Mariah

“I should’ve worn the heels.”

Twisting around to see the back view in the full-length mirror, I decide the jeans I laid out last night look fine. The top is cute. The shoes, though, might be too relaxed. Then again, I really have no idea.

The doorbell rings as I pick up my heels. I look at my reflection. I can’t see my heart pounding out of control but I sure as hell can feel it.

“Why did you agree to this?” I whine.

The bell sounds again as if the man on the porch is reminding me I did agree to the craziness of a blind date and now I have to follow through.

Each step toward the front door seems to cover a mile. The knob is in my hand before I have time to come up with a plan. I freeze. Peering into the peephole, I determine he’s cute, but in a television doctor kind of way. Crew cut blond hair, cobalt blue eyes that match his scrubs impeccably, and a tall, lean body that screams he ran a half a mile this morning for fun, all make him appear harmless. Although, I remind myself as I open the door, that’s what all blind dates look like at first.

“Hello,” I say, smiling as naturally as I can despite the ruckus in my head. A silent prayer goes up that I don’t look like one of those dogs in memes with my lips sticking to my gums in a fake smile.

His assessment is quick, yet thorough. I must pass because his broad shoulders ease. “Hi. I’m assuming you’re Mariah.”

“I am. You must be Jonah.”

“Correct. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got held up in the operating room.”

His words are stilted. There’s some relief in knowing he’s equally as unsure about this as I am.

“No worries,” I tell him. “Let me grab my purse and we can go?”

“Sounds good.”

Closing the door just in case he is a serial killer, I find my purse on the couch. A quick inventory confirms the small can of Mace in the hidden pocket, as well as extra cash for a cab. There’s also a tube of lipstick just in case I’m wrong about this whole thing and the date goes well enough for a quick freshen up in his bathroom.

He’s standing where I left him when I return. I flash him a smile while I lock up and wait for any indication there might be some sort crackling energy between us. My keys hit the can of Mace when I drop them into my purse.

Noted, Universe. Noted.

“Whitney said you like Peaches,” he says, a couple of steps in front of me. “I checked it out online. It’s not fancy but, since I’m in scrubs, I thought it might work.”

“It’s my favorite. Have you been there before?”

He opens my door. One point, Jonah. “I haven’t. I’m from Springfield originally and haven’t been here long enough to see much more than the inside of Merom Memorial. The life of an intern, I guess.”

“I guess. Thank you,” I say, as I slip in the front seat of his sports car.

I wonder if he actually hosed the interior with antiseptic spray or it’s a coincidence that the car smells like a janitor’s closet. By the looks of the spotless floorboards and streak-free windows, I lean toward the spray.

He grins at me while he climbs in. “Buckle up. Seat belts are one of the easiest and most effective ways to prevent injuries in automobile accidents.”

“All right. Thanks for the tip.” The lock slips into the latch and I try to focus on the considerate side of him. Not the one that made me want to include, ‘Yes, father,’ at the end of my sentence.

The drive to Peaches takes forever despite only being a few minutes from Linton. Every topic feels like we have to move a mountain to get through the conversation. Going from discussing his job to my career back to his job is way more work than it should be.

By the time we pull in the parking lot, I want to bash my head against the window but I’m afraid if I bleed on his interior he may freak out. On the other hand, it would be more exciting than spending another hour or two like this.

We enter my favorite little place which is nestled behind a tennis court. It’s cozy inside Peaches, a joint famous in these parts for their margaritas. Jonah asks me to order him a water and excuses himself for the restroom.

“Do you have a seating preference?” the hostess asks.

“Table, please,” I say, looking around. There are a few that overlook the parking lot and drive-through. At least by the window I’ll have something to watch. “Can we sit over there?”

“Sure. Follow me.”

Setting my purse on a chair by the wall, I thank the hostess. “Can I go ahead and order drinks?”

“Sure,” she says, taking a small pad out of the apron around her waist. “What can I get for you?”

“Water with lemon for him and a Coke, extra ice, for me.”

“Got ya.”

I get situated in my seat, shooting Whitney a text asking her what the hell she was thinking. When Jonah gets back, I drop the phone into my purse and smile at my date.

“Drinks are ordered,” I chirp.

“Great.” He grabs a menu off the table. “How long have you known Whitney?”

“Since elementary school. She moved to Linton in third or fourth grade,” I say. “I got hit in the face with a dodgeball and she helped me to the nurse’s station. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

The waitress stops by with our drinks and takes our order. She bats her lashes at Jonah and I’m surprised to see that he flirts back, albeit ineptly. Sipping my Coke, I try to care. I don’t. With a final breathy giggle, she’s on her way and he directs his attention back to me.

