Oh, God no, not a blind date. “Anne, I’m not ready. I haven’t even read the first-kiss articles! I’ll have to do some serious research before I dive in.”
“You’ll never be ‘ready,’ Lea. It doesn’t work that way. You just have to do it. Why not give it a chance? One date won’t kill you.” She smiled and held her hands out for her child. Danny squealed with pleasure, squirming to push himself into his mother’s arms.
Lea felt bereft, her arms empty without the child.
“One date?” Anne pushed. “Just to get your toes wet. Look at it as practice.”
Lea began to shake her head, but Danny chose that exact moment to look up at his mother and laugh, then wrapped his arms around her neck and gave her a wet, banana kiss on her chin. Lea felt her heart liquefy and head straight for her ovaries with instructions to prepare for immediate procreation.
If she were planned on ever having children, a man was kind of a necessary evil in the whole process, not only making the child, but caring for it. Being a single mother was not something she had a desire for. A child needed two parents.
Anne was right. It was time. It wasn’t about just grabbing anyone for procreation, but if she had hopes for a future with a family, now was the time to start looking. Who knew how many years that would take? She didn’t have all the time in the world any more. It was time to test the waters.
“Okay,” she conceded. “Just as a practice date. But you better pick someone…not dreadful.”
Anne hesitated. “What’s your definition of dreadful?”
Uh, oh.
Could this be any worse?
Lea groaned under her breath as her date tried for another footsie. She sat up straighter and tucked her feet under her chair. It hadn’t looked too bad at first, not compared to some of the blind dates horror stories she’d read. James was presentable, didn’t pick his nose over the appetizer, and was even a semi-interesting conversationalist, even though his topics of choice all seemed rather similar.
But that was it, as far as the good side went.
For one, he yelled at the waiters and waitresses. Not even in an impolite way—yet—but just as a routine way of getting their attention, his shrill voice echoing from the dark wooden walls of the cozy restaurant. Lea had nearly jumped out of her too-tight heels the first time. The second time, when every single eye in the restaurant had turned on them, a couple of people out of eyeshot even standing up to check what the ruckus was all about, she’d almost slid all the way under the table in an effort to pretend she wasn’t with that man. Her foot had accidentally brushed his—which was when the footsie had started.
Things had gone downhill from there, and they weren’t even halfway through the appetizer yet. Thank God for cocktails.
Anne and Brian would be hearing about this for a long, long time, Lea thought grimly.
There was another couple just two tables away, also on their first date, judging from the snatches of conversation that drifted over. They too were making their way through the appetizer. As James called the waiter over for the fourth time, Lea occupied herself by concentrating on the other couple. The guy was probably in his early thirties, and didn’t yell at the waiters, which currently made him a dream date in her book. Not that his looks hurt any either. The woman was several years younger, her hair long and blond, her laughter loud, and she seemed to have a black belt in flirting.
The blonde obviously knew all the rules, all the in and outs of this mysterious dating culture, Lea thought enviously. She should be taking notes. The show was fascinating. Flip hair, lean forward, show cleavage, tilt head sideways and smile coyly.
Hmm. Only, it didn’t seem to be working. The guy leaned back and seemed rather bored, although his smile was polite enough. He picked up his fork and speared his shrimp, his attention wandering to James who was waving the menu in front of the waiter.
The blonde made another attempt to draw her date’s attention with the flip hair, coy smile routine. The man seemed to realize what was expected of him. He put his fork down, leaned forward and talked for a bit, seemingly answering a question.
Meanwhile, his date was scouting the restaurant, and then stood up, and headed for the rest room.
Maybe she should follow the blonde to the rest room for some girl talk. That girl looked like she knew a thing or two. She could drill her about all the details that were nagging at her. Like, was she expected to kiss her date tonight? Would she be breaking all the rules if she didn’t? Would James charge her with violations of dating ethics if she made do with a handshake and then escaped into her apartment?
She glanced at her date and decided she really, really didn’t want to kiss him if there was any way out of it.
He was bashing the poor waiter again, but at least that activity was distracting him from the footsie game. Apparently there was a typo on the menu. His monologue was drawing more and more attention from the neighboring tables, not the least from the blonde’s date, who was looking at her with certain sympathy in his gaze and a weak smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.
Oh, Lord. Not only was she on her first date since high school, she had strangers pitying her.
Blind date, she mouthed at the stranger on an impulse, shrugging helplessly.
The man raised his eyebrows, then grimaced. Me too, he mouthed back, sending her a sympathetic grin and a rueful shake of his head.
That one, she might not mind kissing at the end of the evening, she conceded. Gorgeous eyes—dark blue, from what she could tell from here—and the smile was even better. The blonde had nothing to complain about. Some girls had all the luck.
The third waiter incident was over at last. Lea tried to catch the waiter’s eye for an apologetic look, but the harassed young man was hurrying away from the table, and she didn’t blame him. Worse, James’s toes were digging into her foot again. She pulled her legs under the chair once more, but he seemed to consider that a coy game of playing hard to get, and his foot was now on her calf.
What the hell was he thinking?
Once again she cursed her inexperience at this thing. Was this a normal part of whatever activities were involved in a first date in today’s world, or would she be justified in being insulted enough to throw down her napkin and stalk out of the restaurant?
She didn’t want to make a scene. She hated making scenes but that man wasn’t taking a hint, was he?
She’d try an unsubtle one.
“I’m sorry, but your foot keeps bumping into me,” she said with a polite laugh, once again moving her legs. “Not a lot of room under these tables, is there?”
Doggone it, it worked. James’s face froze in astonished shock, then his feet were mercifully withdrawn.
So was conversation. So were smiles.
Which only left arguments with the waiter, didn’t it?
Lea groaned under her breath after making several attempts to start a conversation, all met with an icy yes, no, or noncommittal grunts if she asked open-ended questions.
What
