Читать книгу Her Rebound Guy - Jennifer Lohmann - Страница 12

CHAPTER TWO

“I DON’T LIKE the wall color,” the statuesque blonde with her hair up in a neat French roll said as she swept her arm around at the creamy, peachy beige that made up the walls of Buono Come Il Pane. “It’s too...bland. My wedding won’t be bland. It will be different,” the prospective bride said with the same finality she’d used for every proclamation she’d made about her wedding.

Different. Special. Unique. Memorable. All a lot of requests for something special out of a woman named Jennifer. Not that there was anything wrong with the name, but...

But the name was on every tenth woman, or so it seemed. Being one of a hundred Jennifers in any given square mile probably contributed to her desire for a unique wedding. Beck could be more forgiving.

Maybe.

Buono Come Il Pane hosted events of all kinds. Graduations. Retirement parties. Anniversaries. Birthdays. And weddings. Beck loved weddings the most—she really did. Her divorce hadn’t changed the fact that she loved happily-ever-afters and romances and engagement stories. But there were particular brides she didn’t love, and this woman seemed likely to walk down the aisle as one of them.

“Buono Come Il Pane’s decoration evokes the warmth of Tuscany,” Beck said. Buono Come Il Pane translated to “good as bread” and it meant something like “good as gold.” They served a small menu of finely crafted Tuscan food. They didn’t boast of the size of their wine list, letting the quality of their selections speak for themselves instead. The interior design was much the same—not spare so much as elegant.

“Its simplicity isn’t for everyone, of course. That’s a decision you and your fiancé have to make.” Beck glanced at the groom, Tanner, who’d come to the appointment with his future bride. He’d come—Beck would give him that. But that seemed to be the only nod he’d make to participating in planning the event that would cement his life to another’s.

Maybe he had a stressful job, she thought. Or perhaps he was worried about a friend of his. Or had something else on his mind, other than the wedding. There, Beck thought, satisfied that she’d turned her irritation with his silence around. The prospective groom was here to support the love of his life, but they both knew he had a lot on his mind because...work. Work was a nicer reason than a sick friend he might be worried about.

Beck smiled charitably at the man before turning back to the woman, who was standing with her hands on her hips, looking thoughtfully at the walls.

“I don’t suppose you could paint the walls...” Jennifer said, trailing off.

“No. It is important to us that we make our brides happy and that their wedding day is special, but we can’t repaint the walls.”

“Well, rats,” the woman said. Beck tried not to laugh. The woman was high-maintenance and, despite all her talk about special, unique and different, had no idea what she wanted her wedding to look like. But she had said “rats” with such honest disappointment that Beck couldn’t help but try to like the woman.

“Buono Come Il Pane has a specific look and a specific feel. Might I ask why, if we’re not what you wanted, did you make an appointment? And why are you still considering us? We’d love to be the right place for you, of course,” Beck hastened to add, “but we know we’re not the right place for every bride and it’s important that you’re comfortable with the location you choose.”

“This is my dad’s favorite restaurant,” the future groom chimed in from his spot against the wall. “If we pick here, he’ll chip in half of the wedding costs and her parents will give us the difference for a honeymoon.”

“Our house down payment,” the bride said. “That’s a better long-term decision.”

See, Beck’s inner nice chided. It’s good that you decided to like the woman. She’s like all the other brides, trying to plan her future in the best way she knows how.

Even if she wants you to repaint and will probably want different linens. And different silverware. And won’t like the wine options. Or the food.

But she was a woman who was trying to figure out what she wanted and was determined to make it happen. That was worth a nod of respect, if nothing else.

“Money is important to consider when deciding on wedding venues. It’s easy to spend more money than you’d planned on and then be strapped later. I can’t tell you what to do, but we offer a basic set of options for brides, things that we think best show off our restaurant and the beauty of the occasion. If those aren’t what would make your wedding day the party you’ve always wanted, then perhaps we’re not the best place for you.”

