Chapter 3 #2
“Mostly larger operations.” I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk about work without revealing the scope of my actual role.
“It’s satisfying to find solutions that make a real difference, even if the problems seem impossible at first.” That is, when my father will let me actually take the lead.
I handle some projects, but he still sees me as his little girl, not a woman really capable of taking over for him some day.
“Exactly.” His face lights up with understanding, and I realize we’re both talking around the edges of what we actually do while still managing to communicate something real.
“Most people don’t understand every system has moving parts that have to work together, and if one piece fails, everything else is also affected. ”
I nod, thinking about how perfectly that describes both my business and my personal life. “Do you enjoy the problem-solving aspect?”
“I love it.” I note the genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “Even when it’s frustrating, it’s addictive figuring out how to make complex systems work better. What drew you to consulting?”
The question makes me pause because the honest answer involves admitting I’m due to inherit a business empire rather than choosing a career path. “I like being able to help people implement changes that seemed impossible before they had the right resources.”
“That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” His tone is teasing but not mocking. “Are you always this careful with your words?”
I half-shrug. “Are you always this direct with your questions?”
“Usually.” He grins again. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” The answer surprises me with its honesty. “It’s refreshing.”
The conversation flows more easily than any I’ve had in months, perhaps because we’re both working without our usual scripts.
Josh tells me about dealing with weather patterns and seasonal challenges while I talk about sustainability initiatives and long-term planning.
Neither of us is trying to impress the other, which creates space for actual curiosity instead of performance.
Chad brings us menus, and we order without much discussion. Josh chooses the ribeye, medium-rare, and I opt for the mahi mahi with quinoa. The simple choices don’t require analysis or commentary, which feels luxurious after years of dates where every decision becomes a referendum on compatibility.
“Can I ask you something?” His tone shifts slightly, becoming more serious.
“Sure.”
“Do you ever feel like you’re performing a version of yourself when you date? Like there’s this idea of who you should be, and you end up trying to fit into that instead of just being who you are?”
The question surprises me with its insightfulness, and I take a longer sip of wine than necessary while I consider how to answer. “All the time. You?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “It’s exhausting.”
“It really is.” I set down my wine glass and consider how much honesty this moment can handle. “I’ve been doing it so long I’m not always sure who I actually am anymore.”
“I think you’re someone who asks good questions and listens to the answers.” His observation is brief but feels more meaningful than elaborate compliments I’ve received from other men. “That seems pretty authentic to me.”
“Thank you.” I’m surprised by how much his words affect me. “You’re easy to talk to.”
“So are you.” He settles back in his chair. “When was the last time you had a conversation like this on a date?”
I think about it honestly. “I can’t remember. What about you?”
“Never.” His answer is immediate and certain. “Most first dates feel like job interviews, where both people are lying on their résumés.”
“That’s depressingly accurate.” I laugh, and again it feels genuine rather than strategic. “What made you try Red’s service?”
“My sister’s interference in my dating life reached critical mass.” Josh’s expression turns rueful. “She decided my online dating profile needed enhancement without consulting me first.”
I arch a brow. “What kind of enhancement?”
“She made me look like a cowboy stereotype instead of someone who runs a business.” He shakes his head. “Apparently, women find the idea of a rugged outdoorsman more appealing than the reality of someone who spends most of his day on conference calls.”
“Their loss.” The response comes out automatically, but I mean it.
He quirks a brow. “What about you? What brought you to Romance Expected?”
“A friend’s success story.” I decide to keep Ellen’s involvement vague. “Plus my own dating disasters reached a point where trying something completely different seemed like the only rational option.”
“How bad were the disasters?”
I consider whether to tell him about Preston and the destroyed artwork and then decide honesty is working so far. “My last boyfriend expressed his feelings by destroying my art collection during an argument.”
Josh’s eyebrows rise. “Seriously?”
“Completely seriously. Apparently, throwing books at the wall was his way of showing passionate support for my position.”
“That’s...” He pauses, clearly searching for the right word. “Unhinged.”
“That’s one way to put it.” I’m surprised by how easy it is to laugh about now. “What about your disasters?”
“Nothing quite that dramatic.” Josh grins. “I did have someone show up to a date expecting me to communicate primarily through folksy agricultural metaphors.”
“Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I disappointed her tremendously by speaking in complete sentences and demonstrating basic literacy.”
We’re both laughing now, and this is the first time I’ve been able to find humor in my romantic failures rather than just frustration. Josh’s perspective makes my own experiences seem less personal and more universal.
Our food arrives, and we continue talking while we eat.
The conversation ranges from books to travel to completely random observations about city life versus rural living.
He’s well-read without being pretentious about it, and he listens like he’s genuinely interested in what I have to say rather than just waiting for his turn to talk.
“This might sound strange,” he says as he cuts into his steak, “but this is the first date I’ve been on where I haven’t spent half the evening wondering what the other person really wants from me.”
“It doesn’t sound strange at all.” I set down my fork and look at him directly. “I was just thinking something similar. Usually, I’m so busy analyzing everything for hidden meaning that I miss the actual conversation.”
“What’s different about tonight?”
I consider the question seriously. “Maybe it’s because we can’t analyze each other’s backgrounds, so we have to focus on what we’re actually saying instead of what we represent.”
“That makes sense.” He nods thoughtfully. “Or maybe Red is just very good at matching people.”