Silently judging my choice of beverage, he lifts his glass of water with lemon to his lips. “Dodgeball should be banned from schools. There’s no reason to risk a broken nose over an immature game that doesn’t involve skill.”

“We always lobbied to play it, so I’m going to have to disagree. It was fun.”

“It’s pointless.”

“I loved it,” I offer, holding back an awkward laugh. “Anyway, that’s how I met Whit.”

“She’s a terrific nurse. What is it you do again?”

Blinking slowly, I wait for him to laugh. “I’m a librarian at the high school.” I enunciate each syllable, wondering how on Earth this man is going to be a doctor when he can’t pay attention for shit.

“I think you told me that.”

“I did.” Twice already. “I’ve always had a minor fascination with the medical world. I considered medical school myself, but there were too many people involved.”

“There are definitely a lot of people involved,” he laughs. “That’s kind of the point. We’re the ones who get in, elbows deep, and clean up the world. We do the work that matters.”

Our plates are placed in front of us. Jonah gets a little extra smile with his. I just cannot find it in me to be bothered.

Slicing into my chicken breast, I attempt to tune them out. The waitress’ giggle is abrasive and Jonah’s try at conversation so painful I almost wince. If it weren’t completely rude, I’d yank out my phone and ask Whitney how this guy is going to be a doctor when he has virtually no people skills. Less than even I do.

There is some weird chemistry between the two of them though, so I turn towards the window. As I chew my chicken, I’m kind of happy for him. I can’t imagine that he finds this kind of thing any easier than I do and Lord knows how much I struggle with dating. Or how much I would struggle if I did it regularly.

I hear the waitress leave. I decide to direct my attention back to Jonah and make an attempt at this date, when I stop. My fork falls to my plate and clinks off the china. From the other side of the window, in the drive-thru lane, sits Lance. His window is rolled down and he’s looking at me.

One eyebrow lifts as he takes me in. He ignores the guy honking behind him as he holds my glance for a few long seconds like he’s not sure what he’s seeing. Something must catch his eye because he turns his attention to something else.

He looks across from me.

To Jonah.

Oh God.

There’s no hiding his amusement when he slides his eyes back to mine. The asshole has the audacity to laugh. The car behind him honks again as I glare at him through the glass. I can imagine the snicker that’s undoubtedly toppling past his smirk as he pulls away.

Sagging back in my seat, I struggle to find room in my chest to fill it with air. It’s like all the oxygen was sucked from me and replaced with curiosity about Lance. My brain races through potential situations—where is he going, who is he with, who was he getting dinner for? My stomach sours.

“You okay?” Jonah’s voice drifts across the table, barely audible through my haze.

“Sorry,” I say, pasting on a smile. “It’s been a long day.”

“You didn’t hear anything I said, did you?”

My cheeks heat, like I got caught with my hand in the candy jar. “Uh, no. Can you repeat that?”

“I was saying I just got a text from the hospital,” he says. “There’s a new procedure scheduled in an hour I’d like to observe. It’s only performed at a few hospitals nationwide and I really think it’s important I stand in and see what it’s all about. It would be great for my career.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. When I look up again, I almost fall out of my chair.

“Well, look who I found.” Lance’s voice is full of amusement as he strides right up to the table, no fucks given. Dressed in dark denim and a navy blue button-down that he didn’t bother to tuck in, he looks casual and delicious, despite the cocky look on his face.

I plead to the heavens that he didn’t come in here just to tease me. When he winks, I know I’m screwed.

The pink in my cheeks cranks up a notch as I look from an entertained Lance to a bewildered Jonah. I should say something, introduce them, because Jonah’s confusion is clear.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Lance instead. When I shoot him a look that practically begs him not to embarrass me, he just laughs.

“I was picking up dinner.”

“In the drive-thru,” I point out.

“And they forgot my apple pie,” he says. Pride blooms on his face like he’s tickled to death he came up with a lie so quickly. “I’m Lance Gibson,” he says, turning to Jonah. “And you are?”

“Jonah.” He looks at me briefly before turning back to Lance. “How do you know Mariah?”

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Lance lies. Again. “How do you know her?”

“I’m her date.”

Lance takes a step back. I can’t decipher the look on his handsome face, whether he’s curious or irritated now. He watches Jonah far too closely for far too long.

“It’s nice to meet you, but we were just leaving,” Jonah says, putting his napkin on the table.

Scrambling to get myself together, to find my purse, to take a final sip of my Coke, I freeze everything when Lance speaks.

“You barely touched your chicken, Mariah.”

“Jonah got a call from the hospital,” I explain. “Spur of the moment thing. He’s needed there so we’re going to cut this a little short.”

“Then perfect timing. I’ll take you home,” Lance says. He narrows his eyes as if to warn me, but I skirt right around that.

