“Hayden, I’m leaving!” I yell up the stairs.

“Bye, Mom!”

I look to Rachel with a grim smile. “I don’t like that he’s getting too cool for good-bye hugs.”

“He’s just watching a movie.”

“That didn’t stop him a year ago.”

She smiles, but her eyes are taunting me. “You’re going to be late. You need to get going.”

Her reminder leaves me sighing. “Think he’ll appreciate or hate a couple of Metallica references?”

“No sabotaging!” She pushes my shoulders toward the door.

“His name is Lars. He has to expect it.”

Rachel rolls her eyes. “You can make one. But only one, and it’s just to see if he has a good sense of humor.”

“And his taste in music.”

“He saves animals for a living. That cancels out a possibly bad taste in music.”

Halfway through the doorway, I turn on my heel. “Are you preparing me for something I didn’t notice?”

Her shrug gives her away.

“Tell me I’m going to like you after this date.”

“He’s really sweet. Really sweet.” She stresses the word, making my lack of desire for going on another date drop below disinterest straight into abhorrence. “He just gets a little emotional sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“He’s not emotionally damaged, just … sensitive.”

“Rachel!”

“Just give him a chance.”

Sighing, I stomp down her porch stairs, wearing the black heels my best friend convinced me to pair with my black-and-white polka-dot dress. One of the worst things about dating is deciding what to wear. But I’ll admit, the more dates I go on, the less I care.

“Don’t let Hayden talk you into staying up past eight this time,” I warn her with one final look.

“Enjoy your date!” she says, shoving me and ignoring my concern because we both know she will.

Without any excuses left, I make my way down the short walk to the driveway and get in my car.

The restaurant’s parking lot is full, another disadvantage that comes with going on dates on weekends. However, they also represent large crowds which provide distractions and high noise levels which are sometimes the best excuses for little conversation, and on a few occasions have even led to ending dates early.

People are congregated outside, enjoying the warm evening as they wait for their tables, drawing attention to the biggest draw of dating on the weekends: the waiting.

I pull open a large glass door, and the scent of Italian food is nearly as overwhelming as the noise. Joining the line of patrons to get on the list for a table, I resent how difficult it’s become to make reservations when going out to eat.

“Ella?”

Turning, I come face-to-face with my date. “Lars.”

His smile makes mine grow wider. Dark green eyes are thinly veiled by even darker eyelashes and thick-rimmed glasses that give him an attractively nerdy vibe. His dirty-blond hair is casually styled, and his narrow build appears wider because of the width of his shoulders, but confirmed with the hollowness of his cheekbones.

“I came early in case it was busy and got us on the list so we wouldn’t have to wait for an hour,” he explains.

It gives him bonus points right off the bat.

“I hope you haven’t been here long.”

His green eyes brighten as his smile stretches. “The clinic closes at noon on Fridays, so I had the time.”

“I really admire your choice of work.”

His lips grow thin as his smile turns almost grim. “Really, it chose me. It was my calling.”

Rachel’s warning that he can be sensitive has my mind working overtime, considering safe subjects.

“Do you have any furry or scaled family members?” Lars asks, turning my thoughts in a one-eighty.

“Furry, yes. A dog named Shakespeare. She’s half golden retriever, half mutt.”

His eyebrows leap over the frame of his glasses. “I think you might have to explain the joke.”

“Joke?”

His cheeks stain red with discomfort, and his shoulders draw forward. “Her name. You thought she was a boy originally?”

“Oh.” I try to make my tone friendly. “Not a joke, just an open mind.” With eyes remaining on my date, I continue, “Many believe Shakespeare was a woman.” My shrug is intended to express I don’t have a strong opinion over the matter so we can simply discard the topic.

“Women weren’t allowed to attend schools at that time.”

“But many were tutored.”

He stares at me, calculating his next words. I’m struggling to know if I’m glad or offended by his unspoken thoughts when his name is called by the hostess.

Wine or one of their pretty fruit drinks would likely dull my need to keep trying to read his expressions and make me care less about his opinions regarding history during the English Renaissance, but I also fear it might make him seem far more interesting than he actually is, so I opt for lemonade.

“So why are you single?”

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. Aside from my mother, no one has ever asked me this question, and even she adds more tact. “Why are you single?” I think I was trying to sound less defensive, but I’ve failed miserably, and he makes that clear when he sits back farther in his chair.

“Divorced,” he finally says.

Generally, when someone reveals they’re divorced, it’s followed by an expletive: sadly, thankfully, finally, etcetera. But Lars doesn’t tag anything on; he just sits across from me either waiting for me to comment or explain my own reasons for being single.

Taking a deep breath, I fight my lips into another smile. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “I’ve never been divorced, but I imagine it’s quite difficult.”

“So you’ve never been married?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“Do you want to get married?”

Society often has this misconception that all women want to get married pronto and have a zillion babies. I don’t know where this notion came from. Perhaps the same people who lied and said chocolate causes acne. Eating more chocolate as a teenager would not have given me more zits, and while I have known women ready to find Mr. Right Now, more often than not it is men who seem ready to lift their legs and claim ownership. Lars, however, might be different. He really doesn’t seem to be the possessive type. I’m struggling to know what type exactly he is, making my answer much harder.

“I don’t know.” Seems much safer than not to you.

“Loving someone can be very difficult.” Lars reaches for his water glass with a trembling hand.

I remain silent, uncertain where he’s taking this.

Lars looks up, his eyes glossy from tears, revealing he isn’t fit to be going out tonight either. I wonder if he has a pushy parent or friend who forced him to be on the dating site or if he thinks this will help him heal faster.

“So are you from North Carolina?” I ask, already knowing he isn’t.

Lars shakes his head. “The New England area, actually.”

“Really? Where about?”

“Southern Maine.” His deep set frown reveals he’s homesick.

“I spent a summer in Maine when I was a kid. It was gorgeous.”

His eyes light up. “Nowhere is better. It’s the most beautiful place on earth.”

His expression teeters between nostalgia and anger, once again making me uncomfortable and issuing his first strike that really should have been given after his comment about Shakespeare.

I stare at my menu and consider safe subjects to discuss with him that will bury this side of aggression I’m seeing as well as his tears. A few months ago, I would have been damning my mom by this point, but currently she’s barely a thought as I work to maneuver myself out of yet another awkward date.

When the waiter comes to take our drink orders, we’re ready to place our meal order as well due to the extra time allotted by the tense moment.

“You obviously have a deep love for animals,” I say. “What kind of pets do you have?”

His smile returns, and for a second I’m caught off guard by his harmless appeal. He reminds me of a young boy playing dress up, even down to how his sport coat doesn’t fit him quite right and the sharpness of his shoulders.

“I have four dogs, two parrots, six guinea pigs, a parakeet, five cats, and three rabbits.”

“And a partridge in a pear tree?”

He stares at me, and then cracks a smile. “Oh, you’re joking.”

I nod, and against Rachel’s wishes, I give him a second strike for lacking a sense of humor.