Love at First Date (7 page)

No, apparently just eighty-six percent. “He kept a chart, Mom. To rate how compatible we are.”

Long pause. “How’d you do?”

I bolted upright. “Mother!”

“What?” She used her innocent tone. “I want to know your score. Any man who didn’t think you were a catch is doing the math wrong.”

“You know, it doesn’t even matter.” I dropped back into the cushions and took a big breath. “I’m interested in someone else.”

Not that it mattered at this point.

“The other man from
Detailed Dating?
” I could hear the
humm
of her garage door going up and knew she’d arrived home.

“No.” I bit my lip, hoping I’d have her support. “From, uh, doggy class. I took Rachel’s miniature beagle when I was puppy sitting, long story, and that’s where I met Henry. He adopted a stray dog and signed her up for obedience school. Isn’t that sweet?”

Short pause, then I heard a car door slam. “But you don’t like dogs.”

Why did everyone keep saying that? “I do, too.”

“I’ve known you since birth and you’ve never expressed a smidgeon of interest in animals.” Then she laughed. “Remember when you were in high school and Frank brought home his sister’s King Charles Spaniel, Bitsy? You ran around the house with that lint remover permanently attached to your hand until the day she picked her up.”

I rolled my eyes at the mention of Mom’s husband number two. “That was fifteen years ago.”

Not that a lint remover wouldn’t come in handy with a dog around . . .

“All right, honey. He has a dog and you love dogs.” She snickered. “What else do you know about him?”

“He’s sweet. Funny.” I fingered the dog bone keychain in my hand. “Thoughtful.”

“Hmmm.”

My stomach clenched at her disapproving tone. “What?”

She sighed. “Sweet and funny seem nice in the beginning, but they won’t keep the relationship going long-term. What are his goals? What are his interests? I thought we decided
Detailed Dating
was the way to go. Those men are looking for serious relationships and they lay it all on the line. That’s how I met Robert. Online dating.”

My jaw clenched. “You don’t even know Henry. How can you just rule him out?”

“It sounds like you don’t know him very well either.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not trying to upset you, Ellen. I want you to be smart so you don’t get hurt. Lasting relationships are about compatibility.”

Tears burned my eyes. “How would you know?”

“After two failed marriages, I think—”

“Don’t forget about my dad.” Okay, my voice might’ve sounded a tad sharp.

“Well, I never married him so—”

“He doesn’t count. I’ve heard it before. You know what? That’s your life, not mine, and you don’t have all the answers. Who even knows what will happen with your marriage to Robert? You haven’t even had your first anniversary yet.”

“Ellen!”

“You think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t.” My throat felt raw as I gripped the phone against my ear. “I’m not interested in online dating anymore. The three pet classes with Henry felt like three of the best dates I’ve ever been on. It was different with him. Not a crush, or infatuation, it felt . . . right. It doesn’t make sense, but I can’t explain it any other way.”

Silence.

“I’ve blown it with him anyway and you’re probably glad. But, I can’t date who
you
think is right for me. I’m thirty-years-old, Mom. I need to live my life my way.” I swiped at my wet cheeks. “I have to go.”

“I will see you tonight.” Her voice was tight and firm.

Grunting in frustration, I turned my phone off and tossed it on the cushion next to me. Oh, man. I’d never talked to my mom like that before. Well, not since my teen years, anyway. Great. Dinner and the art show should be such a blast. Not.

As I rubbed my temples, the white box on my coffee table caught my eye and called to me. So, even though I felt miserable, I tried on my red stilettos. They fit perfectly and I took them for a test loop around my living room. Amazing. Sleek red heels actually made walking more fun. I’d loved these shoes the moment I’d tried them on, but I’d gone for the safety pair instead. Smart and sensible. That’s me.

Or, that
had
been me. I promised myself that from now on, I was going to start choosing the shoes I really wanted. Ditto on men

CHAPTER SEVEN

After the horrible phone conversation with my mom, I took a long hot bath, hoping to soak away my troubles. No such luck. Now, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, I opened my front door and stared miserably at Rachel, who looked gorgeous in a jade green dress. “Forget tonight. I’m not going.”

“Turn.” She made a circular motion with her finger, shut the door behind her, then nudged me toward my bedroom. “Change.”

With Rachel’s hand planted firmly on my back, I dragged my feet as I moved forward begrudgingly. “I had an awful fight with my mom.”

“Really?” She headed straight for my closet, flipped through my clothes, and eyed a beige dress up and down before dismissing it. “What about?”

I dropped back on my bed. “Thirty years of pent up aggression, I think. She’s hounding me to get back to
Detailed Dating
. I told her I’m only interested in one person and she was less than thrilled with my choice.” I sat up suddenly. “Do you think tracking down Henry on the internet would be going overboard?”

“No need.” She selected a sexy black and red silk camisole from my closet and handed it to me. “I took care of it.”

Every muscle in my body froze. “Y-you what?”

