Chapter 5
Chapter 5
There are a few things I know about myself, things that I’ve known for a long, long time, things I can rely on. Such as (in no particular order):
I like singing ABBA songs at karaoke, probably a little too much (and lately, I’ve begun to wonder whether singing at Jojo’s every Saturday night with my girlfriends may be contributing to me still being single).
Even though I’d never admit it to Larissa, I find the color blue totally boring and would much prefer it if we could wear pink every now and then. Barbie pink, to be specific. Ironically, of course.
I do not like Alex Walsh.
People may not think so if they knew about the whole Barbie pink thing, but I am a sane, normal person who doesn’t have any masochistic tendencies. None whatsoever, unless you count Hot Yoga (holding body-contorting poses in three-thousand-degree heat is pretty borderline, I’ve got to admit). So, as I sit at my desk, researching photographers, I know I need to find someone spectacular to persuade Larissa to drop Alex like a wet, diseased rat. And yes, I am enjoying that image right now.
All I’ve got to do is find another photographer whose work “speaks” to Larissa to divert her attention away from Alex, and I’ll be rid of him forever. I call it my New Shiny Toy Plan, which works with toddlers and celebrities alike. Well, with Larissa, anyway.
And yes, I know, Alex said he wants to do it, and he said he’d already sent some ideas to Larissa. But this is my last chance to be rid of him, and I’m throwing everything at it.
I pull up another website from my search results and begin to scroll through. Some of the photographs on the site are really quite beautiful, and I take some screenshots of the best and send them to the printer. With a small smile, I note the name of the photographer and his contact details in my Labrador puppy notebook.
My eyes flick to my list. After all my trawling of the Internet, I’ve only come up with three options to replace Alex, but I’m hopeful one of these will do the trick. Then it’ll officially be bye-bye, Alex, and hello, happiness.
I collect the screenshots from the printer, grab a (blue) dress I picked up from the cleaners on my way into the office today, and knock on Larissa’s door. “It’s almost time to go, Larissa,” I say.
“Come in, Darcy,” comes a small, muffled voice.
I push open the door and walk in to find Larissa on the floor in an advanced yoga pose that makes her look like her limbs are made of rubber bands. Despite punishing myself in Hot Yoga, I can only dream of being able to bend myself into that kind of pose. A croissant-meets-a-human-suitcase kind of thing. My body hurts just looking at her.
She uncrosses her limbs and stretches up toward the ceiling, standing on her tiptoes, then lets out a deep breath of air. “Oh, that feels so much better.”
“I’ve got a couple of things for you before you go to the event this morning,” I say as I hang the dress up on a hook and pull the plastic sheath from it.
“What are they?” She slips her shirt off, and I hand her the dress, which she pulls on over her head in one effortless, graceful movement.
“I’ve been doing some research into options for the gallery.”
Her face lights up. “Please tell me you got the wallabies.”
“Larissa, we’ve been over this. Auckland Zoo won’t lease wallabies out for events.”
“They should! Imagine the possibilities.”
Imagine the poop.
“I think it’s not considered ethical practice by the animal welfare people.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Animal welfare is an extremely important issue to me.”
“I’m talking about the actual photographs for the opening exhibit.” I hand her the collection of screenshots and hold my breath. “Here are some examples of some photographers’ work. Personally, I really like them, and I’m sure we could find something in there that resonates with you.”
Please like them. Please like them.
She leafs through them and then looks back up at me. “Why are you showing me these? We’ve already got our photographer, and his work is incredible. Although I wish his name was Alex Alex. It’s better than Alex Walsh, don’t you think?” She stretches her hand out, and I reluctantly take the printouts back.
“But some of these are just as amazing.” I pull out an image of a couple of laughing, wizened old women sitting on the steps of a beautiful old church in some place that looks like it could be Greece or Italy. Some country where they have happy, wizened old women and beautiful old churches. “To me, this photograph is all about how age may wither us, but laughter remains . . . particularly with our old friends . . . you know, at churches.”
I’m doing my best to channel my inner Larissa here. It’s not working.
She takes the photo back and examines it for a moment. “I do like a positive aging message,” she says, hope whooshing through me. No Alex Walsh, here I come! “Although, between you and me, these women could do with a spot or two of Botox. Don’t you think? The eyelids on this one here seem to have completely eclipsed her eyes. What kind of life can that be? Not being able to see because of your Shar-Pei folds. She must need little sticks to hold them up, like a Salvador Dali painting.” She shudders. “Nightmare.”
