•Follows directions
•Respects boundaries
•Reliable
I push the paper back toward him. He went through the effort to make a list. I exhale. “Miles…”
His gaze drops to the floor as if he’s already accepting defeat.
I sigh. “I’ll do it.”
His chin lifts, then his lips part then press together again like he’s trying to find the right words, so I don’t change my mind. “Are you… serious?”
“Yes. You can join OneDate.” I hold up a finger. “But do not mess this up. I have a reputation to protect. And remember—this is not for finding love. Do not fall in love.”
“Done.” He nods quickly. “That’s—great. Thank you. I’m going to stop talking now before I say something that makes you take it back.”
A laugh escapes me. “Give me your number. I’ll text you the code so you can download the app.”
“Great.” He pulls out a pen and a little notebook from his pocket, jots his phone number down, and passes it to me.
I glance at it, then tuck it into my pocket. “Alright, when you join, you’ll have two sections to fill out for your profile. One will be what type of date someone can expect from you. There’ll be check boxes of personality qualities you’ll mark off. The next will be what you’re looking for in a date. Again, same thing. More checkboxes. There’ll be a section where you write a short bio. At the end, you’ll upload a picture. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
I lean over the bar and lock eyes with him. “The app is not for falling in love. It’s to help people survive awkward events and family gatherings without being interrogated about their love life.”
“Well, I’m not looking for the love of my life,” he insists. “I already found her. I just… can’t talk to her.”
I stare. “Did you hear yourself? Out loud?”
His shoulders sink. The defeat on his face is almost painful. He looks like a golden retriever who just watched his favorite tennis ball roll under the couch.
“I’m not good at dating.” The confession barely rises above a mumble. “I don’t know what else to do to feel more comfortable and confident, so I figured a few practice dates might help. There’s this girl I really like—Maggie. And every time I get a shot with her, I blow it.”
“How?” I ask, because morbid curiosity is irresistible.
“Do you know how sea cucumbers ward off predators?”
My brows pull together. “Can’t say I do.”
“They… expel their internal organs,” he blurts. “When they feel threatened. It’s a defense mechanism.”
I stare at him. “…Okay.”
“And it’s—this is the worst part—it resembles spaghetti,” he adds, already cringing.
“Why do you know this?”
“I read a marine biology article. But that’s not the point.” He drags a hand down his face. “Then I looked at her soup. And unfortunately, I found them… visually similar. Before I could stop myself, I said it out loud.”
I stare at him. “You compared her soup to expelled sea cucumber organs.”
“Yes.” The word comes out barely audible, like he’s confessing to a felony.
I cover my mouth with my hand, my lips trembling with the force of the laugh I’m trying to contain. It lasts exactly one second before it explodes out of me. “Miles!”
“I know. I know. It’s not romantic or at all charming.”
