I f**king hate blind dates.
So what the hell am I doing here?
I’m sitting here by myself because the woman I’m supposed to meet hasn’t shown up yet. And if she does, I fully intend to have one fast drink and then get the hell out of here. Last weekend, I bet my buddy Garrett he couldn’t win a hundred dollars in poker on a stone-cold bluff, and goddammit, he did it. So here I am on a blind date with a friend of his wife’s. Now, Garrett’s wife is a lovely, sensible witch, don’t get me wrong, but she’s quiet and shy and her idea of fun is whipping up loaves of bread. Again, nothing wrong with baking bread. Homemade bread is delicious. But if Julie’s friend is like her, I think we’re going to be as compatible as Kanye and TSwift.
I look around the bar—the Singing Horse. I’ve never been here even though it’s not that far from where I live in Ravenswood. There’s karaoke some nights, and it’s one of the places that has turtle races. Sweet Jesus, turtles. If Garrett made me come here and sit here all alone as a big joke, I swear I’ll waive my magic embargo and hit him with one of my best black magic revenge curses. His online porn will always be buffering.
Then she walks in.
I think it’s her. She matches the description Garrett gave me—dark hair, slender. She’s really pretty. I stand and lift a hand to get her attention.
She pauses. She tilts her head. I feel like she’s hesitating. I guess she doesn’t recognize me from the description. Then she smiles and moves toward me through the tables. Yep, it’s her.
“Hi! You made it.” I force a smile and extend my hand to her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you too. I’m Romy.” She shakes my hand.
I thought her name was Amy. Whatever. I must have misheard. “Trace.”
“Trace,” she repeats. “Have you… been waiting long?”
“Uh… we were supposed to meet at eight, right?” Did I screw up?
“Right!”
“Have a seat.” I gesture. “I ordered myself a drink while I was waiting.” Crap, that sounds like I’m giving her shit for being late.
She hangs her purse over the back of the chair. “What are you having?”
“Citra Ass Down.”
She freezes and gives me a look, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”
My eyes fly open wide. “This!” I grab the can and show her. “It’s the name of the beer. It’s a pale ale. Brewed with citra hops.”
She studies the beer, then bursts out laughing, dropping into the chair across from me. It’s a great laugh. Light, musical, genuine. “Oh my god. That’s hilarious!”
Her laughter tugs an answering smile to my lips. “That sounded bad, didn’t it? Believe me, I don’t usually tell women to sit their ass down the first time I meet them.”
“Good to know.”
A waitress stops beside the table and gives me a flirty smile. She barely flicks a glance at Romy when she asks, “What can I get you?”
“Um. I’ll have what he’s having.” Romy gives me a what-the-hell look as the waitress departs.
“Don’t worry, it’s good. So, Romy, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a software designer at Summit Insurance.”
“Sounds exciting.” Yep. Julie’s friend.
She sighs. “Don’t mock my job. It’s not exciting at all. I’m good at it though, and it pays the bills.”
“That sounds like a sorry way to live your life.”
Her lips firm. “So I’m told.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. I just think everyone should do something they love. Something they’re passionate about.”
“Well, I’ve started doing some design stuff… I opened a shop on Etsy.” She peeks up at me through her eyelashes as if she’s bashful about telling me this. “I started designing websites and doing logos, but lately I’ve been expanding into wedding stuff. Invitations, guest books, favors. It’s called Over the Moon Designs.” She bites her lip in a shy gesture that makes something weird happen in my chest.
“That’s cool. That’s what I’m talking about.”
I watch her as she talks. Her features are fine—her nose small, her chin a little pointy, her cheekbones sharp. She wears her dark hair in a shoulder-length style with bangs that emphasize big blue eyes. Those eyes are so expressive, and her face and hands are animated as she talks. There’s something about her that I can’t look away from—an energy, a glow that surrounds her. It’s an attraction I’ve never felt before, and it confuses me.
“I was always interested in design. My mom thought I should pursue a more practical career though.” She wrinkles her nose.
The waitress reappears and sets down Romy’s beer.
“Put it on my tab,” I tell her.
“Thank you. I need to get drunk.” Romy picks up the beer and downs half of it.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh.” This date is more interesting than I expected.
