Chapter 10

Melany

MY HANDS SHOOK so badly I had to clench them into tight fists.

This was a terrible idea. Maybe even the worst idea in the history of ideas. Or in the top five at the very least.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I whined, as Chance led me to the door of the restaurant.

“Would you relax? It’s going to be fine.”

I planted my heels and put pressure on his arm, forcing him to stop, and whisper-yelled, “Fine? How is this going to be fine? I’m going on my first real date, which at thirty-one is in itself the definition of pathetic, but to top that off, I’m going to have you spying from a few tables away!”

Chance turned to face me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Hey, I told you I’d have your back, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you meant literally. I’m nervous enough as it is, meeting this guy, having you there is only going to make it that much worse!”

He let out a harrumph and spun me back to the door, pushing it open as he spoke, “Pfft. That’s ridiculous. I’m only here to make sure the guy isn’t some pathetic dickhead or a closet serial killer in the making.”

“Not helping,” I gritted.

“Shh. Now it’s show time.” He gave me a small shove and moved away.

The hostess looked up as I stumbled into her stand and gave me a bland, emotionless smile. “Hello. Can I help you?” For someone whose job was to greet people at the door, she certainly wasn’t giving me the warm fuzzies.

“Uh… y-yes.” I cleared my throat and continued. “Um, yeah. I’m meeting someone? A date?” I hadn’t meant for that to come out as a question, and at her incredulous stare, I began to get flustered. “I mean, I am meeting someone for a date. Here. Right now. Seven o’clock sharp.” I laughed nervously and began wringing my fingers together.

“Do you know the name of the party?” Hostess Lady asked in a skeptical, slightly offensive tone.

“Bryan,” I stated. “Bryan…” Oh crap. I didn’t know his last name? How in the world had I agreed to a date with a guy whose last name I didn’t know? Suddenly, pictures of being chopped up and stuffed in a deep freezer in some guy’s basement popped into my head. Maybe Chance was onto something with the whole serial killer thing. I needed to get the hell out of there before something bad happened. I liked my skin exactly where it was. I didn’t want someone else wearing it like a suit!

I was just about to turn and run when a voice called my name. “Melany?”

Shit. It was Bryan Last-Name-Unknown. So much for a safe escape. I pasted on a tremulous smile and greeted, “Hi, Bryan.” Then, because I was quickly losing it, I turned to the bored hostess and stated, “This is the guy. Bryan.”

“No, you don’t say,” she deadpanned.

Bryan walked forward with a smile and leaned in to place a kiss on my cheek. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too.” How I managed to speak with the anxiety clawing at my throat was a miracle.

“I already got our table right back here.” He took me by my elbow and began leading me toward our table behind the partition that separated the dining space from the entrance, and I gave one last quick glance at Chance as I walked away. He looked like he was trying his hardest not to laugh, and when my face wrinkled in a glare, he shot me a thumbs-up.

Bryan’s voice pulled my attention away as we reached the table. “You look amazing.”

My cheeks began to burn as I looked down at my outfit. The dress was shorter than I was normally comfortable with, but I liked how the stark white made my skin look a bit tanner. I paired the sleeveless dress with my red heels and a cute little red patent leather clutch Constance had given me a few years ago. It was the first time I’d had the opportunity to use it.

“Th-thank you,” I replied. He pulled my chair out and I took a seat, scanning the restaurant. It was a nice place, small and quaint with a décor that kind of made it look like a Tuscan villa. Italian music played in the background, low enough for the patrons to converse, but loud enough to add to the comfortable ambiance.

“So,” Bryan started, taking the seat across from me. “Have you ever been here before?”

I finally took the time to take in my date. He looked… nice? I guess a politically correct term would be eclectic. I wasn’t particularly a fan of the khaki pants and blue blazer look, but who was I to judge? Until Chance, I didn’t really know the first thing about fashion. I thought the white button-down shirt with tiny navy-blue anchors all over it was a bit much, but I figured to each his own. His style kind of reminded me of Andy Bernard from The Office. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he owned a pair of salmon-colored slacks.

