The Last Single Girl (5 page)

"A casual one."

Abby quirked that pierced eyebrow and moved away.

"So, Date Four tonight, huh?" John set out a tray and began mixing a new blend for me. "Who's this one?"

"A marketing executive looking to date casually."

"Oh. Casually." He might as well have said,
Oh. To slaughter kittens.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No. What was that all about?"

John ignored me and headed around the counter to set my tea tray on my usual table.

"John."

"I just didn't think you were the
casual
type of girl." Yes. He did put air quotes around it. And he sounded really put out. As if I'd put out an ad for sex.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Sarah. Casual is obviously code for sex. Casual sex."

"No it isn't." Was it?
Had
I accidentally put out an ad for sex?

"Of course it is. He said he's just looking for someone to have fun with?"

"So?"

"So, fun is also code for sex."

"Not everything is code for sex." I was really hoping not everything was code for sex. "I mean, if I asked you for more hot water, that doesn't have anything to do with sex."

"I bet Scarlett Johansson could make that about sex. You actually used the word hot. We're halfway there."

I just shook my head at him. I wasn't going to let John derail Date Four before the poor guy even got here.

"I'll be right over there." John pointed to the counter, as if he'd magically become my body guard, or in case I thought he might be somewhere else—like shopping in New York or something.

I settled into the chair, picking up the coffee table book that had appeared in the last few days. It was a photo documentary of coffee bean farms in South America. The colors were remarkable, along with the gorgeous landscapes. It was easy to lose myself in the pages.

Finally, Date Four showed up about fifteen minutes late, looking like he'd been chased by the paparazzi. Disheveled, dark glasses…all he needed was a trench coat.

"Sarah? Sorry I'm late. Parking was crazy." It never dawned on me someone would drive the two miles instead of jumping on the train.

"No problem. You must be Hank. It's great to meet you." I folded the coffee table book up and slid it back onto the table. "Do you want to grab something to drink?"

"That's okay." He settled into the chair next to me.

I couldn't help but be a little annoyed. I knew he was late, but John was trying to run a business here. Instead, Hank angled the chair toward me, shifting it so the arms were touching.

"So, Sarah, did you have a good weekend? What did you do?"

The soft step-in was different. Usually guys asked more about work or something on my profile or if I was enjoying eLove. Not something as normal as what I did that weekend.

It immediately put me at ease. John was wrong. This wasn't all about sex. This guy was actually trying to get to know me, not just my shiny profile.

"I went out and saw my best friend. She moved to the suburbs, so it's a bit of a trip. And I saw the new Bond movie. Always a treat."

Look at me nonchalantly tossing out my action movie preference. The dating books had said to shy away from mentioning chick flicks or anything too girly. Granted, a few hours staring at one of the hottest men on the silver screen wasn't exactly non-girly… but I loved when they blew stuff up too.

"Did you like it? I wasn't sure I was going to with how they're stepping further away from the classics."

"It was great. Just enough of the old-school polish to
feel
like a Bond movie, but enough updates to keep it interesting."

Hank dove into a conversation about his favorite James Bonds over the years. He knew Sean Connery wasn't the first and argued Moore wasn't the worst. It was great to just relax and chat about something more comfortable than where I saw myself in five years.

I was beginning to think casual was the right way to start things—to not be looking for Mr. Serious Right Now. All the other dates felt like interviews next to this.

"I have to say, you're much prettier than I expected."

"Really?" I thought I looked exactly like the three pictures I'd picked out. Jane tried to get me to post one from her wedding, but I'd been professionally done up for the event. It felt like false advertising.

"I've found women—
normal
women—are pretty honest in their profiles."

"How do you define not normal?"

"I'm not really into high maintenance girls."

"So, I'm not high maintenance. That's usually a plus."

"For me it is." He sat back and stretched out, his arms spanning across the back of the chair next to his. "I know some guys like all the drama of a high maintenance woman and the type of relationship that brings. But personally, I just want someone I can be myself with."

"I know—"

It might have been how empty The Brew was. Or it might have been how the door slammed against the wall really hard, but my attention jerked to the woman silhouetted in its frame.

"Oh, hell no." The strained, shrill voice filled the room as the woman marched toward us.

Next to me, Hank leapt to his feet and turned to face her as she barreled through the café, pushing chairs out of her way instead of weaving around them.

"Who the hell is this?" She jabbed a finger my direction.

I was beginning to get the idea I was in the middle of a very heated, very old war.

This wasn't looking like the best place to be standing right now.

"I'm Sarah." I offered my hand, trying to smooth out whatever was going on.

"Sarah? Sarah Homewrecker? Is that your full name? Then you just go standing there smiling at me and think I'll shake your hand? You think that's how it works?"

She started to make her way around my chair, but I shifted to keep it between us—a barrier of wood-framed cotton.

"I'm sorry. I'm not really sure what's going on here."

But I was afraid I had a decent idea.

"Adultery. That's what. You think you can just date another woman's husband and it's okay?"

"Absolutely not. I just met him online. This is our first get-together. He told me he was single."

"Sure he did."

I glanced at Hank as I edged away from both of them, trying to get around the oversized coffee table. John was gone, but his new teen was leaning against the counter, her chin propped on both hands.

"I swear. I did
not
know he was married. I'm looking for a guy of my own. I wouldn't share one and I definitely wouldn't steal one."

Hank still stood there, off to the side, looking like a deer who knew what was coming behind the headlights.

"Tell her." I picked up my napkin and threw it at him to get his attention. "Tell her you lied to me and we just met today."

"I didn't really
lie
to you."

What? What was wrong with these people?

"I very clearly remember asking if you were single."

"No." Hank crossed his arms, giving me a look that said he thought this was my fault. "You asked me if I was
dating
anyone."

I was going to kill him myself.

