Starting From Scratch (10 page)

her, “and you’ll just have to wait and see what I think of

the big, giant misstep you took with my identity.”

She must have thought better of arguing with me,

decided the sooner she took her medicine for what she’d

done, the sooner she’d be allowed back into the
Inner

Sanctum of Avery King’s Dating Hell
. She nodded.

After helping her into my car and stowing her

crutches, I handed her a small notebook and a pen. “Write

down everything I need to know to get into my profile.”

Once I was home, I did a lot of different things to

avoid getting down to it and seeing exactly what Maddie

had done to me. Finally, I set my laptop up at my little

kitchen table and called up the site.

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Georgia Beers

Sucking in a big breath that was supposed to steady

me, I signed in under the name Maddie gave me:

BttyCrokr. Apparently, she thought that was fitting as well

as humorous. I already wanted to kill her.

Scanning my profile with trepidation, I was pleased to

see that she really didn’t offer up that much information on

me. Ultimately, there wasn’t all that much that somebody

couldn’t find out about me by simply asking around or

seeing me on the street.

Age: 34

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Religion: none

Height: 5’6”

Hair: auburn

Eyes: green

Body Type: feminine/athletic

Status: single

Sign: Virgo

Smoke/Drink: no/yes

Kids: maybe someday

Pets: dog

Occupation: graphic designer

ough she’d given me an extra two inches in the

height department, and I questioned the “feminine/

athletic” body type simply because I wasn’t a fan of those

kinds of labels (who got to decide if I looked feminine or

masculine or somewhere in between?), the vital statistics

were pretty straightforward. She’d warned me in the car

about the “maybe someday” on the subject of kids, even

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Starting From Scratch

though she knew I wasn’t the mom type. She said it would

make me seem more approachable. I just shook my head.

It was in the section featuring my hobbies that

Maddie had really let her creativity come out to play. I

winced as I read.

Hobbies: reading in front of a cozy fire; romantic strolls

along a wooded path, a sandy beach, or even a tree-lined street;

baking sinfully good, sweet and tasty concoctions…I make the

most wonderful cookies and cakes around; it’s my favorite way

to show my love…

“‘It’s my favorite way to show my love?’” I read aloud.

“Christ.  ese women aren’t going to want to date me;

they’re going to want to laugh at me!”

I dropped my head into my hands and thanked my

lucky stars that she hadn’t included a photo of me. At least

I could remain somewhat anonymous. As I groaned into

the quiet of my kitchen, the laptop gave a tiny beep. When

I looked up, the little mailbox in the upper right hand

corner was flashing the number ten, telling me that I now

had ten “interested parties,” as Maddie had called them.

“Damn it.”

I got up, pulled out of the refrigerator the fresh

blackberries I’d gotten at the farmers’ market that morning

before the game and dumped them into a plastic bowl.

When I looked back at the computer screen, the little

number ten was still flashing, looking all cheerful and

tempting, daring me to look at what lay beneath. I glared

at it, grabbed my Tupperware canister of sugar and

sprinkled some over the berries. Tossing them in the tiny

crystals seemed to calm me the slightest bit and I took a

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Georgia Beers

step toward the table. Without allowing myself time to

chicken out, I clicked on the number ten.

Ten profiles of women popped up in list form on my

screen.

My job was to look them over, decide if I found

anybody appealing, and send them an e-mail telling them

so.

Ugh.

I skittered back to my counter like Steve escaping the

bathtub and snatched some butter out of the fridge. It was

softened in the microwave and beaten in with more sugar

until it was light and fluffy before I finally ventured

another look at the screen.

HckyStix.

I could only assume that meant she was a hockey fan.

I scanned her profile quickly as I toyed with a small bottle

of vanilla. She was thirty-eight, 5’5”, and had brown hair

and blue eyes. She listed herself (or her best friend listed it

for her without telling her, I reminded myself ) as athletic/

solid and her hobbies were playing hockey or pretty much

any other sport, watching hockey—Go Bruins!—dancing

at clubs, throwing impromptu parties, and hanging with

her friends. I was sure she was probably very nice, but her

hobbies seemed to include a lot of people most of the time

and I immediately felt that inner panic that always seizes

me with regard to impending over-stimulation.

I added the vanilla to my butter mixture and retrieved

three eggs from the refrigerator.

One down, nine to go.

I added the eggs one at a time, mixing each in before

cracking the next. When they were all beaten to within an

inch of their lives, I looked at prospect number two.

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Starting From Scratch

Luv2Camp.

at was all I needed to see. Since I absolutely did
not

love to camp, it was pretty obvious that we wouldn’t mesh.

Maddie and J.T. had informed me more than once I could

have my lesbo card taken away from me for that travesty,

but up to that point the Lesbian Camping Police had yet

to track me down.

In another bowl, I measured out flour and baking

powder, then pulled out my handy-dandy, razor sharp

zester to wreak havoc on the rind of the lone lemon in my

fruit bowl. As I did so, I stared at the next profile on the

list.

By the time I’d finished melding all my ingredients for

my blackberry buckle, folded in the blackberries, and slid

the pan into the oven, I’d gone through all ten profiles. I

was alarmingly surprised to find that there were three of

them who actually interested me. Really
interested
me, as

in, “I think I might contact these women.” Whether I’d be

able to get up the nerve to actually do so was another story

entirely, but for the moment, I was proud. I sat down and

reviewed them again, the vague tick-tick-ticking of my egg

timer the only background noise—when it wasn’t being

interrupted by Steve’s occasional snerfs and snorts as he

napped.

