table, Maddie throws her head back and laughs at something Sirus said, completely oblivious to the fact that her carefully orchestrated double date has just resulted in me and Cole forming a mutual escape pact within the first five minutes.
This might actually be tolerable after all.