Three #2
“You don’t have to launch into a full life story on the first date,” she said, her smile soft and understanding. “Feel her out. Maybe save that for date number three.”
I huffed another laugh. “If there even is a third date.”
“Do you think Renée is having this much anxiety about your upcoming date?”
I made a dismissive face. “What? No. She’s like the chillest person ever.
” Which was one of the reasons I liked her so much.
She balanced out my over-thinking, over-analyzing, hyper-critical brain.
The parts of me I spent years running away from.
The voices of my judgmental parents and siblings, that spun on an endless loop in my brain.
I spent years searching for Zen. For peace, for a way to drown out those voices.
I went to meditation retreats and ashrams where we had to stay silent for extended periods of time.
Often weeks. I became a yoga instructor, hoping to find my inner peaceful warrior.
But no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many times I told those voices to shut the fuck up, they just got louder. More critical.
I needed someone who could balance me out.
And I was sure that person was Renée Brewster.
“So take a page out of her book then, and chill the fuck out, bro,” Brooke said with lighthearted humor.
If only it were that easy.
I snorted and added a scoop of peanut butter to my oatmeal. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The pages in Renée’s book of “cool” seemed to be bound with some otherworldly unbreakable fiber, because as hard as I tried to “take a page out of her book and chill the fuck out” I couldn’t.
I fretted over our date all day. Even my shift at the bar that afternoon was probably my worst ever.
I broke two glasses, one into the ice, which is such a pain in the ass to deal with, and felt so far behind on orders, no matter how hard I tried to catch up.
“What the hell is wrong with you today?” Penny asked, joining me at the bar, just on the other side as she punched in an order on the POS machine.
I grumbled and shook my head. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. What’s wrong?”
She must have put in a drink order because the ticket machine started to grind and make noise. Luckily, it was a simple vodka soda, so I got to work on that. “I’m nervous about the date.”
Her auburn brows shot high on her forehead. “What? Seriously?”
I gave her a look like she was crazy. “Of course. Renée is amazing. She’s this relaxed, chill, wonderful person, and I’m …” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve broken two glasses today, and one into the ice. I’m a stress basket.”
Her bark of a laugh jolted me a little. “Oh, she’s stressing.
” She grabbed her phone from her back pocket and slid her fingers across the screen for a second before launching into a reading.
“What should I wear tonight? The Thatch is casual. Are jeans too casual? What if he wears jeans, too? Will it look like we’re matching?
Oh god. I don’t want to match We’re not seniors on a tandem bike weaving through the retirement village.
Maybe a skirt and tights? Or wide-legged linen pants.
Penny! This is crazy. What if it doesn’t work out?
The McEvoys will definitely choose him over me.
I’ll be out on my ass without a job. And I love my job.
Should I just call it off? Say we’re better off friends?
Oh, but I don’t want to just be his friend.
It’s been so long since I’ve met a really nice guy …
or been on a date I cared this much about.
What if he thinks I’m crazy for living in a treehouse? GAH!”
Penny glanced at me, a smug look on her face.
My jaw was slack as I stood there, like a statue.
“She’s a stress basket, just like you. She simply hides it better.” She shrugged. “Though, to be fair, I thought you were chill, too. Until today. So you both have that in common. You hide your inner weirdo anxiety and shit well.”
Renée was freaking out about the date too?
I should have been worried that we were too similar to ever work out. That two stress baskets could never work. But instead, her anxiety eased mine. It made me feel better about my own concerns, and that I wasn’t the only person feeling the mounting pressure of this date.
Also, she lived in a treehouse?
“If you ask me,” Penny went on, “you two are perfect for each other.”
That made me smile as I put the drink up on the bar, praying that I had enough sense to actually press the right buttons on the well gun for vodka and soda. “I really like her. I have since the moment I met her.”
The silly face she made, which was basically meant to say duh, had me smirking.
“Took you long enough to ask her out.” Penny grabbed the lowball glass.
“And you didn’t even ask her out.” She scoffed and walked away, leaving me with fresh thoughts of Renée and all her worries.
My worries seemed to disappear into the ether, and all I focused on for the rest of my shift was how I could make sure her concerns were addressed.
If things between us didn’t work out and got awkward, I would leave.
She was here first, and even though the McEvoys were my family, nepotism shouldn’t overrule seniority or performance.
Renée was a great server and bartender, and no matter what, she would keep her job. I’d make sure of it.
I changed my shirt three times—and I only had six shirts to my name—before Clint took pity on me and loaned me one of his dressier, fitted black button downs.
It was long sleeve, and while my former marine of a cousin was broader in the shoulders than me, it wasn’t by much, so the shirt actually fit me pretty well.
I busted out my “good” jeans, which were a dark wash, but stuck with my Blundstones since this was meant to be a casual date.
We were going to The Thatch Pub for music bingo, not a fine dining restaurant with cloth napkins and shrimp forks.
“You need to fix your hair,” came the confident squeaky voice of my little first cousin once removed.
I was busy brushing my teeth in the bathroom with the door open, and turned to find Talia, all dark curls and bright blue eyes, staring at me with a cute little wrinkle to her nose and between her brows.
“Why do boys like their hair to look like they just woke up?”