DrCutie was thirty-two, Hispanic, a dermatologist,

and liked movies, racquetball, dogs, and spontaneous road

trips.

Pinot72 was thirty-six, a mom, worked in finance, and

liked hiking, foreign films, suspense novels, and a good red

wine.

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Georgia Beers

LilMinx was thirty-five, also a mom, was a teacher,

enjoyed beach volleyball, picnics in the park, and

volunteered at the Humane Society.

I marinated on the whole thing for the forty-five

minutes it took the buckle to bake. If I contacted these

women, I’d never hear the end of it from Maddie. See? She

was right. How well does she know me? And yada, yada,

yada. And because of the way she overstepped, I didn’t

want her to have that satisfaction. At least not yet; I was

still mad at her.

On the other hand, she
was
right. I hadn’t been on a

date in so many months it was closing in on a year. It was

true, I was perfectly fine being on my own, spending time

alone or with Steve or with Grandma. It wasn’t like I didn’t

have any friends or hadn’t had other relationships, like I

was some reclusive loner with no contacts. But there were

times, every now and then, when I felt…well, lonely.

Lonely for somebody to share life with. It would be nice to

wake up again next to somebody that I was happy to see

first thing in the morning.

I opened up a Word document on the laptop and

began trying out different letters—no,
notes
. Different

notes. I decided a letter would be way too long and

possibly make me seem desperate (like the screen name for

one of my ten prospects that sent me running for the hills:

HelpMeLuvU. Sorry, just…no.). I wasn’t really sure about

the next step. Opening an e-mail dialogue, I assumed?

anks for sending your profile. Looks like we might have

some things in common. Can you tell me more about yourself?

I grimaced. It sounded like I was conducting a job

interview.

Got your profile. Let’s chat!

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Starting From Scratch

My snort apparently disturbed Steve who lifted his

head to glare at me.

Hey, got your profile. Looks good! Wanna have sex with

me? Because that’s ultimately what we’re talking about here,

right?

e thump my forehead made against the table must

have been the last straw for Steve. He got up and headed

for the living room, evidently to find a quieter place to nap.

81

CHAPTER NINE

“It’s not funny, Josh.”

My lips pressed together in a thin line, I glared at him

as he rolled with hysterical laughter at his desk, taking a

great deal of pleasure in my misery. I kicked at his chair to

no avail. Finally, I folded my arms over my chest and

waited him out with a sigh.

After wiping tears from his eyes, he reached for the

plate on his desk that contained the moist, dense

blackberry buckle I’d made over the weekend.

“You must have been freaking,” he said. “What’d you

do?”

“I made a buckle.”

e furrowing of his forehead told me I’d lost him.

“What the hell’s a buckle?”

I gestured to his plate.

“Ah.” He bit his lip as if deciding whether he should

say what he was thinking.  e answer obviously came

through as yes, because he then said, “After all, it
is
your

favorite way to show your love.” And he crumpled into

more laughter.

I, of course, promptly snatched his plate out of his

hand. “Yeah, well, not feeling a lot of love for you right

now,” I snapped. at stopped the ridiculing of the graphic

designer pretty quickly.

Georgia Beers

“So…is Maddie still alive? Or is her body now

somewhere on the bottom of Lake Ontario?”

I returned the plate. “Not that death wasn’t

appropriate,” I began, chewing my own cake as I clicked

my mouse to open the project I’d started the previous

week. “But I decided to spare her. Just this once.”

“But you’ll hold it over her head, I hope?”

“For years to come.”

I hadn’t seen Josh since the Friday before the long

weekend. Included in my synopsis had been Max showing

up in my back yard, our first tee-ball game, the revelation

that Max’s mom was actually Elena the drool-worthy bank

manager, Maddie’s admission that she’d posted my profile

online, and my attempt at actually e-mailing three of the

women from the dating site. He’d sat there for several long

moments and I got the impression that if his head could

literally spin, it would have. en he’d burst into laughter.

“Well, let’s see.” He was studying his monitor, but I

knew what the tone of those three words meant. He dealt

with work the same way, mentally examining the overall

idea of the project he was handed, viewing it from every

possible angle, then presenting a detailed, most often

brilliant, solution to marketing the product with words. To

me, his method was what made him so incredible an ad

writer. “I will definitely help you with a couple of e-mail

replies. at’ll be easy. And fun.” e lascivious waggle of

his eyebrows made me grin in spite of myself. “But I do

have one really obvious question first.”

“Which is?”

“Why don’t you ask out Rockin’ Bank Manager?”

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Starting From Scratch

e snort came unexpectedly and nearly had me

choking on my coffee. “Excuse me? Elena? Are you

kidding?”

“You said she was nice and funny and gorgeous even

all dirty—which doesn’t surprise me in the least, FYI. You

know she plays for your team, so no worries there. And she

offered up the fact that she’s single without any prompting

whatsoever. Right?”

I shook my head adamantly, not wanting to analyze

why the prospect frightened me so much. “She never said

she was single. She said she and Cindy were separated.”

His expression said “duh” so clearly that no words

were needed.

“Josh, you’ve seen her. She’s so far out of my league,

we’re not even playing the same sport.”

“Honey, when was the last time you looked in the