“Oh, no,” I protest, holding up a hand. “That’s unnecessary.”

“I have ten minutes to get to Merom Memorial,” Jonah notes. “Would it be okay if your friend took you home? I hate asking, but we’re already in Merom and if I drive you back to Linton first—”

“I’ll get a ride. It’s fine.” He may not mean to be rude, but it certainly feels that way. Who lets another man take his date home?

Still, as he gets to his feet and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Lance, my body releases an evening full of stress. Although Lance is a giant pain in my ass, being stuck with him is better than being stuck with Jonah. At least we can argue instead of regurgitating information over and over.

“I’ll pay the bill before I leave. It was nice meeting you, Mariah,” Jonah says.

“It was nice meeting you too.” I stand, thinking I should shake his hand or something. I don’t know. Instead, Jonah leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Glancing up at Lance, I see a fire in his eye. I hold my breath as Lance starts to take a step toward Jonah, but then he stops.

“You better get going.” Lance taps his watch. “Nine minutes.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call you.” Jonah gives me a little wave before taking off through the restaurant. Lance is in his seat before Jonah is even out of sight.

“This isn’t even a cheeseburger,” he scoffs. Pushing the plate to the edge of the table, he makes a face. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“It’s a veggie burger.”

“Did you specifically look for a guy without testosterone or did it just happen?”

“He’s nice,” I object, trying and failing, to hide a giggle.

“You didn’t think he was nice,” he mocks. “And you weren’t the least bit attracted to him.”

I wasn’t. I’m sure everyone watching us could see that. But I’m not about to admit that to Lance. Letting him think I was falling madly in love wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done. “And how would you know that?”

He leans forward, and his cologne wraps around me. “You were sitting back in your chair, for one.”

“What?” Then I look down and realize I’m mimicking his posture and leaning toward him. I shift back in my seat. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He shrugs. “Maybe not. But your eyes did light up when you saw me.”

“You’re delusional.”

Much to my surprise, he seems to consider this. “You may be right.” He redirects his attention to the waitress now primed at the table.

“You aren’t the man who was here before,” she laughs. “Girl, where do you find these guys? I need to hang out there.”

“You’d be surprised,” I tell her. “The other guy said he was paying the check. Can you make sure he did?”

“Wait.” Lance whips a menu off the napkin dispenser. “I want dessert.”

“Lance …” I sigh, watching him scan the menu.

“What’s good here?” he asks, ignoring me.

The waitress rattles off a bunch of choices. He’d love the peanut butter pie, but I don’t tell him that.

There’s a touch of stubble dotting his cheeks. He works his jaw back and forth as he peruses the dessert choices. It’s hard, like it’s cut from granite and angled in a sharp line. My hand starts to move, to reach out on instinct and feel the roughness against my palm, but I come to my senses in the nick of time.

“I want the peanut butter pie. What about you?” He offers me the menu.

“I thought you came in to get the apple pie the drive-thru forgot?” I remind him. “Or did that slip your mind?”

“Totally slipped my mind,” he chuckles. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter now anyway.”

“Would you like a piece too?” The waitress asks as Lance and I exchange a knowing smile. “We have a great blackberry cobbler.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Give her a slice of the lemon pie,” Lance cuts in.

“I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, you do. Or at least you can sit there and look at it while I eat mine.”

Or I can sit here and look at you and pretend you’re eating me.

Oh, God.

I can’t look away from him fast enough. Lifting my purse from the seat next to me, I scavenge through it like a girl who may perish if she doesn’t locate her phone.

“Did I say something?” he asks after the waitress is gone.

“Nope. Nothing at all. Just worried I left my phone in Jonah’s car,” I say, pulling it out like a trophy. “Whew. I wasn’t sure.”

“All righty then …”

Setting it carefully next to my glass, I exhale. “I feel better now.”

“Tell me about the hippie.”

“He wasn’t a hippie,” I insist. “He’s a doctor. Or going to be one. I think. I have doubts with his lack of interpersonal communication skills.”

“How’d you meet him? Is this the guy you’ve been seeing?” He pulls his brows together. “No disrespect, but he’s not exactly the type I thought you’d be having dinner with.”

“Well, for the record, he’s not exactly who I thought I’d be having dinner with either,” I shrug. “But it’s over now.”

“So you won’t be seeing him again?”

Considering my options, I realize I have only one. There’s no way he’d believe I wanted this guy. So, I give in. “No, I’m not seeing him again. This was a blind date.”

“Ah …” Lance’s voice trails off as he blows out a breath. “That makes sense.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I take a drink of my Coke. Just as my glass hits the table, two plates of pie slide in front of us.

“Here you go!” she chatters happily. “Does it look like rain out there? I get off in an hour and was hoping for a clear night out.”