It was easy enough for Beck to turn down one bride. Buono Come Il Pane was booked for June over a year in advance and the rest of the year’s availability was usually gone eight months in advance. When she was done with this appointment, she had a bridal event to plan for and she usually came out of those events with a couple more bookings.

Plus, a happy bride was the best possible advertising. An unhappy bride was the worst. If the woman was going to be unhappy with her wedding at Buono Come Il Pane, it was worth the money to pay her to go away.

“We might be willing to accept this restaurant’s style,” Tanner said, interested in the conversation now that money was on the line. “Right, honey? It could be worth our time.”

Jennifer smiled indulgently at him. “We want to honeymoon in Belize, and we have our eye on those private suites on stilts out in the water. Right now, it’s a wee bit out of our price range. Though, a down payment for a house would still be a better investment.”

“Well,” Beck said with a clap of her hands and quick glance at her watch. “You both have a lot of thinking to do before you decide on anything. Personal opinion, spend a lot of time—separately—thinking about what you each want. Then come together and make sure you overlap on the big stuff. That you’re not giving up anything that’s important to you. That’s really life advice—” the kind Beck wished she had taken “—and a wedding is a good place to start. It is the beginning of your life together.”

“Huh,” the groom said as he turned to stare back at the walls and art, clearly no longer interested in the conversation.

But his bride evaluated Beck more closely before asking, “Are you married?”

For most of her career, she’d loved to answer “Yes” and tell the bride that she’d had the most beautiful wedding under the sun. To say that they were blissfully happy. That she wasn’t always a bridal and events planner, but a bride. That she had been the magical bride, happy enough to walk on water, and had known what it was to come home to a loved one, share a glass of wine and chat about your day.

But those days were over. “I’m not,” she said, not willing to go into any details with a customer and a stranger.

“Divorced?”

“Well, yes. So I know of what I speak when I say you need to think about what’s important to you and make sure your fiancé feels the same.” She and Neil had always felt perfect for each other, until they weren’t.

The bride leaned in close to Beck, like they were teen girls sharing a confidence. “Tanner and I met through online dating. It’s possible, you know. The trick is to make sure you pick the right dating site. Some are for people looking for easy...” She paused, words rolling through her eyes before she settled on, “Companionship. The good sites attract men looking for marriage and commitment. Pick one of those.”

“Thank you,” Beck said surprised. The woman wasn’t giving her new advice, and she was a stranger, but she meant her advice honestly. Sincere, much like Beck had been when telling this couple to think about what they want before settling on a wedding venue.

“I’m looking,” she said, hesitant to confide too much to a stranger and prospective—though unlikely—customer. “I’ll admit it’s hard.”

Though, there was that message waiting for her when she’d come home from the walk yesterday.

She’d thought about that message all through making her dinner of roasted beets, blue cheese and pita bread—all things her ex-husband hadn’t liked. Eating her dinner, she’d still been thinking about that message. At that point, the amount of time she had been putting into thinking about the message had seemed excessive. And a little scary.

So much portent put into a little message by someone she didn’t know and might not even like. So much power in that little notification at the top of her cell phone.

She understood now why people said that you couldn’t take online dating personally. She hadn’t even been twenty-four hours in and already that message felt like life or death.

So, she’d made a deal with herself. No checking the message until she hadn’t given it a thought for at least five hours. By her count, when the bride had mentioned online dating, it had been four hours and fifty-seven minutes, not counting the hours she’d spent sleeping.

Close enough.

Jennifer patted her on the back. “You’ll get there. It’s hard, but it will happen. You’ll get your Prince Charming,” she said with a loving glance at her fiancé, who was looking too closely at the art on the walls to really be looking at them at all.

“Thanks. I hope you’re right.” Beck had only been separated for a year and divorced for twelve days, but she knew she wanted to get married again eventually, even if she occasionally pretended otherwise. The saying about fishes and bicycles was all well and good, but what if the fish wanted a bicycle? What if coming home to a bicycle had been better than coming home to nothing?

Take your time. Learn to love yourself alone. Spend time looking at all those couples you work with. Then you will know what you want out of your next husband. Get right into that dating pool or all the good ones will get away. Make sure to use a good moisturizer. Once you start getting wrinkles, it will only get harder.

