Cecily
I knowwhat Dominic looks like because, as any self-respecting woman going on a date with someone she hasn't already met would do, I looked him up.
His social media is private, but I found his headshot and bio on the website of Whitaker Literary Agency.
What struck me about him first were his stern eyebrows, followed by the unusual color of his hair. Copper? No. Burnt caramel? Yes. After that, it was his eyes. Piercing deep blue, almost unbelievably so. Must've been the work of Photoshop. His lips don't make sense. Why are theyluscious? Why is that the only word I can think of to describe them?
In short, Dominic is attractive. As long as he doesn't steal the condiments, he will automatically be my best (May Be A) date in a long time. The bar is low. The only way to lower it further would be if he set fire to the place, or pulled a red nose from his pocket and began to juggle.
This morning I texted Dominic like I said I would, telling him to meet me at Obstinate Daughter at five. They make the best blueberry mojito, and one of their bartenders is irreverent in the most entertaining way. It's also where Dominic's cousinKlein works as a bartender while he waits for Dominic to sell his manuscript. Klein isn't working tonight. If he had been, I would've suggested some place different. I don't need an audience on my May Be A Date.
The afternoon sun beats down on my car as I throw it into Park. My cheeks fill with air, the noisy breath vibrating my lips as I release it. Angling my rearview mirror down, I check my makeup, my teeth, pretty much everything about myself. My pulse flutters and my stomach flips as I make my way across the small parking lot.
Obstinate Daughter swarms with the after-work crowd laughing, drinking, and talking over each other. The vibe is hip and upscale, a place with the prettiest emerald green floor tile and ivory textured walls. The men clustered around the horseshoe-shaped bar wear slacks and button-up collared shirts, sleeves rolled twice. Professional attire is loosely interpreted in Scottsdale. The women wear all manner of clothing, their choices more expansive than the men. Give this place a few more hours and it'll turn from after-work happy hour into pre-game central, a place where the young and the sexy gather before moving on to the row of clubs nearby. Even on a Tuesday in the warmth of June, this place thrums with life.
My gaze homes in on a tall figure at the bar. From his profile, along with his unique hair color, I know it is Dominic. He's half seated on the backless teak stool, his other long leg reaching for the ground like he's ready to stand up at a moment's notice. He wears khaki shorts and a cream polo with baby blue stripes in varying widths over the chest. His forearm leans on the bar, but his posture remains upright. Halston, the aforementioned irreverent bartender, talks with him.
She catches sight of me over his shoulder and waves, eyes lighting up with familiarity. Dominic turns fully my way, his gaze coming to rest on me.
The nerves in my stomach increase tenfold, butterflies with wings of razors. Dominic is my client's cousin. My client is dating my boss. My boss has become one of my closest friends. This has the potential to be so, so messy.
Dominic rises. At his full height, he must be over six feet tall. An easy smile breaks onto his face, so different from the headshot on his company's website. He strides forward, through bodies of people who've become faceless to me, meeting me halfway.
"Cecily." His voice stretches through the growing din, rolling over me. It's rich and deep, like the pouring of a decadent sauce.
His arm extends. I place my hand in his. He fastens his grip around mine, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. It's a simple handshake, but something in me pays attention.
"It's nice to meet you, Dominic."
"Dom," he corrects. "Only my boss and my parents call me Dominic."
I nod. "Well, Dom, how about that drink?"
He steps aside, motioning toward the bar. We fall into step, and Dom pulls the stool out for me, waiting for me to get situated before he takes his own seat. He definitely gets a few points for that. I love a gentleman.
Closer now, I notice his polo is knit, and made of silk and cotton. Not a single wrinkle blemishes the press of his flat-front khaki shorts. In fact, everything about him is orderly. Tidy. There's no way this man is walking away with a salt shaker in his pocket. Also, the blue in his eyes was not the work of Photoshop.
"Cecily, hi," Halston says after I've hung my purse on the hidden hook under the bar.
"Hey, Halston." I greet her warmly. I have a soft spot for her, mostly because she is everything but soft. I admire it. She is unapologetically herself.
"You two know each other?" Dominic asks, looking between us.
"I started coming here after I met Klein. Paisley talked about how great this place is, and I wanted to see for myself. Plus it helped me get to know Klein, and figure out his voice for his social media captions."
Dom looks impressed, and a vibrating warmth of satisfaction fills me. I not only love my job, I also love excelling at it. Gesturing toward Dom, I say to Halston, "This is Klein's cousin, Dom."
Halston executes an exaggerated once-over. "I see the resemblance." She levels her steely-eyed gaze on Dom. "You tell that jackass he owes me money."
Dom grins. "He owes me money, too. A hundred bucks. I told him he was going to fall for Paisley on that island, and I was right."
"Paisley and Klein were the only two people who didn't know they were going to fall for each other." Paisley is my boss at P Squared Marketing, and I listened to her moon over Klein before they spent a week pretending to be dating. Not to mention I'm the person Klein sent all his island photos to as part of our social media campaign for him. His camera roll was full of Paisley and he was still insisting they were just friends.
Halston laughs. "Klein doesn't really owe me money, but sometimes I tell him he does, and he believes me."
Now Dom's laughing. "I have no moral issue with telling him he needs to pay up."
"I like you already," Halston says, fluttering her fingers at him. "What do you want to drink?"
