“Okay, fine. One can of your favorite tuna for pointing out the problem.” The stuff is pricey, which is why I don’t buy it for him all the time. But this definitely warrants laying out a little cash. What kind of future am I going to manifest with Noah’s smiling head on my vision board?
I toss the crushed photo into the trash and resume getting ready. No way is Noah going to derail me tonight.
Resolutely, I finish applying makeup, then I change into a sleeveless cream scoop-neck top along with my favorite red and black plaid pleated skirt over fishnet thigh-highs and medium heels. The man’s profile says he’s six-three, so the shoes will make us about even in height.
You could’ve wornhighheels if it were Noah.
I shove aside the irritating thought. This isn’t about him. It’s aboutmylife, which doesnotinclude him.
Determined to forge ahead into a Noah-less future, I drive to Gion Shiyaki. The restaurant is much fancier than the places I normally frequent. It opened not too long ago, so I’ve never been inside, not even guarding one of my high-profile clients. Assuming they could get a table. It’s apparently always booked, and not even celebrities can get a table on short notice. My date must’ve pulled some serious strings to grab a table on a busy Friday night. And that earns him lots of bonus points. A man who can make magic happen to make a girl feel special? Sold!
The entrance is the definition of understated elegance with a Japanese stone garden set with a small water feature. A quiet melody consisting of some Asian string instruments comes from speakers, the plucked notes lilting and pretty. A slim Asian woman in a deep purple kimono comes out with a smile.
I give her my date’s name.
“Oh yes, he’s here already. Right this way.”
“Great.” See? Normal men show up when they say they will.
Stop comparing every one of your dates to Noah.
Right. That wouldn’t be fair to my date, potentially my future husband. He should be judged on his own merits.
The lady leads me through corridors with hardwood floors and off-white walls. Little nooks and crannies hold wood carvings and Asian potteries in earth tones.
Excitement starts to build as I focus on what’s to come. Most people fudge a little on their dating profiles, but we’ll probably hit it off even if he’s exaggerated his charms a bit. Not only is he stunning, but he’s looking for someone who knows what she wants, is seeking commitment and shared dreams and values. He loves movies, dancing on the beach and singing. He enjoys musicals and loves to travel to tropical places with turquoise water. A lover of animals and an expert surfer, too. When I messaged him that I’d love to learn, he said it’d be his pleasure to take me out on the water. He added, “I’ll plan everything. All you have to do is show up.”
That let me know he might actually be the one. Noah has never offered to plan anything—but then he can’t even remember to come to stuffIplanned.
Time to stop thinking about him. Even though it’s been a year since I resolved to evict him from my life, he’s managed to occupy a small corner of my mind, popping back up now and then like he can’t bear to let me forget him. My cousin Josie, who’s a shrink, would have a field day with this—which is why I haven’t said a word to her. I don’t need to get my head examined. My problem is that my heart is stubbornly fixated on Noah for some reason, and I’m making slow progress freeing myself. Once I find a man who cherishes me and I can stake my future on, Noah will be history. A discarded and never-to-be-revisited chapter in my life.
The lady pushes a sliding door open. I start to smile, then my face freezes.
There’s no way this…person can be my date. The photo doesn’t match the guy in front of me. The profile pic showed a stunning man with beautifully tousled auburn hair and smiling green eyes, full lips stretched into a boyish smile. The jawline was tight, the cheekbones high and sharp enough to cut wood. But the guy sitting in front of me has flaming orange hair slicked back with gel, showcasing a massive forehead. The angle of his cheekbones is nothing special, and the tip of his jaw is round enough that it can’t even be called a “tip.” Owlish green eyes stare at me, and his thin lips are colorless.
The photo was an eight or a nine. This guy is maybe a four.
He doesn’t stand up. “You’re finally here! Great. You look just like your profile.”
And you don’t.I can’t decide how to say it without sounding rude.
“Have a seat.” He gestures with a small, smug smile.
I sit, more or less on auto-pilot.What am I supposed to do now?I should’ve known the day could, in fact, continue to get worse after running into Reggie, Floyd and Noah. “Was your profile name your real name?”
“Nope. Joey Martin, at your service.” He pauses expectantly.
“Am I…supposed to know you?”
He spreads his hands, giving me incredulity. “I work for Ted Lasker.”
“Oh, okay. The movie producer, right?” The man’s a legend.
“Correct.” Joey beams proudly.
“And…?” I prompt, unsure why he’s bringing up his boss.
“I’m his right hand. And left hand.”