She gave an exaggerated shrug. “I called All Things Furry, spoke to Abby Wilson, and used my powers of persuasion to get Henry’s phone number. Then I called him, admitted I’d jumped to conclusions about you liking that
Detailed Dating
guy, and told him which art gallery we’d be at tonight if he wanted to meet up with us.”

I squealed. “You did? Seriously?”

“Yes, which is why you need to get dressed.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “He kinda came across stunned when I mentioned we were going to the art showing so I told him we were quite cultural, thank you very much.”

I threw my arms around her. “I love you, Rach. You’ve taken the term ‘best friend’ to a whole new level.”

“Ooof.” She patted me on the back as I tightened my grip. “It was the least I could do after my negative vibes from my Dillon drama botched your cute flirtation. I can’t believe I lost two days of my life being depressed over that twig.”

“He was so not worth it.” I slipped out of my bathrobe, then into a black skirt and the dressy tank Rach picked out. “How did Henry sound when you called?”

“Surprised.” She held her hands up. “But in a good way.”

“And he said he’d meet us?”

She tapped a crimson painted fingernail against her chin. “Not specifically, but he seemed interested.”

My stomach clenched. “What if he doesn’t come?”

“That wouldn’t be a good sign.” Apparently noticing the disappointed look I felt spread across my face, she waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure he will, though.”

Checking my watch, I saw we were running late to meet my mom and Robert for dinner. I zipped to the bathroom, did a re-touch on my make-up, ran a brush through my hair, then checked myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and I tucked my shoulder-length hair behind my ears. This silky tank and black skirt was a lot sexier than anything Henry had seen me wear to doggy class. Not exactly attire for practical black boots. This ensemble screamed red high heels all the way.

I hurried to the living room and slipped into my gorgeous red stilettos. Every nerve in my body felt anxious. What if he didn’t show?

I couldn’t think like that.

Because what if he
did
show.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door, and held my head high. “I’m ready.”

No more playing it safe.

If Henry came to the art gallery tonight, I’d reveal my feelings to him.

****

As we walked into Ripple Art Gallery in downtown Sacramento, my mom and I speared in different directions.

“Gee, that dinner wasn’t uncomfortable or anything.” Rachel accepted a glass of champagne from a server, handed me a flute, and steered me toward an abstract painting that would’ve looked great in my living room.

“How does
she
have the nerve to be mad at
me
?” I pointed to my chest. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Rach raised a sarcastic brow. “Perhaps because you insulted her marriage? Insinuated it wouldn’t last?”

Oh, right. That. “I was trying to illustrate that she didn’t have all the answers.”

“Nice approach.” She clinked her glass to mine. “Not.”

I sipped my champagne, then surveyed the large, trendy room that was divided by tall, detached, white walls that stood solidly beneath the high black pipe-exposed ceiling. The place was packed. Seemed like all of Sacramento had turned up for this art gallery’s opening. Everyone except one person. I turned back to the painting, trying not to show my disappointment. “I don’t see him.”

“Relax. We just got here.” She pivoted slowly, her eyes scanning the room. “Wait . . . yes, I think that’s him behind that wooden beam. Nice and early, too. Not exactly playing hard to get.”

I gasped. “Where?”

“Back left corner of the room.” She squinted, then put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” I demanded, not daring to turn around.

“Yesterday he’d been wearing sweats and had major stubble.”

Sounded familiar to me. “And?”

Her eyes descended presumably from his head down to his toes. “Let’s just say, he sure cleans up well.”

As my heart thumped in my chest, I peeked over my shoulder. My eyes skipped past groups of people chatting, sipping champagne, and tasting hors d’oeuvres, until they came to rest on a GQ version of Henry.
Wow
was an understatement. He’d transitioned from sexy in an understated way to absolutely gorgeous in a universal cover model way. He wore slacks, a black collared shirt, and his tousled hair complimented his now clean-shaven face. Even from across the room, his eyes still got me, too. Deep, dark, and mysterious as he listened to whatever a woman with golden locks cascading over her shoulder was saying to him.

I gripped Rachel’s forearm. “Who’s he talking to?”

“Ouch.” She yanked her arm away. “Get a grip, girl.”

Turning on my heel, I pretended to study a black and white painting. “If he’s trying to make me jealous, it’s working.”

Buzzing chatter filled the room and a couple pushed their way toward the painting we were pretty much blocking, so we scooted down the wall to the next one. “Think about it, Ellen. Why would he come meet you at this art gallery if he was on a date? That makes no sense.”

I nodded, thankful for her logic. “Good point.”

Then we both watched as the beautiful woman put an arm around Henry, gestured to the painting next to them, then whispered something close to his ear.

A pang jolted through me. “She must be a really good friend.”

“Well, you’ll never know who she is until you ask.” She laced her arm through mine and led me in his direction. “You were all desperate that you’d never see him again and now he’s here. So, go get him.”

The shy part of me wanted to run the other way, but I forced myself to keep walking. What if Rach had it wrong? What if he really was out on a date and had only come to meet us to be polite? Just a night out to talk about the dogs and what they’d learned in class?

