Page 4 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

Nope. Not true. But I let him have the last word because I have something better coming.

A great date. I just know it.

I leave on a cloud of hope.

That’s the only way to move through this prickly, harrowing modern dating world. Otherwise, it’ll eat your soul for breakfast and barf it out like a cat yakking up a hairball.

2

IT’S A CUTTHROAT WORLD

Juliet

Is there anything better than cheese? Okay, fine. There are dogs, cats, orgasms, chocolate, good music, a steaming cup of tea, a soft scarf, and nights with friends.

But cheese is up there in life’s top ten things. So tonight will be great because it’s a cheese date.

I’m getting ready for it on FaceTime with my older sister from my cute little apartment in Hayes Valley. Mustache perches on the bathroom sink, tail twitching, eyes following my movements as I slick on some lipstick.

He’s kind of into me.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” I tell Rachel as I set down the tube then blot my lips on a tissue.

“Because you’re the world’s most optimistic breakup-party planner.” Rachel is puttering around, watering plants in the home she shares with her husband.

“Just because I plan parties that celebrate a relationship’s end doesn’t mean I can’t find love myself.” I fluff out my brown waves and strike a pose to show off my red top and jeans, accessorized with platform sandals and a necklace with a ladybug charm Rachel gave me for my birthday last year. I went through a major ladybug phase when I was a kid. I still like them, which is lucky because family never lets you forget your childhood obsession.

“How do I look?” I ask.

“Younger than me, dammit,” she faux grumbles as she looks me over.

I roll my eyes. “Like you’re old.”

“Older than you.”

“Which you’ve wielded to your advantage every day of my life.”

She waves me off. “Go. Have fun. I can’t wait for the date report. But send me your location. Do you want me to call you in thirty minutes for an SOS?”

“Nope.” I shake my head, certain I won’t need a lifeline tonight.

We say goodbye, and I give Mustache a well-deserved scratch on the chin—one of only two acceptable cat quadrants for petting, even for a cat who’s into me—then take off for the Thursday evening cheese-tasting extravaganza at the wine bar a few blocks away.

Zelda and Nico’s Cheese Experience takes place behind the heavy brushed-metal doors of an industrial-style establishment, with exposed pipes and brick walls, servers in leather aprons, and some kind of music with ukuleles in it playing softly overhead.

Of course.

I scan the place, looking for Elijah from the app. Doesn’t take long to find the graffiti artist waiting by the bar, wearing a black scarf and horn-rimmed glasses. He looks almost like his photo but a few years older. Okay, maybe ten. Or possibly a dozen.

But age is just a number, right? I’m not bothered by a slight photo mismatch. Or a not-so-slight one.

As I approach, he stares past me without recognition, like he’s waiting for someone else. Hmm. Maybe I got him wrong? He did say he’d wear a black scarf, and he’s the only one since it’s, you know, summer. Still, he really seems to be expecting someone different.

Nerves swoop through me, but I soldier on. Maybe the prescription on those glasses is as out of date as his profile picture. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen when he sees me? He’ll pretend to be someone else? I’ll deal.

When I reach him, I give my best, most cheerful smile. “I’m Juliet. You must be Elijah.”

He surveys me quizzically for a few seconds before he breaks the silence with a strained, “Yes. I am.”

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