I exit the house together with Tegan—she’s going to the movies with her best friend, Jesse. Under the scrutiny of Priscilla, who’s watching us from one of the downstairs windows, we kiss goodbye on the front steps.
Tegan is walking to her friend’s house, so she goes first while I wait for my cab to arrive. When the car screeches to a halt next to me only a few minutes later, I open the rear door and, before getting in, wave to Priscilla, who glares at me and then disappears into the living room to do who knows what now that she has the house all to herself.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi stops in front of La Masseria, a nice Italian restaurant in Midtown.
I pay the driver with my credit card and get out of the cab. Inside the restaurant, I give my date’s alias to the hostess.
“Ewing for two at eight-thirty,” the hostess repeats. “Mr. Ewing hasn’t arrived yet, but I can show you to your table.”
The young woman guides me to a table by the window—set for two, yay. I sit, staring at the city lights outside.
Let’s hope this won’t be another half an hour’s wait for the next great American anything.
Twenty-six
Lucas
I hate being late, even if only by ten minutes. Unfortunately, traffic was terrible, and I’ve yet to develop the ability to move cars with my mind. When my taxi pulls up in front of the restaurant I picked for my date tonight, I fish two twenty-dollar bills out of my wallet and hand them to the driver, saying, “Keep the change.”
I’m majorly over-tipping, but I don’t have time to wait for a credit card transaction. I might not have big expectations for tonight, but the poor Miss Pocahontas doesn’t deserve to be left waiting.
Inside the restaurant, I give the hostess my alias.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Ewing, your date has already arrived,” she informs me, and beckons me to follow her.
We head to a corner table near the window—as per my request—where a brunette is sitting with her back to me while she looks out to the street, giving me an unobstructed view of her profile.
Her nose is narrow and straight, her eyes big and brown, and I would recognize that heart-shaped mouth in a heartbeat.
I should know; I was kissing those lips not ten days ago.
My pulse races, and I can’t help the huge smile that tears at my cheeks.
“Here’s your table, Mr. Ewing,” the hostess says. “A server will be with you soon.”
The hostess is already turning to go welcome some other guests when my date looks up.
And I love that I had a few seconds’ advantage on her. Vivian’s eyes widen, while her jaw positively drops.
I greet her with a charming, “Good evening, Miss Pocahontas. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”
Her shock is quickly replaced with suspicion. “What are you doing here?” she demands.
“I believe I’m your date for the night.”
“There must be a mistake.”
Taking a risk, I lean down and kiss her on the cheek, then quickly retreat to my half of the table before she can protest. “You’re right,” I say, “it might be a mistake. I’m here to meet Miss Pocahontas. Ever heard of her?”
Vivian narrows her eyes. “So you’re Mr. Ewing?”
“That’s right.” I shrug. “Some algorithm somewhere must’ve decided we’re a match.”
I sure won’t tell her my dating specialist sent me on an “outside the box opposites attract” kind of date. Makes me wonder how Vivian answered her questionnaire. Wish I could get my hands on a copy.
“And about time,” I continue, taking a seat. “I was convinced this whole dating agency thing had been a total rip-off. I agreed to a date with Miss Pocahontas only to make sure they’d give me a refund.”
“So all I am to you is a refund?” Vivian snaps, focusing on the one negative thing I said and taking it out of context. “If that’s the case, we can get up right now and, when the agency calls on Monday, I can let them know what an ass—”
“Calm down.” I raise my hands in an attempt to stop the tirade. “I said that I went out with Miss Pocahontas to get a refund. But right now, I’d be happy if the agency charged me double because there’s no other place I’d rather be than on a date with you, Vivian Hessington the Divorce Lawyer.”
A little smile tugs at her lips. “Is that what you call me inside your head?”
“Among other things.”
“Such as?”
No point in dragging my feet. If Vivian wants to know, she’ll get it out of me eventually. So, I confess, “I might have referred to you as The Wicked Witch of the West Office…”
Her mouth contracts in the cutest outraged O shape for a second, but then the smile is back, and she says, “Fair enough.”
Her attitude throws me, until my brain connects the dots. “What names have you been calling me inside your head?”
Vivian shrugs. “Shrink Shrek.”
“Shrek? Why?”
Her smile turns evil. “You share the same charming temper.”
“You mean, a little grumpy at first, but then a real darling once you get to know us?”
Vivian stares at me. “Something like that.” Then she bursts out laughing. “Funny how we’ve been characterizing each other like green monsters.”
“Glad we’re past that.” I clear my throat. “Now that we’ve clarified why I’m here… May I ask why you’ve decided to stay?”
“I never said I had.”
“You’re still sitting.”
“I told you, you’re great at making me do things I don’t want to do.”
“Just to be clear, you don’t want to be on a date with me? Because if I remember correctly, it wasn’t just me in that elevator.”
She blushes. Then, looking at me with an intense light in her eyes, she says, “No, it wasn’t.”
“Great,” I say, placing my napkin on my legs. “So, can we please stop pretending we don’t like
