Chapter 11. Cynical Is Careful, Spelled Differently #2
“I know someone at the Port Benedict tourism office. I’ll ask if they can do a coverage of your shopping strip.
Maybe highlight it as an iconic attraction of the city and include it in their must-visit list,” he said.
“I used to have a contact at the local newspaper, too. Let me find out if they’re still there, and if they could also do a feature article about the area. ”
“Ooh, someone’s very well-connected in the community.”
He gave me a lopsided grin. “I can’t help it if I’m a likeable person.”
I snorted. “Forget I said anything. But yes, thank you, that would help a lot.” I pointed at his laptop. “Which brings me back to my question. How do you find the time? Do you even sleep?”
“I don’t have to. My entire existence is fueled by a continuous supply of energy drinks and multiple caffeine shots.” He navigated his way to the start of the presentation. “Our second couple is Annabelle Mitchell and Riley Soo. Riley is an interior designer, and Annabelle is an architect.”
I studied the picture of a serious-looking redhead and a smiling Asian woman. “How do you know them?”
“I met Annabelle when I was doing my architecture degree. Remember Spencer from the first wedding?” When I nodded, he continued, “He’s friends with Riley, so he’s also invited to this one.
Spencer has lived and worked all over the country, just like you, and you both have financial backgrounds.
Those shared experiences would be a good way of connecting with him. I think he deserves a second look.”
“Sure.”
“Next we have Elijah Thompson, thirty-eight, one of Annabelle’s closest friends.
” There was a photo of a man standing barefoot on a beach, moodily staring down the camera.
“A film editor and huge movie buff. And you love watching movies, so you two should be a great fit. The last one he worked on, The Art of Living a Life, had early Oscar buzz around it, but it fizzled out.”
“Don’t think I’ve seen that one.”
“Critics are saying he should at least have gotten a nomination,” Rob said. “Married once, but separated last year because both were too busy with work. Divorce was only finalized last month.”
My mind immediately went to ex-obsessed Shane. “What if he’s still hung up on his ex?”
“Last I heard, they got into a nasty custody battle over their dog. I don’t think he’s hoping for a reconciliation with her. He also loves a quiet night in, just like you, because he’s been known to leave dinners and events early to catch up on his watchlist.”
“Great. Anyone else?”
“I saved the best for last. Neil Cosgrave, Annabelle’s cousin, a high school PE teacher and a certified nutritionist. Used to play competitive golf when he was younger, but didn’t go pro because of multiple hip and back injuries.
He’s had three serious long-term relationships in the past, all ended amicably, and is now godfather to his exes’ children.
And here comes the best part.” He flashed me an excited grin.
“His dad used to work for the government, so he’s lived all over the world, including six years in Indonesia.
He even speaks the language fluently. He’s perfect for you. ”
“I don’t know how I feel about someone who might scrutinize everything I eat. I’m not ready to give up carbs and bubble tea.”
“Anyone ever told you that you’re picky?”
“I’m careful, not picky,” I said. “Huge difference. You would be, too, after a ton of horrible dates. And he sounds too good to be true. There’s got to be a catch.”
“There’s no catch. Are you always this cynical and distrustful of other people?”
“Like I said, let’s learn to use the word ‘careful.’”
“Same thing, just spelled differently. The fact that he’s still friends with all his exes should tell you something about his character.”
The smiling, dark-haired man in the picture looked like he’d be the kind of man who held doors open for seniors or gently moved a spider outside to save its life. “Let’s give Neil a shot.”
“Terrific. Now, in light of what happened at the first wedding, I recommend that you pick an alternative,” Rob said.
“The best-case scenario is for you to hit it off with Neil, but in case that doesn’t happen, we can also approach the alternative, so you won’t have wasted your time at the wedding.
I’m not saying you should settle for a less-than-perfect match,” he quickly added. “We’re just keeping our options open.”
“Let’s go with the film editor. You said Spencer’s parents want grandchildren, and I’m not ready for that.”
“Great.” Rob pulled up the next page. “The final item to highlight at today’s meeting is the list of conversation starters. Which you obviously didn’t read in the last dossier.”
