The Dating Intervention: Book 1 in the Intervention Series (22 page)

“True.”
 

“I want to show you something.”
 

He led her down an alley between an art gallery and the Polar Cap ice cream shop.
 

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” she said.
 

“Trust me,” he said. “When we get to that, you’re not going to care where we are, so advanced are my wooing skills.”
 

She laughed, the sound echoing off the high brick walls on either side of them. At the back of one of the galleries she’d walked past earlier, Jake entered a code on a keypad next to a scuffed, dented metal door. He pushed the door open, gestured for Delaney to go in and flicked on the lights.
 

“This is spooky,” she said, looking around.
 

In the half-light, the subjects of the paintings looked ghostly, and the sculptures cast weird shadows on the walls.

“Here.”
 

One more set of lights flicked on. Jake took her hand again and led her over to the front corner of the gallery. The window overlooked Main Street and the square.
 

“So remember I told you I do woodworking? Well, here it is.”
 

He motioned to a low, shining table that looked at once like a tree trunk straight from the forest and a fine piece of furniture manufactured from scratch. The surface was sleek and smooth and showed off the rings of what must have been a humongous tree. On the pedestal, dark bark swirled upward from the tops of the roots, elegant and sturdy.
 

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Can I touch it?”
 

“I see my wooing is paying off. Yeah, go ahead. Touch it all you want to.”
 

Delaney ran a hand over the tabletop. The glossy surface felt as smooth as it looked.
 

“I love it.”
 

“Here’s another one.” He motioned to a taller, narrower table. It was a bit rougher, Delaney thought, but it still gleamed.
 

“You really should quit that day job,” she said. “This stuff is great.”
 

“I was twelve,” he said. “A little older than you were when Leia died. But I remember this moment. It’s so clear. Anyway, one night at dinner, my dad – he was a miner – started talking about his painting. Whenever he’d start talking, my brother and sisters and I would listen, just enthralled. Because he never did anything aside from working and coming home. But when he talked about painting, his eyes just lit up. So I remember this particular night, he came home and he was telling us about the sunrise that day. He’d seen it at the camp, just before he’d gone into the mine. If only he could paint it, he was saying. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. And my mom, she just shut him down. She said, ‘Skip, if you could paint anything to save your own life, we wouldn’t be sitting around this table eating dry bread and drinking dehydrated milk. Now quit your daydreamin.’ Kids, finish your dinner.’ I remember, I just put my head down, shoveled my stew into my mouth, mopped my bowl up with my dry bread and left the table. I felt so bad for my dad. I knew then I wanted to always do something that brought me joy, even if I was terrible at it. And to marry a nice woman.”
 

“But you’re not terrible at this,” Delaney said, motioning to the tree trunk table. “It’s amazing.”
 

“Thanks,” he said.
 

“And doing this full-time probably beats the pants off professional fishing.”
 

“Well, it’s a tough call. But the fishing pays the bills, for sure.”
 

They stood in silence for a few beats, then Jake said, “I want to open my own gallery.”
 

“That’s great!” Delaney said. “You should.”
 

“I don’t know why I’m compelled to tell you, but I am. Maybe hearing about you taking that leap, applying for a vet job. You inspired me.”
 

“
I
inspired you?” she said.

“Don’t gawk at me like that. You did! You’re finally doing something you feel like you’re meant to do. It’s inspiring.”
 

“Tell me that when I actually get a job.”
 

***

“We’ll have to do this again,” Jake said as they approached Delaney’s house twenty minutes later.
 

“What, run into each other downtown and spend the evening sneaking around dark buildings?”
 

“Exactly.”
 

“This is it,” Delaney said, slowing to a stop.
 

Jake swung her around so they were facing each other. He took her other hand.
 

“That was really nice,” he said. “Can I call you?”
 

Delaney panicked. She wasn’t supposed to give people her number – Summer and Josie had said not to. But this was different, wasn’t it?
 

“Let’s just message each other on FindLove,” she stammered.
 

“What? I spill the contents of my heart at your feet and you won’t even give me your number? Fine. Okay. I’m sending you a message right now.” He dropped her hands, fished his phone out of his back pocket and spent a few seconds typing.
 

“There,” he said. “Read it when you get inside.”
 

Then, he took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and deep. Without another word, he walked away.
 

Hundreds of thoughts, without beginnings or ends, swirled through Delaney’s mind as she watched him go. That single kiss, warm and firm and absolutely breathtaking, had reduced her to a quivering mess.
 

Jake didn’t look back.
 

Still trembling, Delaney let herself in and turned on her computer to read the message he’d just sent.
 

And
THAT
is what I’ve been wanting to do since the first time I saw you
.

For the second time in as many weeks, she wondered if she’d swoon.

Delaney’s phone rang first thing Monday morning. She recognized the number on caller ID and answered it right away.
 

“Ms. Collins. It’s Janie from Doctor Rick’s office.”
 

Delaney could tell from the tone of Janie’s voice she wasn’t getting hired. After experiencing a quick stab of disappointment, Delaney wondered whether it would be lame to hang up now and then show up at Doctor Rick’s office in scrubs and a lab coat. Probably.
 

“Hi, Janie.”
 

“Hi. Look. Doctor Rick really liked you. But the reason she’s hiring right now is because she needs a massive amount of help. And she said she doesn’t have the time to bring you up to speed. She needs someone with more experience.”
 

Delaney nodded, then remembered they were on the phone. She cleared her throat.

“I understand.”
 

When they hung up, Delaney burst into tears. Not only had she failed yet another job interview, but she also had managed to make both of her best friends so angry at her that they weren’t speaking to her except as necessary.
 

