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As the truck door slams shut, the event notification chimes in my purse.
“What was that?” Jack’s large warm hand presses against my lower back, urging me forward through the dimly lit parking lot.
“Just my calendar.” I pull the phone out of my purse and swipe to remove the notification.
“Sounds different, new app?” He asks. I show him the screen before setting the phone to do not disturb.
“Yeah. Thought I would try something different.”
“You know, you could just try remembering things.” He laughs when I slap his arm.
“Says the man who was twenty minutes late coming to pick me up because he lost track of time.”
Jack stops me before we reach the door; sounds of music and chatter permeate the brick walls. We’re on time, but it sounds like we are the last to arrive.
“I said I was sorry. I got carried away at the Sunrise Point job. It won’t happen again, Momma.” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose when he calls me that name without Silas here. He laughs as he opens the heavy wooden door and waits for me to enter the building. The sounds from inside spill out into the night air. “You look lovely, by the way.”
I glance down at my crimson red silk blouse that opens to show ample cleavage underneath. My straight legged dark gray slacks hit just above my ankles, giving the illusion I am taller than five-foot-six. I topped it off with a matching pair of red heels.
Smiling at his words, I take a moment to give him a once-over. I know it’s inappropriate, but holy hell, he cleans up nice. The buttons on his black dress shirt strain against his chest, hinting at the muscles underneath. His sparrow tattoo, with its black wing tips, curls over his collarbone and disappears from view as it wraps around his shoulder. His dark boot cut jeans are snug in all the right places.
“Harper?”
Startled, I shake my head. “Sorry, what?”
“I said you look lovely.”
“You look pretty good yourself.”
I slip through the door with Jack right behind me. An elderly lady sitting at a rickety card table smiles at us and gestures for us to come over. After providing our names, she locates us on the registry and passes us our name tags, along with a pamphlet about the building and the night’s agenda.
According to the pamphlet, the Clinton Community Center used to be a church. There are now a few small meeting rooms and a community kitchen in the basement where Sunday School used to be held years ago. The entire building has been updated with new plumbing, electrical, and décor, but it is the main room that truly stands out.
Walking into the open space, once the nave, I’m taken aback by the sheer size. The high ceilings with exposed wooden beams along with the blue wall color make the immense space seem warm and cozy. In the center of the room are four extra-long harvest tables with repurposed pews for benches. At the front of the room, where the altar would be, is a small stage, and to the right of the room is a long bar with a polished counter.
Hopeful singles mill around the bar, the first round of drinks in their hands as they wait for the evening to begin. Jack and I share a look, not a bad idea, before making our way to the bar ourselves.
I sit down at the counter while Jack leans in to speak to the bartender.
“Can I get an IPA and a dirty martini with four olives?”
Moments later, I toss an olive into my mouth, savoring the salty brine. “Kind of odd having a bar here, don’t you think?” My reflection in the mirror behind the bar is obscured by a collection of bottles, each one unique in shape and color.
“When they renovated, they wanted a versatile space. Look over there.” He points to what looks like a tall, narrow crack in the wood paneling. “That opens up, and a divider comes out to hide the bar when they don’t need it for events.”
“Oh. That is nifty.”
“Nifty?”
“What?”
“How old are you, seventy?”
“Shut it.” I smirk while giving him a little elbow jab. “So, how do you think this will go?”
“It will be entertaining, if nothing else. You see anyone that piques your interest?”
My eyes sweep across the room, noting how many bodies are in sight. There must be almost a hundred people in the space. People of all ages, colors, shapes and sizes; just like the bottles behind the bar. Looking for love or at least a one-night stand. “I feel like I’m at a cattle auction, checking out all the beefy steers. Holy shit, look at the muscles on that guy!”
Jack’s head swivels, his eyes landing on the man in question. He is as tall as Jack, about six-two, but about twice, no three times, as thick. “Is that what you’re into? How did he even get through the door?”
The picture of him turning sideways through the main door enters my mind and the subsequent laugh bursts from my lips loud enough for a few heads to turn. Turning back around on the stool, hiding the heat from my cheeks, I bury my face in my drink.