“She looks happy to me, like she’s old but happy, so everything is all right with the world,” I offer hopefully.
“No.” She thrusts the photograph back at me. “I want to stick with what we’ve got. Alex Walsh’s work speaks to me.”
I let out a defeated puff of air. When something “speaks to” Larissa, there’s no way to talk her out of it. So many things have “spoken” to her since I’ve been her assistant. Rocks, crystals, ponchos, even a kitten spoke to her once, which made me wonder whether she fancied herself as a bit of a Dr. Doolittle type until I remembered it wasn’t literally speaking to her. (In my defense, it was meowing a whole lot at the time.)
I always get an image of whatever it is that’s currently “speaking” to her with a large mouth, jabbering away. In my lighter moments, I wonder what they say to her? “How’s it going?” “You look familiar.” “Why are you always in blue?”
Whatever it is Alex’s photographs have said to her, I’d like to make them shut the heck up, that’s for sure.
“The thing is, Darcy, I don’t care about those other photographers’ work. I care about the work of the photographer that touched me here.” She pats her chest. “I need Alex Walsh in this gallery. No one else.”
“But—” I give up. My hopes are dashed. My New Shiny Toy Plan has been well and truly foiled, and now I’ve got no choice but to work with Alex. “Sure. I got it.” Knowing when I’m beat, I ball up the images I searched online for hours to find.
“What was the other thing?” she asks me as she sits at her desk.
“I got that info you wanted on wheatgrass supplements. I emailed it to you.”
“What would I do without you?”
Have wallabies dressed as waiters wandering around at gallery openings?
“I’m here to help, Larissa. It’s my job.”
“Remind me to get you some of these mini wheatgrass shots. You simply rip off the lid and drink them in one. They will change your life.”
“Wheatgrass shots sound—” Terrible? Horrible? Vomit-inducing? “—really great. Thank you.” I paste on a smile. “While you’re reading that info I sent you, I’m going to pop out for half an hour. Is that okay?”
She knots her brows together. “Where are you going? What if I need you?”
“You won’t. I’ll get your kale smoothie and acai berry granola before I go, and I’ll be back before we need to leave to get to the venue for your keynote speech.”
“Ooh, while you’re out, can you get me something? I want to try skyr. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Skyr?” I question.
“It’s Icelandic,” she replies, completely unhelpfully, and returns her attention to her laptop screen.
Sure, that narrows it down for me.
“How do you spell it?”
She spells it out for me.
“Skyr. Got it. I’ll bring you some back.”
“What are you scurrying off to do without me, then?”
I allow myself a little smile. The show jumping guy Erin and Darcy found me online has agreed to meet me for an Initial Meeting over coffee today. “I’ve got a first date.”
——
Okay, I know. Officially, it’s an Initial Meeting I’m rushing off to right now, but I didn’t want to have to go into the whole No More Bad Dates Pact thing with Larissa. She’d want to know everything about it. Or worse: she might want to join.
The very thought makes me quake in my heels.
I glance at my watch as I push my way through into the busy café. Four minutes late, dammit. Along with being super organized, I take pride in being on time, all the time. Turning up late before you’ve even met the guy is not exactly a positive message to send a prospective boyfriend, is it?
We’re meeting at a café near my work. Not only do I have a short time before I’ve got to get back to Larissa, but the last thing I want to do is go to the Cozy Cottage Café and have Alex breathing down my neck as I meet another guy. Particularly if that guy ends up hitting on him after I’ve left.
But lightning doesn’t strike in the same place twice, right?
At least, that’s what I’m hoping.
I scan the room, searching for Seth Heikkinen. He said he’d be in a white button-up business shirt with no tie, and now that I look around me, half the men in the coffee house are wearing just that.
I bite the inside of my lip as I scan the room. Why did I agree to meet this guy at business person coffee time in downtown Auckland?
“Excuse me? Are you Darcy?” a smooth, cultured-sounding voice says behind me.
I turn around and look up into an open, friendly face, a pair of hazel eyes, and a tentative smile. He’s got a hint of Bradley Cooper to him, just like in his photograph. “Seth?”
“That’s me. It’s great to meet you.” He leans down and lightly brushes his lips against my cheek, and I catch the aroma of his aftershave. Subtle, woody, with a hint of vanilla. Nice.
“You, too,” I reply with a light blush.
We grin at one another like we’re in some kind of daze before he breaks it with, “Can I buy you a coffee?”
“Oh, sure. Sorry, I was just thinking about how you look a little like Bradley Cooper.” Oops. My cheeks heat up another notch with embarrassment. “Did I just say that out loud?”
