Chapter 11
Cassie
I can’t stop thinking about the moment on Luke’s porch when he stepped closer to me, when reason told me to retreat, but I stood firm instead and relished the proximity of his body, undeterred by his sweaty cologne smell, even intrigued by it. I have every reason to be cautious about Luke. There’s no need to count the reasons why. They’re in the forefront of my mind, enjoying a seat right next to Luke’s sexy, sweaty self.
I spend Tuesday trying to distract myself with business management tasks, switching from accountant to payroll specialist to IT business analyst to HR rep multiple times within two hours. One of my tour guides calls to change his tax withholdings, Drew calls to clarify system requirements, bills need to be paid, invoices need drafted and sent, office supplies need restocked.
It’s a busy day for walk-ins too. Five pairs of customers stop in to schedule tours. Some people still prefer face-to-face interactions over my scheduling app, usually older folks. I welcome the distraction. The human contact keeps me focused, versus those quiet moments where Luke Curtis slips into my consciousness uninvited.
At the end of the workday, I check my MatchAI and Instagram stats. The livestream of my “second date” with Luke has over forty thousand views and five hundred comments.
OMG, you two are so cute together.
You should legit start a reality TV show.
I want to hear more from Luke’s drunk mom.
Can’t wait for your third date. More streams please.
The livestream corresponds to a bump in mobile app downloads and new subscriptions. I shake my head then cover my eyes and lean back heavily in my office chair. It looks like Luke is my secret marketing sauce, but I’m not sure I like the taste. I’m not sure I don’t like it either. And that’s a problem.
I decide to call it a day and head back to my apartment, which is located behind the break room. I found this place based on a tip from someone in my Toastmasters’ group. My landlord rents the office and the studio apartment together. It’s allowed me to grow my business while maintaining a brick and mortar.
The apartment feels spacious even though the square footage is small. At less than three hundred square feet, it’s the smallest place I’ve ever rented. The high ceiling gives the illusion of space, and the large warehouse-style windows overlooking the alley bring in ample light. I can climb through a window to access the small balcony and fire escape, but when I do, Pudge glares at me from the windowsill. She doesn’t seem to understand that indoor cats do not belong in the wild.
My cat, Pudge, greets me at the door. I scoop her up in my arms. She starts purring and taps her nose to mine.
“You’d never cheat on me, would you, Pudge?” I’m pretty sure not, because her lady bits were removed years ago. Even so, she’d remain faithful. She always has. I’m her human and nothing’s going to change that. People could learn a lot from animals.
I go to bed early. For me anyway. At eleven thirty, my head’s on the pillow, but my eyes are still open. I’m counting all the ways Luke is wrong for me. So very wrong. From the cheating incident to his unrelenting stubborn insistence on getting his way to his shoelaces always coming undone. He’s a grown man and still hasn’t mastered the double knot.
When I finally drift off to sleep, I dream about kissing Luke. My unconscious mind has plenty of memories to pull from. It combines several vivid moments and produces visceral reactions like I’m kissing him in the flesh.
My brain is sabotaging me, even in sleep.
Wednesday starts as it always does, with a fresh cup of coffee and a bowl of Greek yogurt and granola. However, unlike most days, it’s combined with the residual warm, cozy feelings I always got after cuddling with Luke.
I’m going to have to bounce this problem off someone. Since Sarah’s coming into work today, she’s the lucky winner. I’ll wait for her to bring it up though. I feel like maintaining my boss-face today—the approachable, albeit slightly distant, version of myself. Boss Cassie is reasonable and in control. That’s how she gets stuff done.
“How did the radio segment go, boss?” Sarah asks five seconds after she arrives.
I beeline toward her. “We gotta talk.”
Sarah drops her purse on her desk and pulls out her chair.
I hired her two years ago when she was a freshman at College of Charleston. She’s my receptionist, customer service representative, personal assistant, friend, confidante, saving grace. She works three days a week, dutifully completing the tasks that spill off my to-do list. Lately, they’ve been pouring off. I plan to offer her a full-time gig after she graduates, assuming my ever-expanding workload doesn’t chase her away first.
“Are you firing me?” she asks.
“Why would I fire you?”
“I cooked your books. I told off a customer. I stole a pen.”
“You wouldn’t do any of that.”
“I might have stolen a pen.” She grabs her purse. Her sleek brown hair slips off her shoulders and hides her face as she digs.
I wave her off. “You can have it.”
“It’s a purple easy-glide gel pen.”
“Yeah. It’s fine.” I spread my hands by my ears and pace in a circle.
“Uh oh,” Sarah says. “She’s agitated.”
