I clear my throat to get the lump out of it. “Actually, yes I have. Have you? “
“Yep. Got something set up for tomorrow, in fact.”
“Really. What’s she look like?”
“I have no idea.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“Because. I searched without photos. I want to be attracted to a person for who she is, not what she looks like.”
“That’s very . . . un-guy-like.” I say and then snort accidentally. Oops. The warthog is back. But damn . . . is he for real?
He shrugs. “Meh . . . I figure it’ll just cut down on the B.S. People aren’t honest about their looks anyway. Half the photos on there are Photoshopped, and the others are pictures taken ten years ago. What’s the point? It’s the person inside you fall for in the end, not the outside wrapper.”
“Your explanation makes complete sense . . . but only if you’re a woman. Guys don’t think that way, do they? Who told you to search without photos?” I know it wasn’t anyone on the team. No way could I picture Lucky or Thibault advising Dev to search for a girl based on her personality.
His grin comes off so guilty, he might as well shout from the rooftops that he’s busted. “My mother,” he finally admits.
I can’t stop laughing.
“What about you?”
My laughter peters out. “I must admit, I’m shallow. I looked at his picture.”
“Easy way out,” he says, teasing me.
This feels like a challenge now. “Where’re you going on your hot date with your mystery woman?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He leans in and gives me a sexy little wink.
I act super cool, like a cucumber that’s been sitting in the chiller drawer of my refrigerator for a solid week. Ice. Cold. “No, not really. I’m sure it’s not nearly as interesting as the place I’m going.”
He laughs. “What time are you meeting him?”
His question throws me off. “Why? What does that matter?”
“Because, the time of the meeting says everything about the person’s intentions.”
I sit up straighter, suddenly worried about my so-called date or meeting or whatever the hell it is. “Really? Like how?”
“Well, let’s see . . . Is it a lunchtime thing? A late afternoon thing? An evening thing? Dinner? A movie? A drink? It all means something, you know.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking. At first there’s nothing to clue me in, and then that little dimple appears. “Oh, be quiet. I know you’re just teasing me.” I pick up my tea and have a sip of it to keep my hands busy. I feel like such a doofus. I have no idea what I’m doing with this online dating stuff.
He shrugs, trying to act all cool. “If you say so.”
“I guess you’re some kind of ninja dating master, but this is my first time, so I’m just figuring it out as I go. I can’t imagine it’s all that complicated, though.” I don’t recall seeing a rulebook on the website. How do people know these rules? Are they written somewhere? I’m going to have to Google that when I get home.
“Ninja dating . . . what?” he laughs. “I haven’t done this either. Not lately, anyway. This is my first time in years. I’m just hoping it won’t be a complete disaster.”
“I’ll bet we’ll have some really good stories after tomorrow,” I say, trying to look on the bright side.
“I’ll give you a call Sunday, and we can trade notes.”
I hate that the idea makes me so happy. He’s suggesting a simple phone call, not another date with me. This whole thing is so confusing. It’s sad to think that I’m not any better at figuring men out now than I was at twenty. I shrug, because I’m cool like that. Like that cucumber in my fridge. So ice cold. “Sure. I don’t have any plans except to hang out with the kids.”
He looks over at Melba. She’s standing behind the counter near a cash register. “Do you want dessert?” he asks.
“My god, no. I have no room left in my stomach. Not even for a bite.”
He signals to Melba and makes some gesture with his finger, swirling it around and poking the air with it—some kind of restaurant sign language I do not understand at all. When he finishes, he shifts his attention back to me.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“I told her to wrap me up a dessert and bring the check.”
I nod, a little sad that our date is almost over. Not that it was a date. We’re just two friends going out for a catfish dinner. That’s it. I’m going to keep saying that to myself over and over until I actually believe it.