Dear Jett,
Of course I remember you. How could I not, if you know what I mean? *wink wink*
How’s tomorrow night sound, 6:30 p.m.? Meet me at Girls Haven. I’ll be waiting outside. I’m up for anything you want to do. Surprise me.
Cheers!
Cassie
P.S. Skip the messages and text me at 865.345.6473 from now on. I think we can both agree this online dating site is for the birds.
P.P.S. If you have any of the following conditions—agateophobia, pluviophobia, thaasophobia, Russophobia, pupaphobia, are married and seeking an affair, alcoholic seeking more alcohol, a kleptomaniac, rude, or boring—text me immediately. Deal’s off.
P.P.P.S. I’m a sucker for old-fashioned chivalrous-men things. Bring flowers.
Jett read the message for the third time before tucking it into his pocket and pulling out his debit card. His eyes skimmed the row of colorful bundles before landing on an arrangement of white alstroemerias and Douglas firs mixed with pinecones and red berries, held together by a large, red satin bow. “That one,” he said and handed the man his card.
As he stepped back into his car, he couldn’t help feeling compelled to check the message yet again. Strange. Exceedingly strange. But despite getting commanded by his date to bring flowers to his date, the infraction wasn’t about to slow him down a minute. Perhaps she’d turn out to be crazy. It was quite possible the woman she was up close was a far cry from the perception he’d had half a lifetime ago. Even then, the extent to which he “knew” her was the daily crossing of paths in crowded halls between the bells of 1:00 and 1:05 p.m. He “knew” how she felt each day as he watched her mood show on her face, her joy as she laughed with another teammate over some shared story, the frustration when the halls were busier than usual and the bell was about to sound, the playfulness—oh, the pain he’d felt from February on through her graduation—as she clung to Peter Eckstut, wearing his football jacket and school letters. But the time he enjoyed seeing her most was on the court.
Back then, that girl could shoot.
Jett realized he was grinning as he turned his truck around the corner and saw her standing, as promised, on the sidewalk. As he pulled to a stop in front of her, a flurry of nonsensical, boyish fears dropped in and took up residence in his chest.
Aside from the frown on her face, she hadn’t changed one bit. A thin black jacket wrapped tightly around her, Cassie Everson stood—clearly freezing—on the sidewalk. Though he, too, wore a nice pair of jeans matching his black, button-down oxford shirt, she had underdressed him by a mile. The pink collar of a polo peeked out from above her jacket, and her orange-and-green Nikes met at the bottom of her skinny jeans. Her hair—or rather what he could see of it from the ponytail—looked darker than the picture, and more than a few strands were out of place, as though she had put it up hours ago and forgotten about it in the chaos of the day. She hoisted a large work bag full of binders over her shoulder.
In sum, the only item matching the level of attention he’d given to the evening was a simple pair of diamond studs twinkling behind wayward wisps of hair.
“Cassie?” Jett stepped out of his truck and, feeling more than a little silly, brought the bouquet of flowers with him. “It’s been a long time.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
He and his bouquet froze on the curb.
Cassie squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again, and it was clear he hadn’t disappeared like a bad dream, she put out a forced hand.
“Hi, there. I’m Cassie.”
Slowly, he shook hers. “I know. I just said your name.”
She flew past his reply. “Look, I’m really, really, sorry to do this to you, but whatever you were told about tonight or—” her eyes flicked to the bouquet as though he was holding a python “—were planning isn’t going to work out after all. I’ve been standing out here for twenty minutes waiting on a friend. But apparently—” her eyes darkened, the same look he imagined on murderers just before they pounced “—that friend got the bright idea to send someone else instead. I’m sorry.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I could put my best foot forward after the day I’ve had. Consider yourself lucky to be off the hook.”
She managed a weary smile, but her eyes seemed wary, as though half expecting him to fly off the handle at the news. And why not? It was certainly a punch in his gut to have the date he’d spent two hours cleaning his car for, put on uncomfortable clothes for, and bought absurdly overpriced flowers for barely take a glance at him before informing him she’d rather spend the evening alone than at a free dinner in exchange for conversation. Frustration, to whatever degree, was the normal reaction. However. This wasn’t any old date who was attempting to turn him down.
Jett paused, carefully putting together the facts. “So, let me just clarify here. You never wrote me a message. We never corresponded in any way.”
Cassie nodded.
“And I could venture a guess that this ‘friend’ of yours stole your identity and messaged on your behalf.”
Her jaw clenched as she nodded again.
“And you don’t actually remember me from high school?”
Her brows raised curiously for a moment, her eyes seeming to trace him before coming up short.
“Huh.” He eyed the sidewalk thoughtfully. Stuck a hand in his pocket. Considered his options. Then, at last, he held out the bouquet. “In that case, I believe your friend ordered these.”
Cassie put up her hands. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”
“Don’t worry about it. I already have three bouquets at home.” He smiled, but her expression didn’t register the joke. He shook the flowers a little. “Please. I insist.”
He continued to hold out the bouquet, and finally—regretfully, it seemed—she took it. When she did, he dipped his head, his smile not watered down in the least. “Well, Ms. Everson, I sincerely wish you a relaxing evening and a nice holiday tomorrow with your loved ones.”
