Chapter 9
PAIGE
Your application to Z3 Group has been submitted.
I read the words on my laptop three more times. I did it. I actually applied. An unexpected laugh bubbles out of me. For the first time in a long time, I feel hope. Hope that I’m swimming in the right direction and not struggling against the tide. For nearly three weeks, I’ve been scouring the internet for copywriting jobs in Colorado, but not one of them feels like a logical next step for me. But applying to Z3 feels right, and I have last night’s conversation with Jordan in the McGregor’s parking lot to thank for it.
I snap my laptop shut and grab my phone before hopping onto my bed and sinking into my pillows. “All right, Cabby. I’ve finished one monumental task today—why not make it two?”
Cabby, my cat, perks up and jumps onto my bed using a chair and a desk to parkour her way up. She makes a pillow out of my robe as she yawns and stretches across my stomach. I scratch her black-and-gray fur with one hand while my other finds Jordan’s text with my blind date’s name and number.
Ian. The name stares back at me from my phone screen. It’s not exactly my favorite name. Thanks to my history, “Ian” ranks right up there with Brutus.
I close my eyes and try really hard not to count this against my future blind date. Zia wanted me to call Ian to make sure we were all set for Saturday. Woof! Is there anything more awkward than a double date with one couple who knows nothing about each other while the other established couple watches like it’s a reality-dating show?
I’m going to reward myself with a cucumber-lemon facemask after this.
My thumb hovers above the 808 area code of Ian’s number, and curiosity gets the better of me. I take a second to look it up. The area code is from Hawaii. That’s intriguing, but I’m still lacking motivation for this call. I spend the next few moments thinking of several excuses that could get me out of this date—but my budding plans die a quick death when I remember how Jordan responded when I asked him if he wanted me to go out with Ian.
“Sure,” he’d said. Then he shrugged. He shrugged! As if me dating another guy in front of him was as meaningless as what spoon he uses to eat his breakfast cereal.
Meanwhile, my heart has been feeling like it’s been cut open by a hundred dull knives and fed to a pack of ravenous hyenas, all of them laughing at me for being such an idiot for so many years. If I wasn’t completely certain about Jordan’s lack of romantic feelings toward me before that moment, I am now. A bucket of ice-cold water to the face could not have driven that point home more clearly.
“I’m moving forward,” I say to Cabby Cat. “I’ve applied to my dream job, and now I’m going on a date with Ian, the ten. Okay, so his name docks him a point. But I’m good with a nine. But then again, if he’s related to Zia, and Zia and Jordan get serious, that will dock him five points right there. I’m cool with a four, though, right?”
Cabby Cat stretches her neck up and looks at me with slitted eyes as if to say, Stop stalling.
Before I can think too hard about the pathetic implications of conversing with my cat, I push the call button.
Three rings later, a husky, deep voice answers the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi.” My palms start to feel clammy. “Is this Ian?” An irrational fear flares inside me—maybe Zia didn’t tell him about our date—and I briefly wonder if I’ll have to explain to this stranger that we’re going on a blind date this Saturday. The thought makes my body tense.
“Yeah. Is this Paige?”
My shoulders instantly relax. He does know who I am. “Yeah. Your cousin Zia…” What? Signed you up for this date? Made me call you? Is going out with the man I love? I definitely should have thought this through beforehand. But as I struggle to complete whatever awkward statement would have come out of my mouth, Ian steps in.
“My cousin Zia… is persistent,” he says. “I hope she didn’t pressure you into this.”
Once again, I feel more tension drain from my muscles. I’m glad that this Ian can pick up the conversational slack. I’ll give him a point for that.
“No, she didn’t pressure me into the date.”
And it was true. Zia may be persistent, but after my talk with Missy and Ji and my great awakening in the parking lot with Jordan, I know what I need to do. I need to start dating for real—take my cat’s advice and stop stalling. If not, I’m at serious risk of spending the rest of my life in the friend zone, pining after what I can’t have. So I’m going to be a brave girl and go on this date with Ian.
“Oh, good,” Ian says. “It’s bad enough we’ll be on a first date while we double with a couple who actually knows each other.” He laughs a little. “I haven’t been on a blind double date before, but I can imagine it’s a little bit like being watched through a fish tank.”
I can’t help but smile. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“So, what if we just got all the awkward first-date questions out of the way? Then we can walk into our date not completely blind. Maybe like a twenty-seventy kind of blind.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
“Favorite ice cream flavor?” Ian asks, jumping right in.
“Mint chocolate chip,” I say.
“Definitely a good pick.”
It’s my turn now, and my eyes scan my room frantically for inspiration, but all I can see is the orangish hue of the sunset seeping through the blinds, illuminating my bedroom. The day has been hot, and I wonder if tomorrow will be slightly cooler. “What do you like more, hot or cold weather?”
“Ooo, Paige. Weather questions already? I don’t know if I’m ready for this kind of commitment.”
I grin. “First thing you should know about me is that I'm terrible at making things up on the spot.”
He chuckles. “No, weather questions are my favorite.”
“Liar.”
“Really. I thought about being a meteorologist once.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I realized that for all the tech they have, meteorologists know less about the weather than the wind chimes on my balcony.”
“You have wind chimes?” As common as they seem, I’ve never known anyone who had them.