What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just get her life organized? Why wasn’t she capable of making one single thing go right?
 

Although she had started her morning full of hope, drinking coffee, showering and getting dressed before seven a.m., the crushing disappointment had her changing back into pajamas and climbing into bed again.
 

She tried to fall asleep. But images of her own eighty-year-old hands, with gnarled knuckles and age spots, filling drinks for Rowdy’s customers as her sagging breasts dragged on the bar, kept her awake. Yes, she’d be an octogenarian cat lady working at Rowdy’s.
 

Doctor Rick had liked her. Delaney thought she’d nailed the interview. She’d known which drink Doctor Rick would order. Didn’t that count for something? No, she’d never actually let a boil on an angry horse. But she
had
been a damned good bartender for seven years. How fast did seven years turn into twenty-seven? Fifty-seven?

It looked like Delaney Collins was going to find out.
 

She knew she should get out of bed, find that sense of purpose with which she had woken up this morning and start looking for more jobs. Instead, Delaney lay there all morning, staring at the ceiling.
 

As a child, she’d liked finding shapes – usually animals or unicorns or airplanes that would whisk her somewhere tropical – in the drywall texture on the ceiling. But today, the splotches looked like nothing more than splotches: shapeless, irregular blobs.
 

Just like my life
.
 

A hot tear ran down the side of her face and onto her pillow.

The glaring silence wore on her. Only a few days had passed since Delaney last heard from Summer and Josie, but it felt like weeks. Every time she thought about it, she felt a lead weight drop into her stomach. How long would they stay angry at her?

All she’d done was go onto FindLove.com and write a few snarky (and honest) comments. What was so wrong with that? And since then, she’d resisted the sometimes-strong urge to sign on and chat with good-looking men.

For the first time in days, her phone chirped as she put on her makeup. Her heart practically leapt with joy when she saw the text was from Josie. Dozens of tiny thoughts flitted through her mind before she actually read the message: maybe it was an
I-forgive-you
text, or maybe Josie had forgotten about the whole incident and was inviting Delaney out for coffee, or maybe …
 

Mitchell wants to know if you’re out of your funk and want to go on a date with him.
 

“That’s it?” Delaney said to Pixie. “No ‘Hello, how are you,’ or ‘You’re forgiven for making your own decisions’?”
 

Pixie blinked and looked away.

Delaney responded,
What do you guys think I should do?

Whatever you want, of course,
Josie texted.

“Ugh!” Delaney clicked her compact closed and smacked it down onto the bathroom counter. “These women are infuriating.”
 

She texted Josie:
Fine. Set it up and send me the details.
 

Josie:
Fine.

A while later, as she was getting in her car, her phone chirped again. It was Josie:
Dinner at the pizza place at 7. You have time to go home and change out of your job hunting outfit. I figured you didn’t want to be covered in animal hair on a date.
 

She wrote back:
Thanks, Josie.

No response.
 

Delaney’s mood lifted slightly. At least Josie had considered that she’d need time to change into clean clothes.
 

“So you do still love me,” she said.

Delaney resumed her job search with renewed purpose. She put on her striped suit, black flats and a facial expression she hoped looked more confident than she felt and she started knocking on doors.
 

The same response, in a few different versions, met her everywhere: “You don’t have any experience?” or “You’ve worked at a bar since graduating?” or “You’ve never treated a festering bite wound?”
 

Sometimes it was just a look – an exasperated
I’m-too-busy-to-talk-to-someone-who’s-wearing-a-designer-suit
look, accompanied by an irritated exhale and a quick, “Look, Ms. – what was it? I’m sorry. I’m just not hiring.”
 

How long would this go on?
Delaney wondered as she drove home. Halfway there, she realized her face was still frozen in that lame confident expression. She rubbed a hand over her face and let it relax into a frown that matched her mood.

***

Eddie, the owner of Eddie’s Pizzeria, had declared the official arrival of spring by setting up the patio between the front of his building and the sidewalk. Two- and four-person tables crowded cheerfully together, decked out with flowers in vases.
 

As Delaney approached, she couldn’t help but notice that Mitchell seemed a little dim compared to all the joviality on the patio. Not only was he wearing a somber black shirt, but his complexion looked a bit pasty. The bags under his eyes were big enough to hold the load of groceries Summer bought each week for her family of six. And it wasn’t rare for that load to require two shopping carts. A feeling she couldn’t quite identify pricked the back of her mind. Was it annoyance? Anxiety? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it, and though she tried, she couldn’t shake it. Was this her intuition trying to tell her something?

“Everything okay?” she asked when she saw the sour grapes face Mitchell was making.
 

“Of course,” he said. “Why not?”
 

“You just look a little down.”
 

Huge jug of wine in hand, a server approached the table and turned over two wineglasses.
 

“None for me, thanks,” Mitchell said, covering his glass with his hand.
 

“For you, miss?”
 

“Sure, thanks.”
 

“No wine, huh? I thought you loved wine and pizza. Didn’t you say that?” Delaney said.

“Yeah. I usually do,” Mitchell said.
 

“So, what’s wrong?”
 

“The other night, when we met up, you inspired me. I thought I’d try for a new job, too. Why not? I’m a lawyer. I could make what I’m making now, times about thirty. So I gave my two weeks’ notice, found some job listings, wrote up a resume and set up a couple of interviews. I was ecstatic.”
 

The server returned with a basket of garlic bread. Delaney’s mouth watered.
 

“Go ahead,” Mitchell said, nodding at the breadsticks. Then he went on, “I realized I don’t want to be an attorney.”
 

“So what’s wrong with that?” Delaney asked.