All the advice was well-meant and none of it helpful. The fact that one piece of advice often contradicted every other piece of advice, sometimes out of the mouth of the same person, only muddled her already muddy mind more.

“You seem like a good person,” the woman said, giving her another long look. “So, I’ll give you a little more advice. Stay away from the handsome men.”

It was rude, but Beck couldn’t help glancing at the woman’s fiancé. He was good-looking enough—on the cusp between someone she thought would look good on someone else’s arm and who would look good on her arm.

“Tanner’s good-looking, but not handsome,” Jennifer said under her voice. “And as my grandmother used to say, handsome is as handsome does.”

Beck wasn’t entirely sure how to take this piece of advice, so she said, “I’ll keep that in mind,” and decided to leave it at that.

If his picture was anything to judge, Mr. Swoony was handsome. She smiled to cover up the desire to beat her head against the wall. The message might not even be from Mr. Swoony. It could be from someone else altogether. Mr. Less-than Swoony, for example, or Mr. Rotten Eggs.

“Thank you, to the both of you, for coming in today,” she said, her hand outstretched for the prospective bride to take. “Even if you decide that Buono Come Il Pane isn’t for you, I’m glad to have chatted with you and we appreciate you thinking of us.”

“Oh, of course. Tanner’s father insisted. And this does look like a nice place.”

Nice place, hah, Beck thought, the advice and comments about the wall colors and thinking about handsome men getting to her.

If only getting remarried didn’t have to involve dating, this process would be much easier. Meet a nice guy. Fall in love. Get married. That’s what she’d done in college, with Neil.

And here she was, newly evaluating what she wanted out of her future. That, at least, was a lot like college.

Once the happy couple left, holding hands and whispering to each other as they walked out the door, Beck went back to the tiny room they called her office and sat in front of her computer. Before she got back to her planning document for the bridal event she was working on, she pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the message.

Hey. Cute smile. Cute dog, too. What’s his name?

Mr. Swoony had written back. Her shoulders fell with a relief that she would be embarrassed to admit to anyone. Whether or not she should need validation from a stranger on an online-dating service, getting it felt better than not getting it and that was the darn truth.

Before writing back, she checked her other notifications. No other messages, just a couple of winks and a couple of likes for the pictures she’d posted. She held the phone up a little closer to her face to see those likes of her pictures.

Well, she thought as she sat back in her chair. There’s a fine how-do-you-do. All three likes on her photos were on pictures of Seamus.

At least men seemed to like her dog. She hoped he appreciated how popular he was among the men online. Mr. Swoony had even taken some of the precious real estate in his short message to say he was cute.

For a brief second, Beck thought about changing her profile picture to one with her and Seamus, but then decided she was overthinking the whole thing and needed to stop before she drove herself crazy.

Instead, she did what she thought was the reasonable thing and replied to Mr. Swoony’s message.

Thanks! Seamus, my dog, is a sweetheart. Stinky breath, but really, what dog doesn’t have stinky breath? You said in your profile that you like to hang out in downtown Raleigh. What’s your favorite place? I loved Busy Bee and was enormously sad that it closed.

What will I do without those tots?!

Her finger hovered over how to sign the message. With her name? Mr. Swoony hadn’t signed with his name. Maybe names just weren’t done at this stage in online dating. Maybe they were supposed to get to know each other a little better.

Maybe he’s not an online-dating veteran, either, and everyone in this room knows you’re overthinking this, Beck. Self-chiding done, she sent the message and called herself done with online dating for the day.

She had work to do and better things to think about than a romantic-looking guy who, if she were to believe today’s bride, was too handsome for his own good.

* * *

WELL, HELLO, CALEB thought as he read the message on his phone from Ms. Dogfan while he waited for his takeout, sitting in one of the plastic chairs in his favorite Chinese restaurant. Like the tables, the chairs were mostly for decoration. No one ate here—they ordered off the sign above the counter and got their food to go. The food was good and the restaurant catered to the busy professional who didn’t have the time or energy to figure out how to use the kitchen.