“No. I haven’t been here. I’m really glad you suggested it. I’m excited to try a new place.”

He smiled brightly. It was cute in a boy-next-door sort of way. Not sexy and confident like Chance’s. And why in the hell was I suddenly comparing Bryan to Chance? I lowered my eyes and shook my head, trying to clear it of thoughts of Chance.

When I looked back up, I saw that Hostess Lady was seating him at the table right behind Bryan. And she most certainly didn’t look uninterested as she gazed longingly into Chance’s eyes.

He offered her a few whispered words I couldn’t hear, but whatever he said made her giggle and blush like a schoolgirl before she took back off to her podium. Chance’s head turned, catching me staring, and the jerk gave me a slick wink before picking up his menu and turning his attention to it.

“Well, you’re going to love it,” Bryan said, pulling my focus back to my date. “They have the best baked salmon.”

I managed to refrain from curling my top lip, but only just barely. I hated the stuff, honestly. I was more of a give me red meat, or give me death kind of girl. At that thought, I picked up my menu and started perusing, trying my best to ignore the way Chance’s shoulders were suddenly shaking in silent laughter. He already knew of my utter dislike of anything fish related. As I scanned the options, my mouth began to water at the thought of Veal Parmesan.

The waiter stopped at our table with a complimentary breadbasket and filled our empty water glasses. “Good evening. I’m Antonio and I’ll be your server. Are you ready to order or do you need a few moments?”

I opened my mouth to request a few more minutes to decide, but Bryan cut me off. “We’ll have two of the baked salmon with asparagus and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.”

I stared in wide-eyed disbelief as the waiter scribbled on his little notepad. Did he just order for me?

“Uh…” I interrupted, drawing both their gazes to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t… I’m not really a fish and white wine kind of person.”

The waiter kept his pen poised to correct the order, but Bryan spoke insistently. “Trust me, you’re going to love it. I promise. And you have to have white wine with fish.”

“But I—”

“That’ll be all, thanks,” he told Antonio with a wave of his hand, sending him on his way. Antonio scuttled away, taking my dreams of Veal Parm and a mojito with him.

My eyes shot over Bryan’s shoulder. Chance was staring at me with the same bewilderment I was feeling at that very moment. Bryan clapped his hands, clearly pleased with himself as he stated, “Well then, now that that’s out of the way, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

Was he serious? I heard the distinct sound of Chance choking from behind Bryan, but I was too annoyed to pay attention. “Well, I’m an Aquarius. I work at Archer & Weatherly Architecture and Design, and I don’t like seafood or white wine,” I replied flatly.

“Oh! So you’re an architect? That must be exciting.”

I was never dating again. This was ridiculous.

I lifted my water to my lips and took a sip. “Actually, I’m an executive administrative assistant.”

His brows dipped in confusion. “Isn’t that like, a secretary?”

Never. Dating. Again.

“I guess so. But the politically correct term nowadays is administrative assistant. There’s kind of a stigma that comes with being labeled a ‘secretary,’ you know. It’s similar to how stewardesses are now referred to as flight attendants.”

He didn’t look any less confused. “I don’t understand.”

“I… uh… it’s…,” I stammered as I tried to come up with an easier explanation. “Let me put it this way, what do you imagine when you think secretary?”

“Well… someone who gets my coffee, I guess.”

“Exactly!” I smiled. He was finally getting it. “The first thing your brain thinks of is a glorified coffee fetcher.”

“But isn’t that what you are?”

Or maybe not. “No,” I scowled. “It’s not. I do a lot more than just get coffee.”

His eyebrows hit his hairline. “But you do get your boss coffee, right?”

Was this date over yet?