So much for staying reasonable and in control. “I dreamed about Luke last night.” The muscles in my face bunch up in desperation.
Sarah flips her hair and looks at me questioningly. “What kind of dream?”
“I kissed him. A lot.”
“I’ve dreamed about kissing Zac Efron.”
“That’s not the same. You haven’t actually kissed Zac Efron.”
Sarah cocks her head and pooches her lips. “I’ve wanted to kiss Zac Efron. And for me, that’s something. He probably eats his boogers and forgets to change his underwear though.”
“Yeah. You wanted to kiss him. Therefore, you dreamed about kissing him. Do you see the problem here?”
Sarah’s jaw drops along with her shoulders. “No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes! His drunk mother said he thinks I’m the one.”
Sarah draws back. “She did?”
“She said he pines after me while drinking alcohol!”
My office mate, my friend, my confidante goes silent. Her shoulders slump, and she looks thoughtfully past me. Her lack of enthusiasm for my very pressing issue confuses me.
“What’s wrong with me, Sarah? Why did I dream about him? He cheated on me. He hacked my app. He invested in my company to control me.”
Sarah looks at me. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure he cheated. I saw the text from the woman he almost kissed. She told him she’d do anything with him. Anything.”
“No, I mean, are you sure he’s trying to control you by investing in MatchAI?”
“Why else would he do it?”
“Maybe because he’s a venture capitalist and he believes in your business plan.”
I fold my arms, pace to the exposed brick wall, and then back to Sarah’s desk, repeating this process multiple times while Sarah manages to maintain her objective expression.
“I don’t think so,” I say finally. “I think this is all a ploy to reel me in and then crush me. It’s what he does for fun.”
Sarah leans back and anchors her head with her interlaced fingers. “I watched the livestream of your date.”
“You and thousands of others.”
“Have you watched it?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Maybe you should.”
I plant my hands on my hips and regard Sarah with distrust.
Sarah shrugs. “I’m just saying, maybe he’s changed. People do change.”
“They change their underwear.”
“Zac Efron probably doesn’t.” Sarah sighs.
“Even if Zac does, you’d find something else wrong with him.”
“I know. But you’re not really one to talk. You had guys all over you and you decided to marry a wet rag.”
“Michael wasn’t a wet rag.”
Sarah leans forward and drums her fingers against her desk. “I’m using your own words.”
“I called Michael a wet rag?”
Sarah nods.
I perch on the edge of Sarah’s desk and hang my head. “Wet rags don’t cheat.”
“Nope.”
This quickly turned into a role-reversal. The strong employee versus the weak boss. While rubbing my eyes, I ask, “What should I do?”
She scoots up to her desk and taps the end of the purple easy-glide gel pen that she managed to retrieve from her purse without me noticing. “Is there anything to do at this point?”
“He invited me to his neighborhood meeting tomorrow night. He wants me to put out feelers to see if there’s any community support for expanding our ghost tours there.”
Sarah tosses her pen in the air. It lands on the floor with a Clack! “We were just talking about expanding to new markets a few weeks ago.”
“I know. Strange, isn’t it?”
“It might be fate.”
I shake my head. “I think he’s just using it as an excuse to spend more time with me.”
“Maybe.”
“So, I shouldn’t go.”
“Or, you should because it could lead to expansion into a new market. And the Cassie I know never lets a good opportunity go to waste.”
“Are you trying to push me into Luke’s arms?”
“No. It doesn’t have to be about him. It could just be about you researching a business opportunity.”
I stare at my hands while I contemplate Sarah’s words. It’s true, I was thinking about expanding my tours to other markets.
After a deep breath, I stand. “Why do you want me to watch the livestream of my blind date with Luke?”
One corner of Sarah’s lips pinches into a smile. “Just watch it and see what you think.”
“How much do I owe you for this counseling session?”
“Nothing yet.” She’s smiling like she knows something I don’t know.
I’m not sure I want to know what she knows.
“Enough about me,” I say. “Let’s talk about you. Did you fill out a profile on MatchAI? You know I wave the subscription fee for employees.”
“Great,” Sarah says with a stiff, phony smile.
“You haven’t yet, have you?”
“I’d rather stick bamboo shoots under my fingernails. No offense.”
“None taken. I’ll make you a deal. If you press the Choose button once and it doesn’t work out, I’ll set you up with someone using my own personal magical matchmaking dust.”
“You’re going to make me do it, aren’t you?”
“I can’t force you, but... It would be good for business if you pressed Choose and found your soulmate. We could share your testimony on the website.”