“Yeah, they were my grandma’s. She had some on her porch when I was a kid, and I liked them so much she gave them to me a couple of years ago,” he explains. “Okay, but back to the original question. I don’t mind the summer heat as long as I’m by an ocean, but since I’m not, I’d go with the cold. I like to snowboard. Okay, my turn now. Do you like cats or dogs?”
I shift on my pillow and switch my phone to the other hand, adjusting to a more comfortable position. “Dogs. But I have a cat.”
“How did that happen?”
I glance down at Cabby Cat, who’s drifted off to sleep on my stomach, and brush my fingers through her fur. “A couple months ago, I saw someone selling kittens out of a cardboard box by the grocery store, and when I went to peek inside, there was just one little kitten curled up in the center. It was the very last one of the whole litter.”
I pause, remembering. “I went grocery shopping, but all I could think of was that kitten, and when I came out of the store, the kitten was still there.” My voice breaks awkwardly as I think of the way Jordan picked up the tiny cat from the cardboard box and held it in the palm of his hands before giving her to me. Somehow, he’d known I couldn’t leave that kitten. An early birthday present, he said before paying the lady for the precious new life he just handed me. “Oh my gosh, I’m tearing up. This is so pathetic.” I swipe at the rogue tear trailing down my cheek.
“Paige, I’m tearing up. Tell me this story has a good ending. I can’t stop picturing those little stuffed-animal cats.”
“The ones with the huge glittery eyes?”
“Yes. I have to avoid looking at them at the store or else I’d be coming home to a couch full of them.”
I laugh at the image. When I got on this phone call, I didn’t expect to cry, let alone laugh as much as I have.
“So you got the cat,” he says, a smile in his voice.
“I got the cat.”
“And what’s its name?”
“I call her Cabby Cat, but her real name is Caboose.”
“Caboose.” He pauses. “The last one.”
“Yeah.” I stroke Cabby’s head, and she purrs. “Okay, favorite band?” I’ve asked this question on countless other dates, but this is the first time I’ve found myself eager to hear the response.
“Easy. Journey.”
I sit up. “No way.” The words slip out in my excitement. Cabby Cat meows at me in protest as she finds a new spot on my lap.
“Is that a good response or a bad one?” he asks.
“Good one. I love Journey. I went through a stint in high school where I listened to ‘Faithfully’ on repeat for months on end.”
“Really?” He laughs, and his voice seems to brighten.
For the next twenty minutes, Ian and I ping-pong questions back and forth, but as opposed to my disastrous diner date a few weeks ago—and basically all the other dates, for that matter—I find that for every question he asks me, I have three more I want to ask him. He’s funny, thoughtful, and a good conversationalist.
When I hang up the phone, I feel antsy, eager for time to pass a little faster. I’m actually looking forward to Saturday.
On Saturday night, I wear a mauve dress that’s classy enough to say “I put effort into looking nice” but casual enough to have pockets. I leave my hair down in long, loose waves that travel halfway down my back. And since it’s summer, I slip on a pair of strappy sandals to complete the ensemble.
Then I look in the mirror, shifting from side to side. For a brief moment, I wonder if Jordan will like the dress, but that thought is quickly replaced by wondering if Ian will like it. And that fills me with hope. It’s been a long time since anyone has even come close to usurping Jordan’s spot in my mental space. If being with Ian tonight is half as good as our conversation on Wednesday night, then I have every reason to believe this might be the start of something new. Something requited .
At precisely six o’clock, I park my car beside the Indian restaurant. I quickly check my mirror to make sure my makeup isn’t smudged before popping out and smoothing down my dress. My stomach is a strange concoction of excitement and nerves, and I try to tame them before I see my date for the first time.
I wonder what Ian will look like. Tall, dark, and handsome? Nerdy and short? Thin and balding? Strangely, I’m not overly concerned about his physical features. When Zia said Ian was a ten, I pictured muscles and a sharp jawline, but this guy was at least a nine with his words alone. Good looks would just be the cherry on top at this point.
I take a deep breath before rounding the corner, knowing Ian should be by the restaurant’s entrance as he’d told me on the phone.
But when I finally turn that corner, I am unprepared for what I see.
The man standing there is definitely attractive. He’s got dark-brown hair, broad shoulders, and a crooked smile that could make any other girl swoon. But I know that smile too well to be deceived.
“Ian,” I say flatly.
This is not random-stranger Ian. This is high school ex-boyfriend Ian. He Who Must Not Be Named.
I turn around immediately, planning to walk right back to my car.
“Paige, wait!” he calls after me. Ian’s voice is so much lower than that of the sixteen-year-old boy I dated almost seven years ago. Little wonder I didn’t recognize him over the phone.
Ian runs after me, but as we come around the restaurant, we end up face-to-face with Zia and Jordan.
Jordan looks at me, at my dress, then back up to my face, and for half a moment, something sparks in his eyes. Appreciation? Attraction? Whatever it is, the look is quickly snuffed out when he sees the man standing behind me.
I can tell the exact moment Jordan notices Ian because Jordan’s jaw clenches—and so do his fists. I’ve never seen Jordan throw a punch, but tonight might end that streak.
Zia’s eyebrows draw together as Jordan, Ian, and I all look at one another in one epic standoff. No one speaks and no one moves, but tension stretches between the three of us like a tightrope.