“Maybe both.”
We’re halfway through dinner when his phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it and frowns before looking up at me with genuine apology in his expression. “I’m sorry, but I need to take this. It’s about work, and he wouldn’t be calling unless something was wrong.”
“Of course.” I’m surprised by how much I mean it, especially after years of dates where work interruptions felt like deliberate power plays.
He answers the phone, and I hear the urgency in the voice on the other end, even though I can’t make out words. His expression grows increasingly serious as he listens, and his body language shifts from relaxed to alert.
“How much water?” he asks, and his tone makes me pay attention despite trying to give him privacy. “What’s the timeline on moving them? No, I’ll be there. Give me two hours.”
He hangs up and looks at me with an expression I can’t decipher. “I have to go.” He pulls out his wallet and places enough cash on the table to cover both our meals and a generous tip. “Flooding is threatening the livestock, and I need to get back to coordinate moving them to higher ground.”
“Is everyone safe?” The question comes out automatically because the concern in his voice was impossible to miss.
“For now but if this rain keeps up through the night, we could lose animals.” He stands and extends his hand to me. “Lindsay, I’m really sorry about this. I’d much rather stay here and keep talking with you, but I can’t let other people handle this alone.”
I take his hand and stand as well, struck by how different this moment feels from every other date that’s ended abruptly. There’s no sense that he’s making excuses or trying to escape an awkward situation. Just genuine regret and clear priorities that have nothing to do with me personally.
“Don’t apologize.” The words come out firm and certain. “This is important.”
“It is.” His smile is grateful and slightly surprised. “Would you be interested in continuing this conversation sometime when I’m not dealing with a crisis?”
“I would.” The answer comes without hesitation, which surprises me because I usually need time to analyze whether I want to see someone again.
“We’ll talk soon then.” He pauses beside my chair, and for a moment, I think he might kiss my cheek or my hand, but he just looks at me with an intensity that’s more intimate than physical contact. “Thank you for understanding.”
He leaves quickly, and I watch through the restaurant’s front window as he jogs toward his car with a purposeful stride. I can’t resist sneaking a peek at his firm butt in those snug dark jeans.
The waiter approaches my table with a sympathetic expression and a dessert menu. “I’m so sorry it didn’t work out with him.” Chad’s tone is genuinely kind. “Dessert is on the house.”
“I wasn’t stood up.” The correction comes out more firmly than I intended. “He had an emergency at work.”
His expression shifts from sympathy to confusion, probably because he’s used to women making excuses for men who abandon them at restaurants. “Oh. Would you still like dessert?”
“Actually, yes.” I settle back into my chair, suddenly hungry for something sweet. “Also, another glass of wine.”
As I wait for dessert, I think about how different this evening was from every other date I’ve had in recent memory.
Josh didn’t try to impress me with expensive wine or insider knowledge or connections to people I might know.
He didn’t ask leading questions designed to uncover my financial status or family background.
He just talked to me like I was a person he wanted to know better, and when his real life intruded, he handled it honestly instead of trying to manage my reaction.
My choice of tiramisu arrives, and I eat it slowly.
For the first time in years, I’m curious about seeing someone again based purely on who they seem to be rather than what they might offer me or want from me.
Josh’s abrupt departure revealed more about his character than a dozen perfectly orchestrated dinners could have.
I pull out my phone and call Red’s number, knowing she’ll want a debrief.
“How did it go?” Red’s voice is warm. “You’re calling earlier than I expected.” She sounds a little worried.
“He had to leave early because of flooding that threatened his livestock.” I take another bite of tiramisu. “That somehow made me more interested in him, not less.”
She chuckles. “That’s a good sign. How was the conversation before the emergency?”
“Easy.” I search for a better word but can’t find one. “It felt natural, like we could have talked for hours if we’d had the time.”
“Any red flags?”
“The opposite.” I pause, trying to articulate what made the evening different.
“He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, and he didn’t try to perform for me.
When he talked about his work, you could tell he loves it, and when he had to leave, it was clearly because he had real responsibilities, not because he was looking for an excuse. ”
“So you’d like to see him again?”
“I would.” The certainty in my voice surprises me. “Actually, I’d like to see where he works. Maybe a tour of his land management operation, if that’s something that would be appropriate to arrange.”
“I’ll pass that along.” Red’s tone suggests she’s taking notes. “Anything else?”
“Just that you’re very good at this.” I finish the last bite of dessert and signal Chad for the check. “Whatever your process is, it works.”
“Thank you.” She sounds genuinely pleased. “I’ll talk to Josh tomorrow and see about setting up that visit. Sleep well, Lindsay.”
After I hang up, I sit in the restaurant for a few more minutes, watching other couples navigate their own conversations and wondering how many of them are performing versions of themselves instead of just being who they are.
Tonight felt like the beginning of something different that might actually be worth the risk of vulnerability.
I count the money Josh left just to make sure it’s enough to cover the check and a tip.
It’s plenty, so this is Chad’s lucky night.
After that’s settled, I walk out into the Manhattan evening, thinking about flooding, livestock, and a man who prioritizes his responsibilities over making a good impression.
I’m looking forward to a second date for reasons that have nothing to do with strategy or analysis to determine if someone meets my criteria.
Instead, I’m curious about Josh himself, and that curiosity feels like the beginning of something I haven’t experienced in a very long time. Something that might actually be real.