Or, as in Caleb’s case, only swept the crap off the kitchen counters when company was due over.

He’d shove everything into his office and shut the door for Ms. Dogfan. She hadn’t written very much, but it was cute. Short. Succinct. Charming enough to make him want to know more. That and her smile was enough to write back.

Ah, yes. Busy Bee had the best tater tots. And huevos rancheros. You could never go wrong with their brunch. It’s not a bar and it’s not tots, but have you had the fries at Chuck’s? I’m partial to those. And the milkshakes don’t hurt.

Seamus, huh? That seems like a good name for your dog. Does he have a green collar? And do you buy him a little green bow tie on St. Patrick’s Day?

—Caleb

There. That was enough to keep the conversation going. After all, these emails were really about deciding if they wanted to meet in person. Best not to give too much away and either not live up to the email charm or say something so phenomenally stupid that the woman wouldn’t be interested in meeting at all.

Not exchanging lots of emails was part of the trick, too. Emails gave you time to think about what you wanted to say, to edit your words and your tone. To rethink. He’d been on a couple of dates with women who’d been absolutely enthralling over email but flat in person.

Likely, a few women had thought the same about him before he’d learned to offer a date early—like three quick exchanges in.

“Thirty-five,” the man barked from behind the counter. Abby, his daughter, must be at soccer practice tonight, because she wasn’t working the register. She was a bubbly girl who chatted with the customers as she rang up their orders; she even shared little details of her life with her favorites. Caleb knew how to ask questions, so he knew what college she wanted to apply to—North Carolina State University. What she wanted to study—Fashion and Textile Design. And what her parents thought about her dreams—nothing good.

Caleb felt for the girl. He’d disappointed his parents, too, despite trying to do the opposite when he’d started writing for his college paper and discovered that he loved it. Whenever Abby complained, Caleb gave her the same advice that every young adult needed to hear—life was long and your life almost never turns out as planned, but it usually turns out okay if you let it.

Much like online dating, Caleb thought as he accepted the plastic bag of food Mr. Lin shoved across the cracked laminate.

His phone rang as he approached his car. Only after he’d opened the passenger door and shoved enough papers out of the way to have a place to put his food was he able to reach into his pocket. A missed call from his sister, Candice. After he got settled, he called her back.

“Caleb, you have to get me out of this date.” Her voice echoed against the hard surfaces of whatever room she was in—probably the bathroom.

The hairs on the back of his head stood at attention. “Do I need to come get you, get you out of this date?”

“No. It’s not that bad. Just, I said yes to a date with a coworker and I shouldn’t have, because, awkward if it doesn’t work out.”

“Just tell the guy that you’re not that into him.” He was backing out of the parking spot, which is why he didn’t notice the silence on the other end of the line. “You’ve slept with him already, haven’t you?”

“Is it better if there wasn’t any sleeping?” He groaned and she tsked. “Not like you have any room to judge.”

“Dating is a game and it’s not an even playing field.” Like life and all the best sports, there was a strategy to dating, and Caleb had studied it. Not that he abused the tricks he knew—he wasn’t out to prey on women or trick them into a date they didn’t want. But he wasn’t going to sabotage himself, either, and he fully expected the women on the other end of the computer to be using the same tricks—or be in the process of learning them.

But he knew the rules were stacked in his favor. Candice generously shared with him all the dick pics she’d gotten, even though he assured her that one was enough. But he’d rather look at “the log,” as she called them, than any of the screenshots she’d sent him of men calling her a bitch when she wouldn’t show them hers.

“You say that...” He didn’t need her to finish her sentence. They’d had this argument many times, usually when she called him because she’d gotten herself into a sticky situation.

“You’ve got to think about,” he started to say, stopping when he heard her voice finish the admonition, “what your desired outcome is.”

Candice said her desired outcome was a steady job, steady housing and a steady boyfriend. Then she would do something like have sex with her coworker before she knew if she liked him, put her job at risk and—this was his baby sister, after all—then she’d likely find out the guy was also her new roommate’s favorite cousin.