I gave him an innocent stare, like I don’t know what you’re talking about.
The list had questions like, Where did you grow up? What’s your favorite thing to do on a quiet weekend? What made you choose to become [insert subject’s career]?
“This is a lot to remember.” I looked up at him. “Also a little bit insulting, actually. Do you really think I’m that incompetent at dating that I need a list of conversation starters?”
“Not at all,” he replied smoothly. “But if you’re like me, it might be useful to have one.
It’s a trick I do sometimes, when I’m meeting potential new clients or someone I hardly know.
I’ll have a list of neutral topics to break the ice, and they always work a treat.
No more awkward silences, or uncomfortable small talk about the weather. ”
“You don’t like small talk?” I tilted my head at him. “You don’t seem like someone who has trouble making conversation.”
“Oh, on the contrary. My special talent is making small talk. But I’m the youngest of six, so I tend to over-conversationalize.”
“That’s not a real word. You can’t just go around making up new words.”
“Why not? I think it should be a real word. Anyway, I used to get into so much trouble at school for talking too much. My mouth tends to run faster than my brain.” His chuckle was dry.
“My dad used to get really pissed with me for saying things he thought were inappropriate. Goofing around and telling jokes whenever we had our extended family over. Dad said I embarrassed him, and he was disappointed in me because I didn’t take things seriously enough as a child. ”
“That’s harsh.” And the exact opposite of my grandfather, who always made sure to let me know that he was proud of me, no matter what I did.
Rob shrugged, as if saying, That’s my dad, let’s move on.
“One of my sisters thought I should make a list of safe topics, to guide me with what I could or couldn’t say, so I wouldn’t get into so much trouble.
It worked a treat. You could do the same thing with your dates.
This list will help avoid an awkward lull in the conversation.
I’ve prepared some generic ones, and some especially tailored to each candidate. ”
But I hadn’t moved on. Forget the conversation starters, because I wanted to ask him questions about his dad.
I wanted to give him a hug and reassure him that he wasn’t an embarrassment or a disappointment.
I wanted to tell him that even though I’d never met his father, I was already convinced the man was a nasty piece of work.
But I didn’t do any of that, because it wasn’t my place. So instead, I said, “You should really do this for a living. Your service is very thorough.”
“I only do this for an extremely select group of people.”
“Aww. Are you saying I’m one of your favorite people?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?” But there was a hint of a smile tugging on his lips. “I’ve also suggested a few date ideas, but mini golf is the obvious choice, since Neil used to play for a living.”
“Perfect. It’s like he and I are meant to be. We’re practically soulmates.”
Rob narrowed his eyes at me. “I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone.”
“What?” I placed a hand over my chest. “I would never.”
He let out a low chuckle. “I’ll email you the dossier, and let me know if there’s anything else you need to go through with me before the wedding.”
“Actually, I could use your help with choosing a dress this time. I don’t know if the dresses I have would suit the”—I consulted his presentation—“rustic elegant wedding theme.”
“Of course. Lead the way.”
I led him toward my bedroom, acutely aware of the fact that he would be the first guy ever to set foot there.
None of the men I’d dated in the past, or any other male friends, had ever been in my apartment, let alone my room.
I pushed open my bedroom door, my gaze quickly sweeping the room to make sure it was presentable.
My bed was made, albeit sloppily, no bra or underwear on the floor, and all my dirty clothes were in the laundry basket.
Excellent.
“You sure you’re up for this?” I slid open my wardrobe. “Most guys wouldn’t be happy having to sit through someone trying on clothes without being threatened with bodily harm.”
“I’m not most guys.” Rob sat down on my bed. “My sisters trained me well.”
“Suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I mulled over my choices, before pulling out a floral A-line dress in soft pastel colors. “Does this look rustic enough to you?”
“It’ll work. Let’s choose several others, and we can go through them all.”
I took out a few other options: an olive-colored wrap dress with butterfly sleeves, a simple blue midi dress, a soft pink pleated maxi dress, and the last one, one of my favorites because of its pockets, a rust-colored belted shirt dress.