He glanced around his surroundings, the slimming stream of cars, the lack of pedestrians on the sidewalk, the dark and empty building behind her. It connected to a string of boxy apartment buildings he knew only too well from work. Some of the stories he came away with made his skin crawl.
“Mind if I at least walk you to your car? I assume it’s in the back.”
Cassie’s once-set jaw, growing softer and softer as the conversation went on, snapped tight again. She pushed the stems of the bouquet carefully into her work bag. “No. Thank you.”
Clearly she wanted two free hands to ward off her attacker.
As if he hadn’t descended enough from the status of “chivalrous date” to “stranger worthy of immediate rejection” tonight, he’d now dropped another peg to “potential assaulter.”
Terrific. This night was going swimmingly.
“That’s a kind offer,” she added, though her hands noticeably played with her keys—keys with a rather large can of pepper spray attached. “But I do this all the time.”
And before he could say another word she was walking toward the side of the building. She called out, “Thanks—and sorry again—for the flowers.”
Jett waited behind his steering wheel until her headlights lit up the short drive to the street and an old green Subaru rolled by. She pressed her face into a smile and gave a brief, tight wave before her tires squealed onto Profit Drive. The woman couldn’t drive away fast enough.
Tilting the mirror down, he looked at himself. He was clean shaven, his hair cut short. His mild blue eyes looked back at him with the dim dissatisfaction he felt. Nothing about him looked like a serial killer. In fact, nothing about him looked like he should be shot down—for a first date at least.
Great, now Donna Gene was giving him an ego.
But perhaps that was it, though. He had the distinct sense Cassie had not turned him down tonight but all men in general. In one way that was encouraging, in another it proved to be a whole other challenge.
As he drove back to the apartment he considered his options. First, and most obvious, he could take Cassie at her word and leave her alone. The most simple and straightforward solution. One he let himself consider the span of one red stoplight.
Option two: pursue the heck out of her. Charm her socks off. Now that would be hard to do. The woman obviously had a chip on her shoulder. Dramatic pursuits, like attaching a walkie-talkie to a box of chocolates delivered to her workplace, would be a gamble.
Option three: casually pursue her. Find out where she did life and just so happen to run into her there. The grocery store. The fancy-ladies-and-millennial-men coffee shop. On the greenway, perhaps, as she walked her dog. But he had the distinct feeling she would take his innocent research into her whereabouts as a sign of stalking, and that handy pepper spray of hers would come out again.
Which brought him back to option one, where he didn’t want to go.
So how, then? How could he convince a woman—a very specific woman—to go out on one date? She was on a dating website. Unless her friend had signed her up entirely, she was actually in search of a relationship.
The predicament was beyond his ability to solve alone.
Jett ruminated on the issue in front of his complex. He barely registered his neighbor’s door opening as he pulled out his keys.
“Look at you, Jett. Went somewhere fancy?”
He turned. Sarah stood in her doorway, a bundle of mail in her hand.
For the moment, he pushed the puzzle aside. “Expected to, but plans fell through.”
“Oh, really?” Sporting pink slippers, she stepped an inch out the door. “That’s too bad.” She checked her watch. “Dinner, I’m guessing?”
“Dinner theater, actually.”
Her brows rose considerably. “I didn’t peg you as a dinner-theater guy.”
“I’m not.” Jett reached into his wallet and pulled out two tickets. “You want them? They told me at the box office My Fair Lady was the ‘hit of the season.’”
Sarah laughed lightly and took the tickets, reviewing them. “Sixty-five bucks a seat? You can’t let these go to waste.”
“Do me a favor. Use them so they won’t. You still have a good thirty minutes to get there.”
She paused, bit her lip as she looked at them. “I’d be happy to, but I don’t know of anyone I could snag in such short notice. Definitely not tonight, with Thanksgiving tomorrow. We’re quite the loners, aren’t we?” She smiled up at him, then pushed the tickets his way with one hand as she flapped her letters with the other. “Ah, well. Off to the mailbox. Sorry things didn’t work out tonight.”
He took the tickets and she passed by him. It was indeed painful to let one hundred and thirty hard-earned dollars slip through his fingers. And despite his complete and total disinterest in watching an ensemble decked in makeup dance on stage, there was still the matter of two fine dinners going to waste—according to the online menu, two New York strips in a spicy coffee rub with baked potatoes drowned in sour cream and chives, strawberry cheesecake, endless coffee. As it was, he would be lucky to find a couple slices of leftover pizza in the refrigerator.
Sarah turned the corner and went down the stairs. After a moment’s thought, Jett walked over to the railing and called down as she slipped her mail into the box. “Hey, Sarah. I changed my mind. I’m up for steak if you are.”
In only seconds, Sarah blew by him, calling out as she dashed in her apartment, “Give me two minutes.”
“Sure.”
As he waited, he drew out his phone, the Cassie quandary returning like a briefly paused game. The fact was he was not in the position to solve the puzzle alone. He needed someone closer to help him. Much closer—so close, perhaps, they were able to steal Cassie’s identity and still walk away friends. If he was going to do this, he needed to have an inside man—or in this case, woman—so he could execute this perfectly.
“Almost ready! Just getting on my boots.” Sarah’s muffled voice called out just beyond the door as Jett began to type.
To Cassie’s imposter: let’s talk.