The evening definitely didn’t get any better from there. I sipped on my water and ate mostly bread and the asparagus on my plate that had been drizzled in a really tasty hollandaise sauce while Bryan went on, and on, and on about his family’s sail boat and their exclusive Connecticut country club and summering—yes, he managed to turn a season into a verb—in New Hampshire or his parents’ house in the Hamptons. His clothing choices suddenly made a lot more sense.

As did the boat shoes I hadn’t noticed until he got up and excused himself to the bathroom.

I’d just dropped my head into my hands and let out a frustrated groan when I heard the Bryan’s chair scrape across the floor. My head shot up, thinking he’d already returned, only to discover Chance had temporarily taken his seat.

“Wow.”

My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head as I stuffed another piece of bread into my mouth. “I know,” I muttered through the bite of food. “This is terrible!”

Like the amazing friend he was, he pushed a glass of red wine across the table for me to drink. “I got you this when that dick-hole ordered for you.”

I brought the glass to my lips and chugged as much as possible. “Oh God, Chance. Do you think I could fake anaphylaxis or something to get out of this date? I don’t know how much more of this guy I can take.”

“I knew he was a douche the minute I saw those fucking anchors.”

“Where do you even buy a shirt like that?” I hissed under my breath, leaning forward in desperation. “You have to get me out of this.”

Chance smiled wickedly as he stood from Bryan’s seat. “I told you I’d have your back, didn’t I? Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”

He moved back to his own table, but once seated, I saw him flag Antonio down. The two men exchanged quiet words, and at one point, Antonio looked seconds away from bursting into laughter. Then, to my bewilderment, Chance passed the waiter a couple bills. As Antonio walked past my table, he gave me a little wink I couldn’t decipher.

The next two minutes happened in slow motion—a really entertaining slow motion. I could see Bryan heading back down the hall from the men’s room and struggled to contain my groan of displeasure at the sight of him. Just as he reached Chance’s table, Antonio appeared as if he’d materialized out of thin air, a nearly overflowing glass of red wine in his hands. In a scene I couldn’t have scripted any better, my blessed waiter stumbled right into him, spilling the entire drink down the front of Bryan’s godawful shirt and khaki pants.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t see you there.”

Antonio deserved an Oscar for his performance, and I decided right there and then that I was tripling whatever Chance paid the guy.

“You idiot! Do you have any idea how much this shirt cost?” Bryan hatefully spat in outrage. “Probably more than you make in a month!”

“I’m so sorry. Let me just get you something to wipe that up with.” Antonio took off, and I stood from my seat, pasting on my best surprised face as I headed in Bryan’s direction.

“Oh no,” I gasped. “That’s just terrible. If you don’t get that pretreated as soon as possible, that stain will set. You need to use equal parts vinegar and baking soda.”

He looked up at me from his ruined shirt. “What?”

“Vinegar and baking soda. It should take that right out. But you need to go do it now. Like, right now. Before it sets.”

“But—”

“I insist!” I spouted with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’d just hate myself if your shirt was ruined because you wanted to stay and continue our date. I’d never forgive myself. I’ll take care of the check. You just get home and soak that stain.”

“Are… are you sure?”

“Positive!” I grabbed hold of his shoulders and spun him in the direction of the door. “And thank you for dinner. It really was lovely. Now, remember, equal parts.”

His forehead was furrowed in confusion as I began pushing him away. “Vinegar and baking soda. Got it.”

“Exactly. Now hurry!” I stood and watched until the glass door closed behind Bryan. Only then did I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. When I turned back to my table, Chance was already there, with Antonio standing beside him. My high heels clicked against the tiles as I moved back to my chair and sat down, and a slow, pleased smile spread across my face.

“You’re a genius, and I owe you so big after tonight.”

Chance’s deep chuckle warmed something inside me. “You really do,” he replied before turning back to the waiter. “Two glasses of cabernet, please. And would you mind bringing the lady the Veal Parmesan?”

Antonio grinned. “And anything for you, sir?”

Chance reached across the table and picked up my partially touched main course, setting the plate down in front of him. “I’m good.” And with a wink in my direction, he added, “I actually like baked salmon.”