Page 18 of Text Appeal

He gives me a long hard look, then shakes his head. Decision made. “Are you?”

“No. But I probably should have hit up Joyce for a cookie. The fake first date nerves are savage.”

I spent half an hour staring into the mirror this morning, perfecting my smile. A touch of anxiety and a heap of happiness—it’s what I believe a victim of love at first sight would be experiencing. Connor, however, doesn’t seem to have done any preparation. His expression could at best be described as perturbed.

A normal couple on a normal first date might kiss on the cheek or something. He almost takes a step toward me as if that’s his intention. But then he stops, and his gaze runs over me from head to toe. Taking in my carefully styled, wavy, pale blue hair, neutral makeup, sleeveless smocked pale blue midi dress, and strappy brown sandals.

“What do you think?” I ask in a quiet voice. “Am I girlfriend material?”

He swallows. “Ah. Yeah.”

“High praise.”

“Sorry.” He squeezes his eyelids shut for a moment before opening them again. “I mean…you look nice.”

“Thank you.” I smile. “You look nice too. How was your day?”

“Same as usual. What about you?”

“Eh. The words still aren’t flowing. I think the move unsettled my muse.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

We are of course being watched, what with this being a public place in Port Stewart. A passing car honks its horn in greeting and Connor waves. Then a couple walks by on the other side of the street, holding hands and shooting us glances.

Connor nods and the two men smile. I smile back at them, and he says, “That’s Tony and Jamal. They own the bakery.”

“I haven’t been there yet.”

“Best cinnamon twist you’ll ever taste,” he says. “What’s in the container?”

“Normally I would go with packaged cookies or cake. But since I am attempting to impress, you get my homemade cheesy garlic bread.”

“You baked bread?”

“Hell no. But I mixed up the butter, lemon zest, dash of mustard, and whole bulb of garlic that goes on the bread. Along with the shredded cheese, of course. Though that gets sprinkled on afterward. Before it goes in the oven. At any rate, rest assured that you and your family will be safe from vampires and the common cold for at least a week.”

“That’s a relief.” His jaw keeps shifting, and I don’t thinkit’s because of my mediocre cooking skills. The man is nervous. It’s strange to imagine someone so tall and built being vulnerable. But he’s not made of stone. Of course he has emotions. “We should go.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates again. As if he isn’t quite sure what he should be doing. But then he walks around to the passenger side of the car and opens the door for me like a gentleman. He even waits and closes it once I am safely inside. The interior is meticulously neat and smells faintly of leather and cologne. Some combination of cedar, salt, and him. It’s warm and comforting in a way I wasn’t expecting. There’s a small chance I am nervous too. I so badly want this to work. And for me to win over some locals and make friends.

When he climbs into the car, I say, “Don’t worry. We’ve got this, Connor. Everything is going to be fine.”

But everything is not fine. Fucked would be a better description. A fact that is made obvious within approximately one minute of our arrival.

I clutch my container of cheesy garlic bread to my chest. This scene right here is why I wore shoes I can run in. Just in case. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Not sure there’s anything youcansay,” says Connor’s older brother, Stuart. His wife and teenage daughter sit waiting at the dinner table, watching everything with wide eyes. Which gives me hope that this isn’t normal behavior for his mother.

“Should I leave?”

“No,” says Connor adamantly. He stands beside mefrowning while his mother wipes away the single tear that has spilled down her cheek. Awkward as fuck. It’s not like people haven’t been indifferent or less than delighted to meet me. But I don’t remember making anyone cry before.

“Sorry.” Denise sniffs. “I promised myself I wouldn’t, but my emotions got the better of me.”

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