“Um, no rain,” Lance responds.

She chatters on and on about her lack of plans. As I watch her make conversation easily, I wish I had that quality. There’s no way I could walk up to someone I just met seconds before and chatter away about my life’s hopes and dreams. But the longer I wait on her to end the conversation, the more I forget my conundrum and the more agitated I get at her for flirting with Lance.

“Excuse me,” I say, butting in. “This looks great. Thank you.”

“Oh,” she giggles. “Yes, I’m sorry. Let me know if you need anything else.” She tucks her chin and darts to the kitchen.

Lance sticks his fork in his pie, a smug look etched on his features. “Is that what jealousy looks like on you, Ms. Malarkey? I like it.”

“Why would I be jealous?” I huff, lopping a big lump of pie on my fork. “She did the same thing to Jonah so don’t feel special.”

“Oh, I didn’t feel special,” he grins. “Until now.”

“Why is that?” I ask before shoving a quarter of the pie into my mouth.

“Because when she did it to Jonah, you were looking at me. You didn’t give a fuck. But when she did it to me, you looked like you wanted to rip her throat out.”

“I did not,” I protest, gulping.

“You did and it was hot as hell.” An ember burns in his eyes so bright I can’t even look. I’ll melt. I’m sure of it.

Shoving a bite of pie into my mouth, I can’t quite get it past the lump sitting at the bottom of my throat. I cough, covering my mouth with a napkin until I manage to get it down. “That’s super lemon-y,” I eek out.

“I bet.”

“Want a bite?” I offer, trying to keep the conversation well away from the waitress and my non-jealousy.

“Nah. It’s not my favorite,” he says, taking another bite of his dessert.

“You’re lucky I like it since you ordered it for me without knowing and you don’t like it,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

“No luck involved, sweetheart.” He takes another bite of his. “This isn’t bad, but your peanut butter icing is unbeatable.”

Charming bastard.

Sitting my fork down, I take him in. There’s no pretentiousness to his words. There’s nothing for me to get irritated about or dislike, just a kindness in his compliment that I know he means.

This is what bothers me so much about him. He keeps me off kilter on purpose.

“How did you know I’d like lemon pie?” I ask. Attempting to regroup and find my feet, I settle back in my chair and watch him.

“Because you always have a box of lemon candies in the middle drawer of your desk. I see them when you pull it out,” he adds quickly, before I can accuse him of snooping. “Do you ever make lemon cupcakes? Can you even do that?”

“Yes, you can do that,” I laugh. “I’ve made them but never gotten them exactly right.”

“After you make the red velvet, maybe you could try them?”

“I never said I was making you red velvet anything!” Lofting my straw wrapper across the table, it hits him in the chest. “Do you think I just bake to order?”

“For me, yeah.”

He hands the waitress his credit card as she walks by. “Can you ring us up?”

“Let me pay for it,” I say, tugging on my purse.

“Yeah, fucking right.”

“Sorry,” the waitress says, standing so close to Lance her hip almost touches him. She takes his card, her fingertips brushing against his. “A man like this gets what he asks for.”

“Yeah, see,” he jokes as she sashays away. “I get what I ask for.”

“Is that why you’re a brat?”

He picks up Jonah’s water glass and then sits it back down. “I almost drank from that.”

“I saw.”

“Were you going to let me?” he gasps.

“Hey, you get what you ask for,” I laugh.

He feigns irritation. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he does a speedy review of something on the screen and then pops it away. “So,” he says, leaning against the table. “What do we do now?”

“You take me home.”

“We could see a movie. Do people still do that on dates or is that old-fashioned?”

“This isn’t a date,” I point out.

He considers this. “Yeah, I think it is. You just leveled up. From hippie to me. You’re winning today.”

“Do you live to annoy me?”

“No, but watching you get all hot and bothered does turn me on.”

“Oh my God. Stop it,” I hiss.

The table next to ours apparently caught wind of his admission and look at us over their shoulders. I can’t make eye contact.

“What do you do on a date? I was serious,” he says, ignoring the hushed comments beside us.

“When was the last time you were on a date?”

Tapping his chin, his eyes sparkle. “Like a real date? Or like time with a woman?”

“A date. Dinner, a movie, a walk around the lake. Even a ride around the country,” I offer.

“I like the way you think.” A grin tips his lips. “I haven’t gone parking in years. Wanna?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Laughing, we get to our feet. He sticks his credit card back in his wallet and I wonder where her number went, but don’t ask. Just before we turn to leave, I catch him tossing a little wadded up ball on the table. He catches me watching.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say as innocently as possible.

“Can’t go anywhere and not collect digits. It’s hell being this handsome.”

We walk out of Peaches side-by-side. It’s a heck of a lot better than how I walked in.