Chapter 3
Luke
The waiting area in Wetlands Restaurant is packed. Couples with reservations approach the host stand and are immediately shuttled to tables, while the rest head to the leather benches, resigned to their hour-long wait.
In our text conversation, Cassie said to meet here for our six-thirty reservation. I offered to carpool, but she declined. I’m not surprised. I don’t expect this evening to go well.
I practiced my story on the drive here, how I had an IT guy at Cassie’s investment firm add me to her database, how I had no idea Cupid would choose me. I hoped Cupid would, of course. That was the whole point. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
The more I rehearsed my spiel, the stronger my pangs of guilt became, and as I walked down the steps to the basement restaurant, the pangs became full-blown knives driving into my gut.
I have to come clean as soon as Cassie walks through that door, apologize for acting like a borderline stalker, call off this date, and ask her out for coffee in a few weeks like I should have done from the start.
Moments later, Cassie walks through the door while talking into her camera. She heads to the host stand, and the host—a short blonde girl wearing a white cotton oxford and a skinny black tie—points at me. Rather than meeting my eyes, Cassie pans her camera over and offers me her hand. “Hi, I’m Cassie Sears. You must be Luke.”
We shake, and I’m hypersensitive to the feeling of her skin against mine. If she feels the same electricity, she shows no indication.
“I hope you don’t mind, Luke, but you’re live on Instagram.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something if you don’t mind. Can we turn the camera off?”
Her nostrils flare. Bad sign. “Cassie, I—”
Every muscle in her face hardens. “Play along,” she mouths.
Maybe now isn’t the best time to come clean. I slouch. “I’m Luke.”
“Like I told you on the phone, we’re livestreaming MatchAI’s first, official blind date.”
We never talked on the phone about our date. We barely texted, which surprised me. I fully expected her to lay into me with her thumbs.
She narrows her eyes behind the camera.
I clear my throat. “Absolutely. I can’t wait to get this date started. I’m honored that Cupid chose me for you.”
Cassie narrows her eyes further. Any more and she’ll be standing there with her eyes closed.
We head to the hostess who’s waiting with menus in hand. She motions for us to follow her. Cassie leads, and I tag along behind.
A line of stone arches divides the eating area. The arches support the low, open rafters and give the room a rustic, medieval feel. We head to a round table that’s tucked in the corner by two rough, masonry walls. A dimmed pendant light washes the space in a golden glow, and a candle flame creates undulating patterns on the white tablecloth.
We sit with our backs facing the walls. Cassie pulls a phone stand out of her purse and plops it onto the table. She squeezes her phone into it, and I get to stare at my face—at both our faces.
I squint at the screen. Two hundred people are watching, and the number continues to increment next to a spray of hearts and thumbs-up emojis. To say I feel “uptight” is an understatement. I monitor my expression to make sure my nervousness doesn’t translate to the camera.
Cassie scoots her chair closer to mine, and my skin feels like pop rocks going off in someone’s mouth. Tingly. Excitable. I don’t let it show on my face.
She leans toward her phone, and I catch a whiff of her hair—a flowery, sugary scent. “Hi, Loraine.” She waves. “Thanks for tuning in. Oh, PajamaGirl. True, he doesn’t look half bad. Don’t make him blush. Thanks for watching, Ahmet. All the way from Dubai? Oh, my goodness. We haven’t rolled out there, but you never know. Thank you for your interest.”
I’ve never livestreamed. I don’t even have an Instagram account. I’ve heard of people doing this, but I always thought it sounded weird. I was right. It is weird.
The waitress takes our drink orders. After she leaves, Cassie rests her forearms on the table and clasps her hands.
“All right. I guess we better get this date started.” She glances at me and then refocuses on her phone.“FurryFriend wants to know why such a ‘hot hot hottie’ (her words) needs dating help.” Cassie turns to me. “How about I rephrase that to: How did you find out about MatchAI, and why did you sign up?”
“I have an investor friend at Excel, the company funding Cassie’s startup. He knows I’m single and new to the area, so he thought I’d be the perfect candidate to beta test MatchAI.” It’s mostly true.
Cassie looks at me pleasantly. I didn’t realize she was such a good actress. “Did your investor friend tell you about me and my launch plans?”
“Oh. Yes. I mean, no. He didn’t tell me about you specifically. He just said there was a chance I could be involved in the launch. A very slight chance. But look at me now. Who’s the lucky one?”
Cassie’s expression wavers, but she quickly regains her composure and hones back in on her phone.
“Okay, next question. AmberD_runnergirl wants to know if Luke feels awkward livestreaming his blind date?”
I drum my fingers on the table. “Um. A little.” I look at Cassie. “How long are we livestreaming?” I need to get to the part where I fix the mess I created.
Her expression hardens. “Until we learn more about what makes us compatible. In your profile, you said you enjoy studying Charleston’s history. How interesting. I enjoy that too. How long have you lived in Charleston, and when did you develop an interest in the town’s history?”
