Dylan
She looks like a naughty princess.
Wait.
She only looks naughty because I’m thinking of her naked.
So, that’s on me.
I rise, walk over to her, and press a kiss to her cheek. A faint whoosh of breath seems to rush from her lips, and that sound knocks a few filters loose in my brain. Before I know it, I blurt out, “You look like a dirty angel.”
Then I wrench back, instantly regretting the words.
“What did you say?” she asks, a smile playing on her lips.
“You look like an angel,” I offer, selling it with the kind of confidence I rely on when pitching venture capitalists.
It seems to work, since Evie smiles and runs her fingers briefly over my collar. “You look quite handsome,” she says, then pats my chest. “Perfect first-date wear.”
“It was a toss-up between this and overalls. Glad you like the one I picked.”
“Overalls then for date two,” she says with a wink.
The hostess appears at our side and asks if we’re ready to be seated.
“Absolutely,” I tell her, and we follow the woman in the black dress to a quiet booth near the back of the restaurant. Three votive candles in short tin cups form a circle, their lights flickering in the darkened corner.
Evie sits first, and when I take my seat, the hostess hands us menus. As I peruse mine, a strange spate of nerves crawls up my throat. But I dismiss them. There are nerves and there are decisions. I’ve made mine, and I know what I want.
Her.
Soon, the server comes to our table and introduces himself as Oliver. We order sake, edamame, and I add in a seaweed salad. Evie arches a brow and mouths seaweed? She points to her teeth and slides her fingers along them.
“Cancel the seaweed salad, please,” I tell the stocky man. “What would you recommend instead for an appetizer, Oliver?”
“Do you like scallops? We have a seared scallop appetizer that melts in your mouth.”
I look to Evie, letting her answer.
“Love them,” she says.
“Me, too. We’ll have the seared scallops instead.”
“And what would you like from the sushi menu?”
Evie chooses a rainbow roll and unagi, and I opt for yellowtail and mackerel.
“Excellent choices,” the waiter says with a nod. “And if there’s anything else I can get for you, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“We definitely will. Thanks, Oliver.”
The waiter leaves, and Evie is grinning at me.
“What?” I bare my teeth. “Do I already have seaweed stuck in my teeth, and I didn’t even order it?”
She shakes her head, her smile never vacating her pretty face. “They say on a first date, you can tell more about a man from how he treats the waiter than anything else.”
“And what did you learn?”
“You were quite nice to him.”
“Why would anyone not be nice, though? I don’t get it. I don’t get why someone would treat a waiter, a server, a cabbie, a hotel clerk, a salesperson—anyone—like a douche.”
“I don’t know, either, but it happens.”
“I don’t need to put someone down to feel good about myself.”
She rests her chin in her hand, studying my face. “You’re an interesting man, Dylan.”
“Am I?” I peer at her over the top of my glasses.
“You are. So tell me, what do you do for a living?” She rolls her hands, saying go with it.
“Oh, is this the role-play?”
She nods. “Practice date banter.”
I chuckle, mostly to myself, since it seems too silly to put the car in reverse. But I have to remind myself that Evie is on the clock and doing her job. “I’m an entrepreneur.”
Her blue eyes sparkle. “How interesting. Do you love it?”
“Absolutely. I’ve wanted to start my own company since I was a kid, and I love making things, growing a business, building it up, and selling it for gobs of money. What about you?”
“I’m a matchmaker, and yes, I always wanted to do this.”
“How so?”
“When I was a little girl, I loved setting up my dolls.”
I crack up, enjoying the image of her playing matchmaker to dolls. “Seriously?”
“I had a purple bucket of Ken and Barbie dolls as well as a stuffed panda, and the panda served as the great arbiter of romance amongst the dolls, deciding which couple would be allowed to spend a night in the Barbie house.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “That might be one of the best stories ever. Since basically, you are now the stuffed panda.”
She laughs, leaning forward, a few strands of her blond hair framing her face. “I was. I also loved to match clothes and colors, and I think over time, all the skills and interests coalesced.”
The waiter returns with the drinks and appetizers, and we both thank him, then dive into the scallops.
As I lift the chopsticks, I ask, “And do you love what you do?”
She chews then answers. “I do. It’s honestly one of the most fulfilling things I can imagine doing. I’m very fortunate in that I’ve made several quite successful matches, and I have some incredibly satisfied clients. They’re happy, they’re in love, they want to be together for the rest of their lives. I can’t ask for anything more.”
“Makes you feel lucky, right? Blessed even?” I ask as I pop an edamame into my mouth. “To do what you love, to be successful at it, to know it matters to others.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how I feel.”
She lifts her sake cup and drinks, and I watch her. From the hair to the dress to the lip gloss, Evie is so well appointed, put together. She’s polished, and I bet she’s been called pretty her whole life because the whole package comes together. But to me, she’s sexy and sensual. Because I’m turned on by her mind, by her mouth, by her outlook. The combination is what makes a woman sexy.
She blinks, as if she’s coming to after slipping into another plane of reality. “I just realized I’m not doing a very good job helping you practice for a date.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We’re sitting here talking about me, not prepping you.”
“But I’m having fun.”
“Are you?”
I hold up my palm, taking an oath on an imaginary Bible in court. “I swear.”
A faint smile crosses her lips. “You seem very comfortable. More so than the first time we met, and definitely more than at yoga.”
I pretend to blow on my fingernails. “Guess you made a swan of this ugly duckling.”
She scoffs. “You’re not ugly. You’re not a duckling, and there was no Pygmalion transformation here. Just a few little bits of encouragement.”
“Not ugly?” I sketch air quotes. “That’s my biggest goal in life. To be not ugly.”
She tosses her napkin at me. “Oh, stop it. You know you’re handsome.”
And I like that compliment a helluva lot. “Am I?”
“Incredibly handsome.”
Pride surges through me, alongside a fresh dose of confidence.
Until she says the next thing.
She pats my hand. “You’re going to make some woman quite happy.”
But not her.
My heart smashes to the floor.