Vision in White (Bride Quartet #1)(35)

"Nothing big or flashy. She's going to want to put them in a vase, and that gives you time to go in, talk, break that ice. So make sure you make the reservations accordingly. What time are they?"

"I haven't made them yet."

"You need to get on that." With a wise nod, Bob sipped his coffee with low-fat creamer. "Where are you taking her?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

"You need a place just a click over middle range. Don't want to go all-out first time, but you don't want to run on the cheap either. You want atmosphere, but not stuffy. A nice established place."



       
         
       
        

"Bob, you're going to give me an ulcer."

"This is all ammunition, Cart. All ammo. You want to be able to order a nice bottle of wine. Oh, and after dinner, if she says how she doesn't want dessert, you suggest she pick one and you'll split it. Women love that. Sharing dessert's sexy. Do not go on and on about your job over dinner. Certain death. Get her to talk about hers, and what she likes to do. Then-"

"Should I be writing this down?"

"It wouldn't hurt. If dinner goes to say ten, or over, you should have a second venue picked out. Music's best. A place you can go listen to music. If it winds up earlier, you should have a movie picked out. This is assuming she isn't sending you the 'let's go back to my place' signals. In that case-"

"Don't go there, Bob. Let's just not go there." He thought, Literally, saved by the bell, when it rang. "I've got to get to my first period class."

"We'll talk later. I'll try to write some of this down for you."

"Great." Carter made his escape, joined the flock of students and teachers in the corridor.

He thought he might not make it to Saturday. At least not sanely.





CHAPTER SEVEN



HE BOUGHT FLOWERS. IT ANNOYED HIM BECAUSE HE'D INTENDED to take her flowers in the first place. But Bob's tutorial changed the simple gesture into a complex and essential symbolic act so fraught with pitfalls, he'd decided to skip the step.

One of her best friends was a florist, wasn't she? Mackensie could carpet her studio with flowers if she wanted to.

Then he worried that by not bringing the damn flowers he'd be committing some unwritten but universally known dating faux pas. In the end, he'd doubled back-he'd left plenty of time for the drive from his place to Mackensie's. There might've been traffic, a five-car collision. Many casualties.

He rushed into the supermarket, and had stood studying, debating, questioning the flowers on display until sweat beaded on his forehead.

Bob, he assumed, would have something cutting to say about the choice of supermarket flowers. But he'd left it too late for a florist, and he could hardly rush over to Emma's and throw himself on her mercy.

He wished he'd just left it at coffee. They'd had a nice conversation, a pleasant time. You go your way now, I'll go mine, and that's that. All this was just too complicated, too intense. But he could hardly call her now, make up some excuse, even if he could successfully lie his way through it. And the chances of that were slim to none.

People dated all the time, didn't they? They rarely died due to the activity. He grabbed what seemed to be a colorful, casual arrangement, and stalked over to the express line. 

They were colorful, he thought with some resentment. They smelled nice. A couple of those big gerbera daisies were mixed in, and they struck him as a friendly flower. None of the dreaded roses, he mused, which, according to the Law of Bob, meant he'd basically be asking Mackensie to marry him and bear his children.

So, they should be safe.

Maybe they were too safe.

The kind-eyed cashier gave him a quick smile. "Aren't those pretty! A surprise for your wife?"

"No. No. I don't have a wife."

"Oh, for your girl then."

"Not exactly." He fumbled out his wallet as she rang them up. "Just a . . . Could I just ask you if you think these are appropriate for a date? I mean to give to the woman I'm taking out to dinner."

"Sure they are. Most everybody likes flowers, don't they? Especially us girls. She's going to think you're real sweet, and thoughtful, too."

"But not too . . ." Stop while you're ahead, Carter told himself.

She took the money, made the change. "Here you go now." She slid the bouquet into a clear plastic bag. "You have a real good time tonight."

"Thank you." More relaxed, Carter walked back to his car. If you couldn't trust the checker in the express line at the supermarket, who could you trust?

He checked his watch, calculated that barring fatal collisions he was still on schedule. Though he felt foolish, he pulled the list the helpful Bob had printed out from his pocket, and carefully crossed off Buy Flowers (not roses).