30 First Dates (35 page)

Hi Erin,

I'm a producer with ABC Entertainment, and I've been following you and your website's progress online and in the press for several months. I've been really impressed with the following you've created for 30 First Dates! As I'm sure you're aware, your blog is similar in concept to our shows "The Bachelor" and "The Bachelorette"
—Erin's stomach muscles contracted in panic—
and our production team thinks you'd make a fantastic addition to the cast of our upcoming season.

What???
Now her stomach seemed to flip itself over. She jerked her hand up to scroll down the screen and almost knocked over her green and white Starbucks cup in the process. She kept reading:

If you're interested, please reply to my email, and we can make an appointment to discuss this further by phone. We're in the midst of the casting process now for our next season of "The Bachelor." I know your concept is better modeled for "The Bachelorette" and that's where we'd prefer to put you, but my colleagues and I decided we'd rather have you on as soon as possible than wait for another season to roll around.

While I'm still bankable
, she thought with a wry smile, and then,
Holy crap! I'm bankable.
Without realizing she was doing it, she reached up and gripped the sides of her head with both hands.
The Bachelor's
producers had been talking about her! Sherri was going to have a fit.

"You okay?"

Erin looked up in surprise and saw the barista, Doug, standing a couple feet from her table, sweeping around the bases of some chairs while watching her. She'd taken to working in the Starbucks near her apartment a couple days a week, and Doug was almost always there when she was. Stocky and medium-height, with ruddy cheeks and a light brown ponytail flecked with gray, he was chatty with a perpetually sunny personality. In the past few weeks she'd learned he was a single dad, he was into craft beer brewing, and he'd moved to Texas from Wyoming, which he missed. In her head she'd nicknamed him Flirty Barista.

"Oh, I'm fine," she answered. She smiled up at him. "Just got some good news."

"Awesome," he said. "Glad to hear it." He pushed a chair up to a nearby table and leaned on his broom handle. "You working hard today?"

"Always," she answered, her typical response in their repartee, and Flirty Barista moved on. She watched him walk away, knowing he'd be back during the next lull at the counter to chat more. She idly wondered if he'd ever actually ask her out.

I would go.
Not because she was attracted to him, and not just because she needed all the dates she could get. But because he was friendly, and straightforward, and pleasant to be around. Spending a few hours with Flirty Barista would be way better than, for instance, Creepy Non-Skier or Boring Opera Guy.

Nope, she could definitely do worse than Doug. Hell, maybe she'd ask him out.

She smiled to herself, feeling more excited than she had in a long while. She was ready to move on, to get past the drama and the guilt and the heartache of these last few months, and maybe the show was an opportunity to do exactly that.

*  *  *

"Who knew your blog idea was going to lead to all this?" Sherri asked, shaking her head in wonder. She'd been marveling over Erin's potential TV appearance for the past half hour.

Erin curled her legs underneath her and adjusted her computer in her lap. She was still stunned herself—especially since two hours after she'd read the email from the show's producer, she'd received another email from an editor at
Trend
magazine offering her a one-year contract for a dating advice column. The magazine had run a feature on 30 First Dates after her
TODAY
appearance.

She closed her eyes, finding it hard to process so much good news at once. She didn't think for a second that going on
The Bachelor
would help her find love—and at this point, she didn't care—but it would be an adventure and would almost certainly help her career, and that
was
what she wanted. Ten months earlier she'd been bored, stuck in a rut, and flailing to find her place in the world. Now she had a job that seemed to fit her perfectly and a world of opportunities ahead. If that didn't make her blog experiment a success, she wasn't sure what would.

Erin stared past her computer screen with a half-smile on her face. The past ten months had brought so much change to her life she felt dizzy, like a kid spinning in circles on the playground.

Her phone buzzed, and when she saw Ben's name on the screen, she jerked her computer off her lap and stood so fast she actually
was
dizzy.

"Hey." She walked quickly from the room as she talked, inspiring an eyebrow raise from Sherri. She went into her bedroom and sank onto the edge of her bed, scooting toward the center.

