“It’s not really in Summerset, and it’s a small one. He only does business with a few funeral homes in the area.” Darci stared at him as she spoke. “He also owns land over by the state park. One of the guys I dated a couple of years ago rented it from him.”
I nodded. “He said he was checking fence—” I stopped abruptly as Silas Green, feeling our eyes on him, turned and caught us staring at him.
With a smile, he tugged on his hat, acknowledging us, and then moved away.
As he’d stretched his mouth back from his crooked teeth, I noticed the way the late afternoon sun seemed to glint off his long incisors, and a chill ran through me.
Nine
Friday night Darci had arrived as early as promised. As I sat in her car hurtling toward Des Moines, I wondered for the millionth time why I had agreed to do this. Even preparing for the event had been a strain. I’d been curled, powdered, and primped until I barely recognized the face staring at me from the bathroom mirror.
Tink had gotten into the act, too, by giving her opinion on the different outfits Darci had brought from her own closet. Darci’s pants were all too long, so it was a struggle matching my slacks with her blouses. Once she and Tink came up with the coordinating ensembles, they insisted that I model each combination of shoes, tops, and dress pants while they picked apart how the clothes looked.
As a result, I learned that my favorite pair of linen slacks made my hips look too big, I did not own a decent bra and really, really needed to shop at Victoria’s Secret. I also learned that three-inch heels, even though they pinched, gave me the stature my five-foot four-inch frame was lacking. Finally, my stylists decided on pants the shade of dark chocolate—darker hues are slenderizing, don’t you know—and a camisole with a matching ivory top of georgette that draped softly over
my shoulders and tied at the waist. The clothes, according to my personal fashion consultants, “rocked” and I looked “awesome.”
In my opinion, it was Darci who was amazing. She didn’t have to worry about clothes adding too many pounds. Her fitted black slacks hugged in all the right places, and her shirt was exactly the right shade of blue to bring out her eyes. She wore her hair in a tousled twist that gave her a “come hither” look without being obvious. I didn’t doubt that every man there would be fighting for her phone number.
It was good to see Tink smiling and laughing. And it was one of the reasons that I allowed them, with as much graciousness as I could muster, to treat me like a life-size Barbie doll. I still feared what the runes had predicted.
Abby pointed out that maybe the course had been set, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t alter the degree of negativity. If I stayed sharp and kept my senses alert, I could still do damage control. Worry would only cloud my judgment and make me ineffective, so I buried my concerns in the back of my mind.
A jab in the ribs brought me out of my reverie.
“Quit stewing about this,” Darci chided.
“I’m not. I’m only doing this to humor you,” I replied empathically.
Darci shot me a glance. “No butterflies?”
“Of course not,” I lied, ignoring the knots in my stomach and the cold sweat threatening to break out at any minute.
“How bad can it be?” she asked, lifting her chin a notch. “What did the handout say? Six minutes talking with each guy. What’s six minutes?”
A lifetime if you’re sitting across the table from a complete stranger, with your mind a mass of jelly and your mouth feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton.
I kept my sarcasm to myself. Instead, I asked, “What do I talk about?”
In the dim light of the dashboard, I saw Darci roll her eyes. “Here’s a flash—how about Ophelia Jensen?”
“Uh-huh,” I answered wryly. “Do I tell them at the beginning of the six minutes about the witch thing, or leave it until the end?”
She chuckled. “Ahh. I think it would be wise not to mention you’re a psychic.” Tapping the steering wheel she thought for a moment. “Everyone likes talking about themselves, surely—”
“I don’t,” I answered quickly.
“Let me rephrase that—mostpeople enjoy it. But if you don’t want to tell them about yourself, try asking questions.”
“Like what?”
“Jeez, I don’t know. Try, ‘What’s your idea of a perfect date?’ Or, ‘What hobbies do you enjoy?’ And there’s always, ‘Describe your sense of humor.’”
“Wait a second.” I grabbed my purse and began to rummage.
She took her eyes off the road for a second. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a pen,” I answered, my hand digging around in the bag.
“Why?”
“I’m going to write what you just said on my palm. You know, like when you were a kid at school?” I said, pleased at my cleverness. “If I get stuck, I can subtly glance at my hand—”
Darci reached over and yanked my purse away.
“What?” I asked in an injured voice.
“You’re not going to write stuff on your hand,” she huffed.
“It would be the same as hanging a sign around your neck, ‘I haven’t had a date in five years.’”
I crossed my arms over my chest and sank back in the seat. “Have, too—I went out with Ned a year ago.”
I heard a snort.
“Right. The only reason you went out with him was because he was safe. You knew it wouldn’t go anywhere,” she said, whipping her car into the parking lot.
Gosh, we were here already. The knots tightened.
Seeing the expression on my face, Darci gave me a wink. “Enough about Ned. Come on, let’s go.”
I exited the car with about as much enthusiasm as a prisoner facing the hangman.
Darci noticed. With a sigh, she grabbed my arm and hurried me across the parking lot. Inside the building, an equal number of men and women milled around excitedly. All appeared eager and happy to be there. Next to me, Darci twitched with anticipation.
Panic hit. “I can’t remember those questions,” I hissed. “You should’ve let me write them down.”
“You’ll be fine,” she assured me. “If all else fails, just smile and lean forward—”
“What! Why?”
“Trust me…works every time.” She walked up to the registration table and signed us in. Handing me my name tag and score sheet, she pointed me toward my table. “Go get ’em, killer,” she said with a slight shove. “Oh, and if you do remember the questions, try not to ask them like you’re a prosecutor grilling a hostile witness.”
“Funny,” I replied over my shoulder as I tottered on my three-inch heels over to my assigned seat. Once there, I glanced back at Darci. She gave me a thumbs-up.