Sarah groans and collapses in her chair. “He has to be clean,” she says to the ceiling while her arms dangle at her sides. “No weird moles. Definitely no skin tags.” She shudders. “Smell is important. He can’t stink, and I put musky colognes in the stink category.”
“I know you do. Anything else?”
“He should brush his teeth after every meal. And no coffee breath. I would never kiss a guy with coffee breath. Not even if he brushed his teeth five times before kissing me.”
“I don’t know if I have enough magic for you.”
“You don’t. Trust me.”
“But now I’m intrigued by the challenge.”
Sarah sits up and taps her keyboard to wake up her laptop. “I hate that you just described my love life as a ‘challenge.’”
“Sorry. I meant it in a good way. I enjoy matchmaking challenges. Clearly.”
“If my love life is a challenge for you, think about how bad it is for me. Never mind.” She flutters her hands by her ears. “I don’t want to think about it. I need to pay your bills.”
“I couldn’t run two businesses without you.” I give Sarah an air fist bump. She’s not a toucher. Also, she’s ignoring me.
“I know,” she finally quips as I slide up to my desk.
Rain patters against the small window next to my bed while occasional thunder rumbles through the clouds. My wide eyes catch each flash of lightning, my loft captured in frames, imprinted on the camera roll of memory. I reach for my phone and tap the screen to check the time. 1:30. I should be asleep. But like last night, my mind is running on a hamster wheel.
I’m not thinking about Luke tonight. Not entirely. I’m mostly thinking about Michael, the “wet rag” I married.
When Michael returned to Charleston after his stint with the Army, we happened to join the same Bible study group. It was at Patty and Roger Jarret’s house on Saturday evenings, two-hours long and no later. Roger was a stickler about that. The first hour, we ate and fellowshipped on their back patio that Roger himself installed, each hexagonal paver meticulously placed over a bed of level sand. He was proud of that patio. The second hour, on the same patio, we pulled out our Bibles and guides and dug in.
The group was five married couples with their assortment of kids along with Michael and me, the two single sore thumbs. Naturally, we gravitated toward each other. We weren’t left out of conversations, we just couldn’t fully relate to the mayhem of children darting between our chairs and jokes about husbands who always leave the gas tank empty for their wives to fill up before she takes the kids to school.
So, we sat next to each other week after week learning about the Bible, thinking about how we might apply the concepts to our lives. And then, one night, Michael asked me out for coffee afterward.
We jumped right in. There was no, “What music do you listen to?” We already knew that about each other. No, “Where do you work? Where did you go to school? Do you have pets?”
Check.
Check.
Check.
Thus began our courtship, every Saturday evening after our small group, we went to Joe and Go, ordered our chai latte and butterscotch mocha, closed every date with a kiss that caused a tiny flutter in my stomach.
That flutter. It was something, right? Biblical love. Calm. Predictable. Trustworthy. No frills. No risk. So what if I sometimes felt bored? We had the rest of our lives to become un-bored. Once kids entered the picture, there’d be no time to be bored. We’d checked all the boxes. What could go wrong?
Now here I am. Twenty-eight. Too busy to date. Too busy to think about starting a family. Busy, busy, busy. With that busyness comes a buzz of white noise that mutes emotions, worries, doubts. Until it’s one thirty in the morning and I’m drowning in a downpour of regret, with a few rumbles here and there, Luke’s voice echoing through me. Do you want to come to my neighborhood meeting?
I was never bored around Luke.
A flash of lightning pierces the darkness. The clouds voice their annoyance with low, penetrating grumbles.
I sit up and grab my phone.
Nerves tickle my stomach as I open Instagram and click on my first Live with Luke. The video plays.
He’s sitting on the bench in Wetlands, standing up to greet me. We introduce ourselves for the “first” time. He’s not looking into the camera. He’s focused on me. Only me. There’s something about his expression. Like he just drank a glass of ice water after hours in the hot sun, that satisfaction of replenishing something that was sorely lacking.
Why didn’t I notice it during our date?
I was too caught up in past hurts, understandably so. Too stressed out about my launch, about Luke weaseling his way into my life.
My heart wasn’t ready.
A burst of wings flutters in my stomach, a chattering of starlings shifting in mid-flight.
I continue to watch.
We walk back to our corner table, and I set the phone on the stand so we’re both in view. Luke’s eyes linger on my hands for a moment, and then he sneaks a nervous look at my face while I focus on the camera, all business.
The tightness in my expression is almost imperceptible. I can see it. I’m not sure if the audience does. Luke has picked up on it. Everything about him reads caution: his posture, his frequent glances at me, the placement of his hands side-by-side on the table like he’s searching for equilibrium.