"What's this big news?" he asked warily.

"Can you come over?" she answered. "I would really love to tell you this in person."

He paused, and she could hear his even breathing. "I'd better not, not tonight." He didn't elaborate, but Erin's excitement to share her news with him faded to a dull point.

"Oh, okay," she said. So this was how it was going to be.

The car ride home from Austin two weeks earlier had been torturous, almost intolerable. Erin had been glad she'd packed
War and Peace
, because Ben had barely spoken at all, and his mood had overtaken the drive. She wasn't sure what had changed since their dubious foursome had arrived in Austin, but she couldn't shake the feeling it had to do with him seeing her go up to her room with Travis. She also couldn't help being angry with him for ditching her after the marathon. After all, they
were
still friends, despite everything that had happened in the past few months.

She was relieved to hear from him now—she'd been afraid he wouldn't return her call.

 "I'm sorry," he said dully. "Cat's just…being kind of high-maintenance right now. Can you tell me over the phone?" His voice softened to a tone she could almost connect to her old friend Ben.

"Oh, I guess," she said with an exaggerated sigh, trying to get him to joke with her. That was just one more thing that had changed in the past few months. The old Ben was
always
ready to joke around.

He didn't say anything, and she felt like someone had let the air out of her tires. She tried to muster up her earlier feeling of excitement. "I'm going to be on a TV show," she said. "And I'm going to write for a magazine."

"Really? That's cool," Ben said, sounding distracted, or bored, like she'd just told him she'd eaten pancakes for breakfast. She felt a flash of irritation, but it quickly morphed into concern.

What's going
on
with him?
She felt like she hardly knew Ben at all anymore, and she didn't think it was their night together that had caused it—at least, not entirely. A strong wave of dislike for Catherine washed over her, eclipsing Erin's leftover guilt. If she and Ben
hadn't
slept together, she thought, she would have dragged him out of Cat's clutches long before now, for his own good.
A Cat intervention.

"Is everything okay?" she asked.

He didn't answer for a long moment, then said, "Yeah, everything's fine." He didn't elaborate. But she knew him better than that.

"Is it your dad?" The last she'd heard, Ben's father was getting ready to fly back to Dallas—he'd finally turned up in the Bahamas with another mistress, and Ben's mom had hired a lawyer.

"No, no," he said. "Dad's fine. Mom's not, but I think she will be. There's nothing new right now."

Erin frowned, not wanting to ask about Cat, but the question hung in the air anyway. After a long moment Ben said, "Are you going on another talk show?" His tone was lighter, but it sounded forced.

"No." Suddenly her news seemed less important, almost silly. "You're not really going to believe it, considering—"

She paused long enough for him to say, "Spit it out, E."

She giggled, relieved to hear him sound more like himself. "I've been asked to be a contestant on
The Bachelor
."

"No shit?" He laughed too. Before she could respond, he said, "You're not going to do it, are you?"

Erin paused as if considering the idea, though she'd already made up her mind to accept the offer.

"Yeah, I think I am," she said. "It'd be an adventure." She suddenly felt the need to defend her decision. "This is different from me applying for the show. They asked
me
. I'm kind of excited about it, if you want to know the truth. It's great exposure for the blog, and who knows? Maybe I'll find my Prince Charming at last." She spoke the last words with sarcasm.

"You and fifty other women who get to duke it out on national TV," he said dully. "Sounds like a riot."

"Twenty-five. And it…it
does
sound fun—" Her words trailed off.

When he didn't respond, Erin took a shaky breath. Finally, she said, "Tell me what's going on, Ben. Are you sure you're okay?"

He sighed—a long, unhappy shudder. "I'm sorry," he said, ignoring her question. "You're right, that's huge news. Go on the show. Keep doing the blog. Find your prince."

She worked to hold back the tears that stung the corners of her eyes, hating the bitterness in his voice. He'd never closed himself off like this before, and she hated that she could do nothing to help him. That had never happened before the night they'd ruined everything…or before Catherine had come into his life. She felt a new surge of dislike for Cat, and then a new wave of shame for her own role in their problems.