Yeah, right. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on my fore
head. Peachy. How would I wipe them away without appearing nervous? I pretended to fluff my hair and at the same time brushed away the moisture.
Get a grip, Jensen. Think—how important is this? One—you didn’t want to come. Two—you’re not looking for Mr. Right. Three—you’re simply here to have fun. What do you care what these guys might think?
The bell rang.
I watched as the first man took his seat across the table from me. The pep talk worked. I shoved away my anxiety.
What the hell?I smiled and leaned forward.
The first guy’s idea of a perfect date was watching Green Bay play the Vikings.
No, thank you.
The second guy described his sense of humor as slapstick. He went on to relate his favorite Three Stooges’ movie complete with the “nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.”
I like the Three Stooges as well as the next person, but that didn’t mean I wanted to date Curly.
Next.
When the third guy arrived, my first remark was, “Hi, how are you?” He told me. During the following six minutes, I learned about his recent breakup, in minute and boring detail. It was her fault of course, and he had done nothing to precipitate the split. He couldn’t help all those women coming onto him.
Hmm—read between the lines—this one has a problem with monogamy. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.
The fourth guy? I smelled him before he even made it to the table. The scent of English Leather, the same cologne my dad wore, swirled around him in a toxic cloud, announcing his arrival. I tried the ol’ “smile and lean forward” thing to
cover my discomfort, but the strength of his cologne had me inching my chair back in an attempt to get away from the overpowering aroma.
The fifth guy had a comb-over that started about an inch above his left ear. Not a good look for him.
The bell rang. I spent the seconds between candidates by staring at my blank score sheet. So far I hadn’t been impressed, but I had a hunch none of the men that I’d met were exactly swept away by me, either. It was an even wash.
“You’re not having fun, are you?” said a deep voice to my right.
My eyes traveled from the sheet of paper to the man taking his seat across the table from me.
He looked sharp. The way he wore his dark hair, cropped fairly short, suited his strong features and high cheekbones. His soft brown eyes held a hint of humor. He was dressed in a white shirt, open at the neck. No gold glittered from around his throat. A definite plus as far as I was concerned.
“What makes you say that?” I tilted my head.
He gave me a big grin and a conspiratorial wink. “You have this tight look around your mouth.”
I instinctively touched my fingertips to my lips. “It’s that obvious?”
He chuckled. “No. I’m just good at reading people. It’s a hobby of mine,” he said with confidence.
Darci was good at reading people, too. My eyes darted over to her. This man was her type. I wondered if she’d zeroed in on him yet.
His eyes followed mine. “Is she your friend?” he asked, jerking his head in her direction.
“Yeah. She was the one who convinced me to come tonight.”
“Pretty.” He returned his attention to me as if he were dis
missing Darci. “I’m glad she did. I’m Christopher,” he said, extending his hand.
“I’m Ophelia,” I replied as I pointed to my name tag and shook his hand.
His grip was warm and firm. I felt a tingle of interest.
“As inHamlet? ” he inquired, releasing my hand and folding his on the table. “You don’t look like an Ophelia.”
“Really?” I relaxed against the back of my chair. “How’s an Ophelia supposed to look?”
“Wispy.” His smile widened. “There’s nothing wispy about you. You strike me as a woman who’s independent and knows what she wants. I like that.”
Christopher laughed at my shocked expression.
“I also think you don’t take compliments easily.”
My eyebrows scrunched together as I fiddled with my pen. “You know that how?”
“You have a transparent face. Hope you don’t play poker,” he teased.
I smiled. “No. You’d be more likely to find me curled up with a book than sitting at a card table.”
“Another thing I like. What do you read?”
“Everything.”
“Same here. I suppose you’ve readThe Da Vinci Code like everyone else?”
“Of course,” I answered with a self-satisfied grin.
Talking about books—we were on my turf now. Much better than football, comedies, and past relationships.
“Have you readAngels and Demons , too?” he asked.
I nodded. “I enjoyed it more.”
“Me, too,” he answered, leaning closer. “What else do you do for fun, Ophelia?”
Ooh, tough question. What did I do for fun?
A thought occurred to me. “Hiking in the woods with my dog—”
“I love animals,” he said. “What kind of dog do you have?”
“She’s a German shepherd and wolf mix. Do you have pets?”
“No, I wish I did. With my work schedule, I’m not home a lot, and I don’t think it would be fair to leave a pet alone for long periods of time.”
Compassion toward animals. Christopher’s stock went up another notch.
I was so wrapped up in my conversation with him that the next few minutes flew. And when the bell rang, I watched with reluctance as he stood to leave.
“It was really nice meeting you. I hope we can talk again,” he said, looking down at me.
“I would like that,” I replied honestly.
Quickly, before the next candidate arrived, I scribbled Christopher’s name on my sheet. Well, at least I had one, I thought. Maybe this wasn’t a total bust.
I met two more nice men and added their names to my list, and soon the event was finished.
It took time to leave the building. Several guys stopped Darci on the way out the door. While she chatted and flirted, I hung back and scanned the room for Christopher. No luck. Evidently he’d left.
A little disappointed that I didn’t get the opportunity to speak with him again, I followed Darci to the car. We were almost there when a voice called my name. I turned to see Christopher hurrying toward us.
“I’ll wait for you in the car,” Darci said with a smirk.
I shifted nervously from one foot to the other until he reached me.
“Thanks for waiting,” he said in a rush. “I know we’re not supposed to do this.” He reached into his pocket, drawing out a small card. “I got the impression the only reason you were here tonight was to humor your friend, and I was afraid you’d handed in a blank list.” He flipped the card over and over in his fingers. “I really did enjoy talking to you, so if it’s not too presumptuous on my part, I’d like to give you my business card.”