“You sleep around.” A familiar argument for a familiar ride home.

“I like women. I’m looking for company for a night or two. Nothing else.”

He liked how soft a woman’s skin was and all their laughs and the variety of their bodies and their smells. Whenever his coworkers said he was a lady’s man—almost always with a raised eyebrow and a twinge of jealousy in their voices, even the married ones—he told them they could be, too, if they started liking all women and approaching them with metaphorical open arms. Women knew when a man was listening to them just because he wanted to get some. And make no mistake, Caleb liked sex and usually wanted some with the woman he was on a date with, but he’d enjoy the conversation and the company whether sex was on or off the table.

He’d watched a few of his coworkers approach women at bars during happy hour. Some women they wanted to listen to. Some they just wanted to bang. And in other cases, it only seemed to matter that they had two X chromosomes. Women could feel the difference in the way a man approached them, and they responded accordingly. And men couldn’t fake it. They were either genuine or creeps.

The car in front of him stopped suddenly and Caleb had to slam on his brakes, holding out his arm to stop his dinner from flying forward into his dash. The phone, sitting in the center console, nearly spilled out onto the floor. If his sister landed in the pile of papers covering the floor mat, he’d never find her. And he’d never hear the end of it. He might have embraced the idea that all journalists are pack rats, but his sister still called him a slob and wondered what the appeal of the unkempt writer was.

When this special series on election maps was over, he’d bundle all this paper up in a box, nicely labeled, and pack it in his attic, until the next story buried him.

He recovered enough from the near accident to pay attention to the phone call and hear his sister’s voice fill his car with, “Maybe all I want is a man’s company for a night or two.”

“Then walk out of the stall you’re in, head to the guy’s table and tell him the one night was fabulous—”

“It wasn’t.”

“You’re about to dump him. You can lie about the fabulousness of the night.”

“Do you lie to your dates?”

“We’re talking about you and how you’re going to tell him that the one night was all you wanted. And you’re going to stop telling men how you need to find a nice guy. That’s what gets you into these situations.”

“I do want a nice guy.”

“No, you don’t. Like me, you want a good time and a disappointed father.”

Candice’s giggle carried Caleb down the street to the entrance of his own neighborhood. “Did you get a text from him today, too?”

“The one about the Kerrs having their fourth grandchild? Yup.”

“What if this guy gets mad?”

As he turned into the small road leading to his townhome, he repeated the same thing he always told her. “If he gets mad, then you made the right decision. If he doesn’t get mad, he might be worth another night of a good time.”

Then he remembered what his sister had said about her one-night stand. “Only not this one, since the first night wasn’t that good of a time.”

As he put his car in Park, he thought about the book he joked about writing. Dating Advice by Caleb. Something to compete with those creepy pickup artists who advocated cornering women and never taking no for an answer.

His goal was good company, great sex and no long-term commitments, in that order. He was also just fine with the idea that a woman had sovereignty over the decisions she made about her time and her body.

“I just got home. We good?” He turned the car off.

“Yeah. He probably suspects something is up. Mad or not, he won’t be surprised.”

“Uh, no,” he agreed with a laugh.

“You have a hot date you need to get ready for?”

“Hot date with a continuing-education class on writing narrative nonfiction.” Tonight, his relationship included not alienating his computer by spilling fried rice on it while he finished his copy. He needed the keyboard to still like him enough that he could pursue his own passions after meeting his deadline.

“I didn’t know you were interested in writing nonfiction.”

“I’m a man of surprises.”

She laughed hard enough to practically bray. “No, you’re not. You just think you are.”

“Go out and break a man’s heart. Send me a text and let me know how it goes when you’re done.”

“Bye, bro.”

“Bye, sis.”

Once they’d hung up, Caleb tossed his phone in the bag with his food and prepared for the usual night of a single man, rather than the nights all his coworkers imagined he lived. If he were feeling especially frisky, maybe he’d ask the cute dog lover to meet him for drinks. That was all the action he could handle tonight.