It’s nothing like the image I had in my mind that night. Through the filter of my anger, I saw an arrogant and pushy, manipulative man who was only out for himself. To be fair, what was I supposed to think? Was I supposed to welcome him with open arms? I don’t think so.
Next comes the part of the livestream where I field questions from the audience.
As I rattle off each question, Luke sinks lower in his chair. He seems to want to slink out of the video. I’m not sure what to make of it.
“SugarSquirrel says, why are you ignoring your date? We want to know if you guys are soulmates.”
Luke sits up straighter and looks at me. My jaw clenches. In response, Luke leans closer like he’s trying to protect me. He reaches over and rests his arm on the back of my chair.
I pause the video to study his face. His eyes exude concern, the intensity crossing rivers of time, hitting me now like it would have then if I’d only turned to look. They aren’t the eyes of someone playing the system to get his way.
I swipe up and close Instagram.
I don’t know if that’s what Sarah wanted me to see, but I know I’ve seen enough. The fluttering of nerves in my stomach turns into rumbles of anxiety, spurred on by the realization that I might have misjudged Luke.
Maybe he has changed.
Even if he has, do I care?
On the evening of our second date, I walked to Joe and Go’s downtown flagship store on King Street through unseasonably cold October air with my hand-me-down, slightly worn, Goodwill bomber jacket zipped to the chin and a knitted red hat pulled over my ears.
Luke was outside waiting for me, the collar on his wool jacket turned up like it might buffer the cold, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
When we met eyes, I felt a sizzle deep within that radiated to my limbs—an internal kindling of heat that momentarily negated the need for my leather jacket.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked quizzically.
“Waiting for you,” he said with a smile. He raised his cupped hands to his lips and blew into them. A gold band glinted on his right ring finger. I hoped it belonged on the right and he hadn’t switched it from the left before I walked up.
“It’s cold out,” I said.
“I’m from Chicago. This is nothing.” He tugged open the door and reached behind me, gently guiding me inside with his hand.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries overcame us both and quickened our eager steps. Brown, tans, and occasional splashes of orange and green warmed the two-story space, which contained ample seating and booths on the first level, and more in the loft. The frigid temperatures had coaxed shoppers inside. They dotted the space, lounging comfortably in plush chairs with their hands folded around steaming cups of Joe and Go’s specialty coffee blends.
When we reached the counter, I ordered a matcha latte, a cinnamon swirl bagel, and threw in an egg biscuit at the last moment. He ordered a plain coffee and a chocolate croissant. We found an open booth by the floor-to-ceiling windows and snuggled in with our coffee and sweet treats.
“What’s that abomination you’re drinking?” He pointed to my cup. The matcha’s grassy green showed through its clear lid.
“For a rich guy, you don’t seem very cultured.”
“I have a business face and a normal face. This is my normal face.” He pointed at himself.
I studied his square jaw, the scruff on his slightly dimpled chin, his squarish cheek bones, and his neatly styled hair. We met eyes and I felt the simmer in my core again. It lit into a fire. Afraid he could see the flames licking my pupils, I looked down at the table.
“Is your business face on the back of your head? Like, does your head do a one-eighty and swivel around whenever you need to switch faces?” I fingered the sleeve around my cup.
Luke rubbed the back of his head and laughed. A nervous laugh that told me he’d seen more in my eyes than I’d wanted him to see. “I was speaking figuratively. That would be sweet though.”
I looked up. “I was thinking ‘freakish,’ but...”
“Honestly though, I work hard, and I play hard.”
How little I understood the implications of that statement at the time. Other than my momentary contemplation about the ring on Luke’s right finger, nothing about him that night screamed “I’m a cheater.” Later in our relationship, he told me about his cheating past, how he regretted his treatment of women, how he was done with that lifestyle. I chose to believe him. That’s how I got burned. Not from the inner fire he stoked in me, but from his fire for the opposite sex that he couldn’t contain.
“Can I try it?” Luke asked.
I slid my drink over to him, and he took a sip.
“I wouldn’t feed that to my dog,” he said.
“I wouldn’t own a dog.”
“Are you a cat person?”
I nod.
“How many do you own?”
“Just one. But he’s at my mom and Nana’s. My landlord won’t let me keep cats.”
“Because they scratch furniture and pee on everything.”
“He doesn’t pee anywhere, but he does leave random turds around.” I shrugged. “Nana’s tired of cleaning up after him. She wants me to give him back to the shelter, but that’s not going to happen. Mom’s on my side, so he’s safe with her. It’s a no-kill shelter, but it’s not exactly well-funded, so conditions are sketchy.”
Luke leaned onto his elbows and regarded me curiously.
I shrank into the booth. “What?”