Half of my martini is gone when I pull my phone from my purse and check my messages.
“Stop that.” Jack takes my phone and tucks it back in my purse.
“I was just—”
“I know what you were doing. Wolf and Aubrey have it covered. Silas was curled up watching a movie when we left and is bound to be asleep in no time.”
A tall blonde woman stands at the altar. Her soft pink blouse is tucked into a short black skirt, hitting just above her knee. Below that she is all legs, standing just under six feet. She signals for another woman to turn down the music and taps on the microphone. She waits a moment for the chatter to dissipate before speaking.
“Welcome everyone to our first night of speed dating! My name is Faith and I will be your MC for the evening.” She lays out the guidelines for the night and talks about a few housekeeping items. They then divide us into groups, where half of us will remain seated on one side of the table and the other group will slide down at the sound of the buzzer. We will have five minutes to make a connection before we move on to the next person.
“Good luck.” I wink at Jack.
“You too,” he says as he walks to his seat at another table.
As we wait for the buzzer to signal the beginning of the first date, the surrounding voices gradually fade into a nervous silence. The air crackles with excitement, and I can’t help but get swept up in it. The buzzer goes off and the night has begun.
The man sitting across from me rotates his beer bottle back and forth, showing a torn label from where he has already nervously picked at it. His sandy blonde hair is carefully styled, but the beads of sweat near his temples show his nervousness, leaving the edges of his hair damp. As I read his name tag, I notice his dress shirt is impeccably pressed.
“Hi Alan. I’m Harper. Nice to meet you,” I begin, not waiting for him to get up the nerve to speak first.
“Hi.”
Okay, this might be like pulling teeth. I take a sip of my martini, feeling the smooth burn slide down my throat. Reaching across the table, I pull an ice breaker card from the small stack between us. “Is it okay if we start with one of these?”
He holds the beer label, now a crumpled square, between his fingertips, avoiding direct eye contact as he nods.
“Perfect. So, Alan, if you were to have a podcast, what would it be about?” Placing the card off to the side, I pick up my drink, fully expecting him to take his time answering. The fidgeting stops abruptly as he pushes his beer to the side.
“Does it really say that?” With a surprised expression, he slides the ice breaker card toward himself and reads the question aloud.
“Do you make it a habit of not trusting people? Perhaps that is what we should start with?” I can’t help but smile at the change in his body language.
“I’m sorry. Just a little nervous. This is my first time out since the divorce.” Shock still registering on his face. “And this card couldn’t have been more perfect.”
I’m not sure if he realizes that he just gave me a ton of information about himself without prompting. “Tell me about it.”
Alan explains he has been running a paranormal podcast focusing on New England in his spare time and even conducts interviews on location, but the buzzer goes off before we have a chance to really get into a conversation. We say goodbye. Then he slides down the bench to the next person, launching right into a conversation with a petite blonde woman. All signs of nervousness are gone. He’s going to do just fine.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
My eyes are immediately drawn to the man who has taken the seat directly in front of me. Ah, Beefcake, I snicker to myself. His thick bicep bumps into Alan, who has to scoot down a bit to regain his personal space.
“Hi. I’m Harper.”
“Holden. I haven’t seen you around here before. Where are you from?” His eyes roam from my face to my chest, lingering on my cleavage.
“I grew up in Rutland, Vermont, spent some time in Chicago, but I moved to Styre Cove a few years ago. Are you from Clinton?”
“Just north of here. Left for college on a football scholarship, but came home to run the family business.”
Family business. The sound of that sets alarms off in my brain. I finish my martini and signal to a young man taking drink orders for another.
“And what is the family business?”
“Silverstone Steers.”
Oh. My. God! Beefcake works on a cattle farm!
He pulls a card from his shirt pocket and slides it across the table. “Why don’t you read that card, sweetheart?”
I accept what he hands me, assuming it is a business card, only to find an ice breaker card. Why did he have this in his pocket? Flipping it over, I read what it says aloud. “Where do you see yourself in the future?”
As he leans forward, I catch the scent of whiskey on his breath. “Between your legs,” he says with a low growl that normally I would find hot.