Grabbing all five by their hangers, I disappeared into my bathroom, put on the floral one, then went back into the bedroom, where Rob was frowning at his phone.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just a minor issue with one of the jobs we’re…
” He looked up, trailing off when he saw me striking an awkward pose in an attempt to model the dress.
“That’s cute, but I feel like it might be too casual for a wedding, especially if you’re wanting to impress a potential suitor. What do you think?”
I did a half twirl in front of my full-length mirror, assessing myself. “Good point.”
Going back into the bathroom, I took off the floral dress and slipped into the olive wrap dress, then went out to show him again. “What about this one?”
“No.” His reply was immediate. “Again, beautiful dress, but you look like you’re going to a formal dinner with the British Royal Family instead of a romantic country wedding. Next.”
“Since when are you a fashion expert?”
“Since before I was born. Four older sisters, remember? It’s embedded in my DNA.”
For the next half hour, I tried dress after dress, none of which met his ridiculously high expectations. The first five I’d chosen had been unceremoniously dumped on my bed, and soon they were joined by three more, plus a very comfortable jumpsuit, all heaped into a tall, sad, unwanted pile.
“You do realize this is only the second wedding, and you’re already vetoing all the dresses I have in my wardrobe?” I called out from the bathroom as I put on a pale red one-shoulder lace dress with pretty ruffles at the front and a high side split.
“My reasons are justified. None of them fit the theme,” he yelled back.
“This is my last one, and it’s one of Jenna’s, so if you don’t like it, tough luck, because I’m showing up in an old T-shirt and my ripped jeans.
” I reached behind me to zip the dress up, but the zipper must have gotten stuck on the fabric or a loose thread, because it refused to budge.
I tugged on it a few times, but nothing happened.
“What’s taking you so long? I’m falling asleep here.”
“One sec.” Yanking on the zipper repeatedly did absolutely nothing, and if I used more force, it might tear the delicate fabric.
I let out a frustrated groan, then made a split-second decision to discard this dress and choose one of the earlier options.
But before I could take the dress off, there was a knock on the bathroom door.
“You okay in there?”
“No. I can’t zip the dress up. It’s stuck.”
There was a long pause, then, “Do you need help?”
I sighed. “I suppose I do. Come in. It’s unlocked.”
The door creaked open, and Rob walked in. “Let me see.”
Lifting my hair out of the way, I turned around to face the bathroom mirror, watching as he stepped behind me, his face scrunched in concentration as he fiddled with the zipper, gently tugging and pulling on it, trying to get it to move up.
His knuckles lightly grazed my exposed back, sending unexpected tingles down my spine.
Those sleeper brain neurons that had been daydreaming about Rob in his underwear a week and a half ago abruptly woke up from their peaceful slumber and aggressively resumed their fantasizing.
Like, no holds barred. It was as if they were trying their best to produce an R-rated movie just from visualizing him in very minimal clothing.
“It’s snagged on the dress,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, whipping those thirsty brain cells of mine into another enthusiastic frenzy. “Hang on, I almost got it.”
I held my breath as a large, warm hand pressed on my back, sending heat all over my body. After another tug or two, he finally managed to pull up the stubborn zipper, ever so slowly. Once he finished zipping me up, one of his palms rested on my shoulder for the briefest second, before falling away.
His eyes met mine in the mirror, and the insides of my stomach flipped and somersaulted when his thick eyelashes flickered at me.
“You look pretty.” His gaze trailed down the dress snugly hugging my body, before finding my eyes again. “I vote for this one.”
I might have held his gaze a few seconds too long, and the bathroom suddenly felt a little too cramped and stuffy. Did I turn the heating on too high? “Okay.”
And what happened to my voice? Why did I sound so throaty?
Rob grunted and took a few steps back. “I should go. Do you need help unzipping and taking off the dress?”
I knew that wasn’t meant to be an innuendo, but it sure as hell sounded like one. “I’ll manage,” I croaked out. “Thanks for your help.”
He nodded, then walked out of the bathroom and my bedroom without another word. When I heard the front door closing, I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
What the hell just happened?