He just smiled. It shot right through me. So many unspoken words in that smile.
“Your grandmother lives with your mom?” he said after the weird, electric bolt passed through me and dissipated against the cloth upholstery.
I twirled my finger in the air. “Opposite. Mom lives with Nana. After my dad died, we moved in with her. It works out because they can both take care of Granny without either one of them getting too worn out.”
“Who’s Granny?”
“My great grandmother.”
“Four generations of Searses under one roof.”
“That’s three generations. Math is hard.”
“I was counting your cat.”
“Oh. He’s adopted. He’s not from my gene pool.”
“When did your dad die?” Luke asked. His gaze shifted from playful to concerned.
“When I was still in grade school.”
“That must have been rough.”
I straightened, pulled the seal off my small container of cream cheese, and began slathering my bagel. “It was. But I had Mom and Nana. And Granny. We all lived with Mom’s income and Nana and Granny’s Social Security. It wasn’t a lot, but we got by. Nothing like how you grew up, I’m sure. Did you live in a mansion on Lake Michigan?”
“No. I grew up in a brownstone on Chicago’s north side. It was nice.”
“How nice?”
“Nice enough. Dad’s a well-known intellectual property lawyer up there. Money was never an issue.” Luke focused on his thumbnail as he scraped it with his opposite nail. “Listen. I know we just met, but I have some investment capital, and...”
“No, thank you.”
He looked at me, an amused expression on his face. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“This is only our second date. It’s too early for you to give me hand-outs. And even if we have three dates, or four, I still won’t accept your money.”
“What if we have five?”
“Then I might consider it.” I smiled at him knowing I still wouldn’t. For one, I hardly knew him. Yet. And two, I needed to learn the ropes of business ownership before I’d be willing to risk anyone else’s cash but my own.
Five dates with Luke sounded nice though. Maybe more.
We chatted about our families for a while. His mom wasn’t from money and never fully adapted to her husband’s income, hoarding food like she had when she was growing up, over-buying toothpaste and other toiletries “just in case,” only traveling to the grocery store once a week to save gas, but then, overspending on large items like furniture and home remodels, and hiring a landscaper to care for their tiny yard.
When our food was gone and our coffee cups were drained, we lingered and talked about where we went to school, his stint on the swim team, my state qualifying run in the 800-meters, our current relative lack of fitness. We talked about our favorite spots in the city, the restaurants we frequented, and the crowded parking garages we’d both encountered that evening despite the uninviting weather.
“There’s always something going on downtown,” Luke said.
“On a Saturday night, yes. Even a cold Saturday night.”
“I suppose next time I should pick you up at your place.”
Despite my best efforts to suppress it, I smiled. “You won’t be impressed with my place.”
“I don’t mind.”
“You haven’t seen my apartment. But my neighbors are nice so it’s all good.”
Luke steadied his eyes on mine. “I’ll go anywhere you are.”
It was like a line out of a movie, yet it resonated deep within me. His voice hollowed out caverns in my heart and took residence there. I just met the guy and I wanted to go somewhere private and curl up with him.
“Okay,” I managed.
Luke grabbed his cup and then let the bottom clap back onto the table. He cleared his throat. “It’s getting late. Let me walk you to your car.”
In the parking garage, we stood next to my car, each searching for something to say. Luke settled on a smile, and then he pressed his lips to my forehead.
I felt like a Disney princess. He was the prince who’d come to impart his magical kiss. The power of it rolled through my body, transforming me from an old black and white movie to full technicolor. I could almost see the sparkles rising from my body, Walt Disney’s special effects on full display. All for a single kiss. On the forehead.
I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
The thunderstorm has passed, but I’m still staring into darkness. Pudge stirs at my feet and awakens with a gravelly meow. Her paws press against my legs as she comes up to give my face a sniff. Realizing I’m awake, she breaks into a loud purr.
I reach up and rub her head. “Hey, lady.”
She presses against my hand, deepening her massage, and then settles on my chest, her body offering a reassuring weight to my heart, a grounding effect that helps clear my mind.
“What should I do, Pudge?”
She meows in response.
“I know, but the way he forced himself back into my life tells me he still has some boundary issues.”
Another meow.
“You think?”
Pudge opens her mouth and chirps.
“We’d be the first ghost tour company to expand over to Benton Street. We’d be taking the lead.”
Meow.
“Fine. If you think it’s a good idea, I’ll go.”
Careful not to disturb Pudge, I reach for my phone. Texting this late might strike him as odd. It is odd. But he knows I don’t sleep much.
I pull up our last conversation and add I’ll come to your meeting. Tell me the time and place.