“Good luck,” Rachel whispered, then made herself scarce.

When I was still several feet away, he glanced up, and met my gaze. As I approached slowly—turns out sexy heels are no picnic to balance in—I swear he did a double-take. Excitement flitted through me. He wasn’t the only one who’d gone from casual to sexy.

“Excuse me,” he said to the woman, then came toward me until we were standing face to face. “Ellen.”

“Henry.” Here he was, right in front of me, the guy I’d been obsessing over. And I could see why. Whether in sweats or slacks, he made me all gooey inside. He stood mere inches away and I could barely resist doing what every part of me wanted to do—snuggle up to him and breathe in his delicious musky cologne without space between us. “Thank you for the keychain,” I said, finally.

He looked almost shy for a moment. “I thought I’d be giving it to you in person. I was surprised when you skipped the last class. Your friend Rachel said you were . . . busy.”

So much for small talk. “Oh, that. Yeah, I’d been trying to fulfill a dating theory.”

He gave me a curious look, like he wasn’t sure if I was kidding or not. “You mean an experiment?”

“Exactly.” Without thinking, I tapped the back of my hand against his chest, which was solid in a very distracting way. Where was I? Oh, right. Baring my soul. Breathe, Ellen. “I’ve had this idea about love. That in order to find it and for it last, I had to make sure to meet someone who had the same goals and interests as me, which is why I signed up for
Detailed Dating.
You remember, that online dating website—”

“—with the red pen.” He raised his brows in a playful way. “Right.”

“Good memory.” I raised my glass to him, trying to lighten the mood. “Through their recommended matches, I screened profiles, ruled out a few with probable conflicts, then emailed ten potentials. Out of those, only two made it past my third week of email screening.”

When I paused for a moment, he said, “And?”

I bit my lip, remembering back. “My first date was scheduled the same night I met you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, making it look even sexier. “You mentioned the next day you were seeing someone you met online but your friend said that’s over?”

I nodded.

“What happened?”

I took a bracing breath. “Last night I almost called my date ‘Henry’.” My face flushed. “What does that tell you?”

The sides of his mouth turned upward. “I’d rather hear from you what it means.”

Mustering all of my courage, I blurted, “Dog class with you felt like a better date than the ones with my supposedly perfect match.”

“Really?” His smile grew and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked relieved. “Then why would you miss our last class?”

Our?
As in Kenzie and him? Or him and me? So many ways to read one little word and I felt like asking him to clarify. Instead, I went with, “Last minute change of plans. Actually, I stopped by Rachel’s to pick up Chester when—”

“Sorry to interrupt.” The woman in the sleek black business suit, with the world’s worst timing, suddenly appeared beside Henry. She gave me an odd look, then put a possessive arm around him. “Mind if I have a word with the artist? Important business to discuss.”

“Artist?” Confused, my gaze passed back and forth between them.

“Why, yes.” The woman, who stood several inches taller than me, handed me a glossy brochure. “Aren’t you here to see Henry’s work?”

With my left hand still holding my champagne glass, I read the brochure in my right hand, which featured paintings by Henry Holbook III. My jaw went slack. So that’s how he could spend every day in sweats. He’d been creating those beautiful paintings I’d admired. No wonder they’d moved me. Just like he always did. “You’re the artist being showcased tonight?”

Henry nodded, his eyes studying mine. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, but held back. I also noticed he didn’t ask the lady to remove the arm she’d placed around his waist.

“Didn’t you know?” the woman raised a perfectly penciled brow.

“No.” My blood ran cold as I realized what this meant. He was here for work and not to see me. No wonder Henry had sounded surprised when Rachel told him we were coming here. My heart sank.

“I’m Jennifer Cooke, owner of Ripple Art Gallery.” She reached out to shake my hand. “Thank you so much for coming tonight. If you’ll excuse us for a moment, I need to discuss something in private with Henry.”

“Of course.” Never mind that she hadn’t bothered to ask my name because she obviously didn’t care. I quickly stepped away, feeling totally humiliated. I’d thought he’d come here for me. The fact that Rach and I were at his art showing tonight was just dumb luck.

And I’d poured my heart out to him. This is exactly what I got for not playing it safe.

I circled the room and sipped my champagne as if I weren’t totally falling apart on the inside. Where was Rachel when I needed her? Had I totally imagined that Henry had seemed relieved by what I’d told him? Did he like me or not? Because one thing was perfectly obvious, the owner of the art gallery wanted more out of Henry Holbrook III than a commission on his paintings.

****

As if my nerves weren’t raw enough from my encounter with the art gallery owner and Henry, my mother picked this exact moment to approach me. “Young lady, who were you talking to?”

Really? She had to do this to me now? “Um, have you seen Rach? I need her.”

“Was he the crush you were telling me about on the phone earlier?” she said, hot on my heels as I tried desperately to find my friend.

“Keep your voice down.” I gave her my scary look. “And it’s not a crush.”

More like a crush on steroids.