"Okay, let me clarify. When a woman asks you if you're dating—or seeing—someone, she's asking if you're single." I picked up the spoon that had been sitting on the napkin I'd just thrown at him. Then I threw the spoon at him too. "Here's a clue Einstein—married is not single."

Just as my voice started to rise, the woman jumped over the table and grabbed my arm.

"Don't you throw things at him. You don't get to throw things at him." She shook me and, as her free hand came up, I snapped out of it just in time to dodge her slap.

Both my arms came up to block my face, taking the blow across my wrists. And then a second one.

"Hey! I'm not the one cheating on you! I don't even know you."

I blocked another swing.

"Ruth!"

You'd think it would be Hank who stepped in to get her under control. You'd be wrong. Another woman pounded through the doorway, her walk brisk, her attention focused.

The third blow never came as the woman, Ruth, turned toward the voice.

"Sounds like this isn't the girl's fault." The second woman stopped next to Ruth, looking me over. "Not worth your time. Neither is this worthless boy who can't manage to stay faithful for more than a week at a go."

"Drea," Hank finally spoke up. Glaring down at the new woman, he took a step toward her. "I told you to stay out of our marriage. Your sister doesn't need you barging in all the time and shaking the hornet's nest."

"I'm not shaking anything. You're a cheating S.O.B. She needs to get as far away from you as possible."

"Drea, please." Ruth's voice had softened, almost to a pleading level. "Don't upset him. I just want things to go back the way they were."

"When, Ruth? When do you want them to go back to? He's been cheating on you since you met him. There're no good times to go back to. There's only the time before you knew. Is that what you want? You want to just not know? If that's it, then you need to quit following him and checking his email and his phone. If you just want to not know, stop looking. But if you think there's a time to go back to when he was completely faithful, then you're deluded."

I stepped back again, hoping to fade into the background, but afraid to draw attention to myself if I tried to walk away.

Plus, walking away would mean turning my back on the crazy people.

Speaking of which—I glanced toward the counter. Abby-the-Trainee still stood there enraptured by the drama unrolling in front of her. All she needed was popcorn. And yet, still no John.

"Drea." Hank was finally getting involved in this train wreck, stepping over the coffee table to come between the two women. "What goes on between me and Ruth is between us. I don't recall you taking vows at our wedding."

"No. This is what goes on between you and Ruth and…" Drea waved a hand in my direction, "every slutty girl you meet as soon as you leave the house."

"Hey now." I was so insulted I forgot I was trying to stay out of it. "Some of us aren't slutty. We're lied to. And now, we're leaving."

Ruth made a grab at my arm again, but her sister stopped her.

"It's not her fault. You need to put the blame in the right place."

I thought for a second Ruth was going to wind up and take a swing at Drea. Instead, after a long moment, one tear slipped down her cheek.

"I know, but I don't know what I'll do."

"You'll come stay with me. We'll get you a good attorney."

"Wait just a second." Hank tried to get around the table again, but Drea was pushing Ruth toward the front door. "Ruth is my wife. She's not going anywhere but home with me."

Ruth turned, her anger finally focused in the right place.

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being lied to." She picked up my tea cup and threw it at him. "And humored." This time it was the creamer. "And cheated on."

You'd think with all the small stuff gone, she'd be out of weapons. But Ruth was obviously an aggressive woman. She picked up the now empty tea tray and swung at Hank's head like he was a fastball coming at her in the seventh inning.

The first swing made a solid connection with his shoulder.

"Hey!" Hank ducked away, trying to outpace his enraged wife.

The next swing caught him across the back of the head.

"Ruth, stop it."

But she kept swinging, chasing him around the coffee shop while he tried to stay out of her way. After a minute, she had him cornered, the tray raised over her head, when a voice came from behind us.

"Put the tea tray down and back away. I won't put up with any more of this nonsense in my shop."

I half turned, still afraid to give the crazy people my back, to find John standing there, balancing on the balls of his feet like he was ready pounce.

Everyone froze—Hank with his hands blocking his head, Ruth with the tray over hers, and Drea looking smug.

"That is more than enough. I don't go into your home and tear it up. If you have a personal issue with one another, this is not the place." John strode across the café, picking up the broken pieces of porcelain as he went, and wrenched the tray out Ruth's hands. "That's going to be five dollars for the cup, twelve for the creamer, and twenty-five for the wrecked tea tray. Whose card do you want to put that on?"

EIGHT

DATING TRUTH #4: There's always another fish in the sea… it's just that we keep dumping toxic waste in the water so who knows what you'll catch next.

I STOOD WHERE I WAS, too scared to move as John rang Hank up, charging him for all the broken items and my tea. The two women waited at the door, identical expressions of rage on their faces.

The irrational part of me was annoyed yet another date had been a failure. The irrational part also wanted an apology for the assault.

The rational side just wanted them out of there as quickly as possible.

Once they left, John scanned the room, his gaze hard.

"You." He pointed at me. "Sit over there and don't move."

I headed toward the far side of the room where he'd assigned me and collapsed into a chair, just glad to have something under me.

"You." He pointed at the teen audience member who had enjoyed every second of my torture. "Clean that up and then you and I are going to talk."

Abby grumbled as she grabbed a broom and dustpan. I slumped over the table, setting my head on my crossed arms and hoping John would go have that word with Abby first.

Instead, a light touch brushed my shoulder, pushing my hair to the side and letting the light into my little self-made cave.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." I mumbled, barely able to hear myself.

"Sarah, look at me." He squatted next to me leaving no option but for me to meet his gaze. "Are. You. Okay?"

I nodded, realizing I was more embarrassed than anything—and guilty. I felt so guilty about John's lovely coffee shop getting torn up like that.

"John, I'm so sorry about all the craziness. I had no idea."