He lets out a light laugh. “You did, but it’s okay. It’s not every day I get told I look like a Hollywood heartthrob by a beautiful girl.”
Seth-slash-Bradley thinks I’m beautiful?
“Actually, I might have tea,” I say as tingles start zinging around inside. “Early Grey, please.”
“An Earl Grey tea coming right up.” He turns to the server and orders our beverages, and then we find a table.
“These things are always a little awkward, aren’t they?” he says across the table.
I push memories of my last date from my mind. “They can be, I guess.”
“So, let’s break the ice. What are the top three things I need to know about you, Darcy Evans?” he asks.
“Seriously?” I guffaw. “You’re putting me on the spot before I’ve even had my first sip of tea? That’s totally not fair.”
The corners of his mouth lift. “What would be fair?”
“I don’t know. You could start by asking me where I grew up, what I like to do on weekends, whether I’m a cat person or a dog person. Things like that.”
“Okay.” He leans his elbows on the table, trains his eyes on me, and tilts his head as though he’s about to say something super serious. “Tell me, Darcy, where did you grow up, what do you like to do on weekends, and are you a cat person or a dog person?”
“Auckland, karaoke, and dogs.” I shoot him a triumphant smile. “You?”
Our server delivers our coffees and we thank her. Once she’s gone, he fixes me with his gaze again. “Not Auckland, definitely not karaoke, and I like both cats and dogs equally.”
“Oh, no you don’t. No one likes cats and dogs equally. You’re either more one or the other. So, what is it? Cats or dogs?”
He shrugs. “Both.”
“Are you going to be difficult about this?” I tease. “Research shows humans are either cat people or dog people, and their preference says a lot about a person.”
“Oh, research says it, does it?” His eyes sparkle.
“It does.”
Oh, I’m so getting the feels for this guy!
“If I’m a dog person, does that mean I like to run around with a stick in my mouth and sniff other dogs’ butts? Because gross.” He pulls a face.
A giggle bubbles up inside me. “I think it might be a little subtler than that.”
“That’s good, because when it comes to animals, I’m more of a horse person, anyway.”
“Do you have a horse?”
“I have several, actually. Yoda, Leia, and recently, I acquired Fin.”
“Star Wars?” I don’t know whether it’s cute to name your horses after characters in a sci-fi movie series or just a bit weird. But I’m being open-minded here. It’s officially cute—until further notice.
He nods. “Guilty. I’ve been a Star Warrior for years.”
“A Star Warrior?”
“A huge fan of the franchise.”
“Got it. Like a Trekkie.”
He laughs. “But much better.”
I grin at him. “Clearly.”
“I, ah, lost one of my horses a while back. Han.”
“Han Solo?” I question, taking a stab in the dark at the horse’s full name.
Seth nods. “He was a beautiful Thoroughbred with a silky dark coat and a little white mark right here.” He draws an invisible line with his finger on his forehead and down his nose.
“I’m sorry. Losing your horse would be hard.”
“I’ve got a picture of him I could show you.” He pulls his phone out and starts to scroll through his images until he finds what he’s looking for. “Here.” He turns the phone around, and I admire the horse.
“What a gorgeous horse. I’m sorry you lost him. Do you still show jump?”
“Oh, yes. I love it. Although I don’t do the same types of shows I did with Han. I couldn’t, you know?”
I nod sagely. This guy clearly loved his horse.
“Now, Darcy, tell me why you’re a dog person and if it has anything to do with the squeaky chew toys.”
I laugh. Wow, this guy is easy to talk to. And cute, too.
We get to know one another over our beverages, joking and laughing together until we get to the tricky end of our Initial Meeting, the point where I need to tell him about the Vetting Process.
“Let me get this straight. You need me to meet your friends and answer a bunch of personal questions before we can go out again?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but, well, I’ve not exactly had the best dating track record.”
“Really?”
“Try terrible, horrible, awful. Take your pick. They all work.”
“Will I get quizzed about a bunch of things?”
“You will, but it’s just to make sure you’re not going to turn into a weirdo or something,” I say with a forced laugh. I hold my breath and cross my fingers under the table in the hope he’s anything but a weirdo.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much of a weirdo. I’m a dentist,” he says without a hint of irony—and with a perfect smile.
“I’m sure you’ll sail through, no problem.”
The skin around his eyes crinkles as his smile grows. “I’d be happy to meet your friends. I think we’ve got something here.”
I beam back at him, Seth Heikkinen, show jumper with the Star Wars horses. “Me too.”