“Whoa.”
Leaning back, I take in all that is Holden Silverstone. Short dark hair but long enough to grab. Broad shoulders with thick biceps; he could pick me up and toss me around. Fun for a night or two. However, his bravado might work on some women, just not this one.
The buzzer goes off. He grabs the card out of my hand and returns it to his shirt pocket before asking for my number. When I hesitate, he smiles and leans over the table. “Nevermind. I’ll find you at the end of the night, baby.” Gorgeous, sweetheart, baby.
Catching Jack’s eye at the end of the table, I raise an eyebrow and point to Holden with my chin. To convey his understanding, he inconspicuously puffs out his chest and pulls a goofy grin, making me snicker to myself.
Pulling the pad of paper and pen toward me, I make a note. I’m going to pass on Holden, but Alan is a maybe.
Ten dates have come and gone and they have gone from bad to worse. I filled the note paper I have with No’s, and a tally for every self-centered conversation and lewd comment. Despite my polite and not-so-polite declines, at least four of them think I’m going home with them at the end of the night.
The temperature continues to rise in the room as the night goes on. The windows are the original fixed, stained glass, and the ceiling fans offer no solace. When Faith calls for intermission, I rush outside, not bothering to find Jack. The fresh cool evening air is more important for my sanity and the preservation of my blouse as the material sticks to my sweaty skin.
Once back inside, I nab martini number..., hell, I have no idea how many I have had at this point.
When I set my refreshed drink on the table, something out of the corner of my eye grabs my attention. Two people rush into the room from the hall that leads to the restrooms. The young woman straightens her dress, which is not nearly as askew as her lipstick. Behind her is a brick wall of a man whose shirt buttons are misaligned. Beefcake. Holden catches me staring and winks before finding an empty spot at the table across from where I am sitting.
The buzzer sounds off, officially ending the intermission.
A handsome man with dark hair and a trimmed beard sits down in front of me with a glass filled with an amber-colored liquid. “Whiskey?” I ask.
“Crossbearer scotch, actually. It’s got a real nice smooth burn to it.”
“That it does.” I raise my martini glass, and we clink before taking a sip of our respective drinks.
“Shall we try a card?”
“Go for it.” I nod and gesture for him to pull a card from the dwindling pile between us. His large hand reaches out, attempting to pull the top card, but they stick together from the heat in the room. Once successful in separating the top card from the rest, he silently reads it but goes to change it for a new one.
“You struggled enough. Just read it.”
After a moment of hesitation, he reads the card aloud. “What is the first vacation you remember as a kid?”
“Good one. I remember taking a trip to New Brunswick with my family. There was a big horse show, so Mom and Dad packed us all up and we drove there.” His hand reaches out to cover mine, giving it a tight squeeze. “We got to see the world’s longest covered bridge, but I don’t remember much else from that trip. Annoyed the shit out of my brother the entire time.” I laugh, “Fond memories.”
“I’m sure Eben enjoyed that,” Jack says, letting go of my hand. I understand his hesitation in using this card. Talking about my parents has gotten easier over time, but still hurts like hell.
“He loved and hated it at the same time. What about you?”
He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. While he is lost in thought for a moment, I take a good look at my best friend. From his thick lips, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and the curls that get tighter from the humidity. Jack is one handsome man.
“Mom scrimped and saved for years to take all of us to Disney World. We had a blast when we got there, but the drive was brutal. All seven of us jammed in Mom’s Plymouth and I swear at least four of them were on their period.”
“Jack!” I exclaim, appalled at his statement.
Raising his hands up in surrender, he says, “It’s the truth. You know how you women can sync up. I swear they did it on purpose, so they had an excuse to pick on me.”
“Your sisters love you.”
“They do now!”
The buzzer sounds informing us it was time for him to move on but instead, he lingers. The man next to him gives him a look before Jack urges him to move on past us. “Come on, man. Move the hell down!”
Jack stands, giving the man his seat, but walks around to my side of the table rather than moving down to the next person. “What are you doing?” I say, confused.
“I’m tired of talking about nothing with strangers. Let’s get out of here.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”