Erin blinked back tears again, but this time a few escaped and rolled slowly down her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them off.

"Thanks," she said faintly. After a long pause, she added, "I guess I'd better go." For a long moment thick silence permeated the line.

"Yeah, I should let you go," Ben finally said, sounding torn and frustrated. "I…I really am sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," Erin answered, suppressing the urge to beg him to tell her what was wrong. In an anguished whisper, she said, "Good-bye."

She felt like she was leaving him on a sinking ship and taking the only life raft.

Skinny Love

May: one month to thirty

Erin leaned into the long bar, letting its rustic, bleached wood surface support her weight. She felt heavy and kind of sloshy inside. She tried to count up the number of tasting rooms she'd visited so far today, but her brain was too fuzzy to keep them straight. She liked this one best, but she wasn't sure she could trust her own opinion.

"Here, honey. You're going to like this one." The sommelier was an older, attractively plump woman with a perpetual smile and long blonde hair that was swept back in a bushy ponytail. She tipped a generous pour into Erin's glass and slid it toward her on the counter.

Erin picked it up and took a tiny sip, not sure how much more of this she could—or should—handle. "Mmm," she murmured, and sipped some more. To hell with sobriety.

"That's one of our ancient vine reserve wines," said the woman, whose name was Marlene.

"It's delicious," Erin said, and the word felt weird rolling off her tongue. She suppressed the urge to say it again.

Beside her, Sherri giggled. "I love drunk Erin," she said, and Erin nudged her with her right elbow, doing her best to look offended.

"Like you're so much better off."

Sherri sighed. "I know." She waited for Marlene to finish her pour and then put the glass to her lips for a long drink. "This place is like America's best-kept secret," she said, a dreamy expression on her face. "If everybody knew how awesome it is, the whole country would move here, and California would just break on off into the ocean."

"The only thing saving us is the price of real estate," Marlene said, winking at Sherri before moving down the bar to talk to the only other patrons at the counter, a thirty-something couple who'd walked in just after Erin and Sherri.

Erin sipped her wine and watched them. The woman had light brown hair that was pulled back at the nape of her neck to reveal prim pearl stud earrings. She wore a twin-set and a giant rock on her ring finger, and carried a matronly Coach bag. Her husband had on a sea green striped seersucker shirt and khakis with sharp creases on the legs. They looked like East Coast country clubbers, former prep school kids—which made it funnier that the woman was spectacularly drunk. Erin watched Marlene pour a port into her glass. Almost before she pulled the bottle away from the rim, the woman tipped it back and drank it in one swallow. In a loud voice, she said, "That's fabulous," and hiccupped. Her husband chuckled.

Marlene patted his hand. "First day," she said with a knowing expression. "It happens a lot."

"Isn't that the truth," Erin said, giggling. She drained her glass and set it down for her next pour.

She and Sherri had arrived in San Francisco two days before and driven a rental car to wine country. It turned out the winery that had offered to host Erin's blog trip was in Sonoma County, not Napa. Erin now understood the difference between the two. Napa was sleeker, more tourist oriented—and therefore more price-inflated. Sonoma, on the other hand, had a laid-back, homey feel. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but this wasn't it. Wineries were
everywhere
, but they sprawled out in lazy zig-zags across the countryside, acres of low hills and orderly vineyards separating one from the next.

She and Sherri were staying at a B&B in a town called Kenwood, and they'd started their morning with an artichoke and gruyere frittata made from eggs the owners had gathered out back. Then they'd huddled together to map their route. It was impossible to visit every vineyard—or even a small fraction of them—in a three-day trip.

Now they were at Cline Cellars, their fifth and last winery of the day. Erin hadn't known much about wine before the trip—she only knew when she liked a wine and when she didn't—but now that she'd had a crash course in varietals and growing seasons and harvest methods, she knew she'd never view a glass of wine so simply again.