I angle my body toward Cassie and look directly into her eyes. “I bought a home in the historic district and moved in two months ago. I think it might be haunted. You should come ghost hunting sometime.”
“And your interest in Charleston history. When did that start?”
“Actually, I lived here for two years in my twenties, and I became really interested in the people.”
Cassie furrows her brow.
“One person in particular. She loved the town, and I loved her, so I guess her passion wore off on me.”
I watch Cassie’s chest rise as she sucks in a breath. The gold cross pendant on her chest reflects candlelight. She doesn’t look happy.
“I noticed you like Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran, Maggie Rogers. I listed them as my musical interests too. What a coincidence. Your favorite ice cream flavor is birthday cake, just like mine. Interesting. You also have an associate degree from Trident Tech. Did you earn that while you were here in your twenties ‘falling in love’ with the city and the people in it?”
I never said I went to Trident Tech. I gave my true stats to Drew, Cassie’s IT guy. I told him I went to DePaul in Chicago. Unless Drew mucked with my profile. Surely not.
“Yes, actually, I did go to Trident Tech,” I say. “I didn’t realize you went there too. I’m sorry, I didn’t study your profile that closely.”
Perspiration bubbles on Cassie’s lip and her respiration rate has increased. “It’s almost like you copied my profile,” she adds with a fake laugh. It’s real enough to convince her audience. “But I know you wouldn’t do that.”
I shake my head. I’m not sure what else to do. I don’t want the Instagram audience to question the stability of Cassie’s app. “Of course not. I guess we’re just compatible. Cupid says so.”
While the waitress is taking our order, I steal glances at Cassie. I catch her inhaling deeply, trying to calm herself.
While we’re waiting for our order to arrive, Cassie continues to field the audience’s questions—the audience that’s grown to over five hundred. She mostly chooses questions about MatchAI: what’s the monthly subscription cost, how soon is it going to go national, are background checks required. She pauses to emphasize that yes, for the safety of her subscribers, she requires background checks.
Our meal comes and she talks about Cupid between bites, how she discovered the AI technology and acquired the contract. I enjoy my shrimp and grits with aged cheeses while Cassie barely acknowledges my existence.
This is all for the audience. An act. But it’s important to Cassie, so it’s important to me. I play along until we finish our meals, head out of the restaurant and onto the street where shoppers and sightseers mill about the palm tree-lined avenue beneath old-fashioned streetlamps.
We say our goodbyes to the Instagram audience and Cassie ends the stream.
“This is my launch, Luke,” she says, immediately laying into me. “I don’t know what you’re doing or who you think you are, but you are not going to ruin this for me.”
I level my hands between us in a defensive stance. “Listen, Cassie. I’m really sorry. I—”
“Sorry,” Cassie hisses. “You think you can just say sorry.”
“I know I hurt you. I wanted a chance to apologize for being a jerk, and—”
“You copied my profile so Cupid would match us up, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.” Did I? Did Drew? I slouch. “I may have done something.”
“What does that mean? You ‘may’ have done something?”
“I may have had one of your IT guys add me to your database. I don’t know what he did exactly. Maybe he fudged my profile. Seems like it. Although for the amount of money I’m paying him, I expected him to do what I asked.”
Cassie’s hands fly to her forehead and she sucks in enough air to fill up a balloon. “Who?” she says in an exasperated huff. “Who did you pay?!”
“I didn’t think Cupid would choose me. I mean, I hoped. It was a longshot.”
“Who. Did. You. Pay?”
“If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”
“Who was it?” Cassie barks.
“Drew.”
“Drew!”
“Don’t fire him. Fire me.”
“You’re not on my staff!”
An older couple wearing Hawaiian shirts and Bermuda shorts glances at us warily. The woman raises an eyebrow before scuttling by.
“Cassie, people are staring.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re a local celebrity now. Five hundred people were watching your livestream. You don’t want anyone to post angry pictures of you.”
Cassie leans in and jabs her finger into my chest. “Know this, Luke Curtis. I’m over you. I was over you in five minutes. Now, get your sneaky self out of my sight and out of my life.”
She means it. She more than means it.
I fall back a step. “I know I acted like a jerk back then. I am a jerk. Wait.” I touch the pads of my fingers to my temples. “I’m not a jerk anymore. I’ve changed.”
“You’re still a liar. You’ve proven that.”
The truth punches me in the gut, deepening my slouch. “Yeah. Right. I’ll leave.” I turn on my heel and point my face toward the ocean even though I’m parked in the opposite direction.
“Wait.”
I look over my shoulder.
“You’re not ruining my launch,” she says, ushering me back. “I need to take some selfies and a Reel for Instagram. And then I need you to be at I107 at four o’clock on Monday to tell Chris Sands how wonderful our date was.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively as I return to her side.
She slides next to me. We smile into the camera through several clicks, and then we record a Reel, still smiling, before she drops her phone into her purse.
“We’re done,” she announces brusquely and then walks away.