Page 10 of The Best Worst Mistake
Or, at the very least,try.
And now, that day is here.
May 17th.
One horrible year later.
What started out as a crawl has turned into a sprint. A blank page hovering over a new story that I so badly need to read. To know that the pages that follow this year aren’t blank at all, but are full of something other than missing him.
I’m in the homestretch.
I force a more gentle smile at Pete before speaking again. “Go ahead and swallow that bite you have in there, and then we’ll talk.”
Pete’s cheeks puff out on either side, smiling as though I’ve done him a great favor by granting permission to digest the half-chewed mush sitting in the pocket of his jaw. His lips smack a few more times and he swallows the lettuce loudly enough for me to hear it hit the back of his throat before it descends.
Okay.
“Pete. As your dating coach, I’m going to be wildly honest with you here.” I lean in closer. He sits taller, and I lower my voice to a dangerous level. “If you chew like that on your upcoming date with Amber, you’re not going to get a second chance to impress her. In fact, she might even excuse herself to the restroom after you take your first bite, pretend like she’s coming back, then climb out the window above the toilet just to vacate the premises so there’s no chance she’ll have to listen to you smack your lips for one more tiny, little millisecond. It’ll all be over before it can properly begin. Is that what you want?”
Pete’s shoulders slump. Even more than usual. Any semblance of excitement that he’d just been expressing to me only a moment ago about his upcoming date with a woman he’s been chatting with online drains out of him. Poor, gross-eating Pete suddenly resembles a wounded animal — all dressed in tweed and plaid.
I bite down hard on my lip. That was harsh. Even for me.
“I’m sorry, but we’ve talked about how eating habits can be a real deal-breaker on a date. Especially on afirstdate. You get caught up in talking and sharing your stories, fine, but you only getonefirst impression. You need to be able to chewandconverse without repulsing the woman sitting across from you. Wouldn’t you agree?”
His eyes drop to the tablecloth and I hope he notices it’s splattered with grease only onhisside of the table.
“Repulsing?” he repeats.
“You’ve literally paid me to tell you that,” I remind him.
He leans back against the booth, then finally cracks a smile. It’s sheepish and small, but it’s there.
“I didn’t even realize I was doing it again,” he admits, shrugging, then he drops his fork. Little bits of dressing scatter.
I make eye contact with the waiter when he stoops to refill our waters and gesture a scribbling motion with my hand, signaling that we’re ready for the check.
Then I throw back a fresh swig, fantasizing that it’s a shot of vodka instead of water from the tap.
Almost there.
“You’re right. You’re always right, Juuules.” He draws my name out like he’s just been scolded. Then he chuckles to himself.Thank God.The last thing I need right now is a mini tantrum from my last client of the day.
“That’s why you hired a dating coach though, right? Smart of you to do that for yourself.” I pat his paw-like hand resting beside the half-eaten salad, then flash him a reassuring smile. “You haven’t had a second date in two years, ever since Britta broke up with you. Little changes like this are going to help you be more successful in getting thatelusivesecond date to prove yourself. Promise.”
“That’s fair,” he answers and we both break into an amused grin. “Thanks for being honest.”
“Wouldn’t dream of being anything less,” I tell him. I pull my hand away, glad he isn’t upset, and even more glad that we’ve finally reached the appropriate time for me to excuse myself from our table.
Not that I’m even remotely interested in Pete — he’s nearly twice my age, and after a lifetime of teaching high school math, he’s probably more comfortable dining in a sticky cafeteria filled with rowdy teens than a beautifully set table with a woman — but there’s nothing more attractive than a man who can make light of his own mistakes. I’m proud of him for being humble enough to take the feedback.
Our waiter drops the check between us, and I quickly snatch it from the table. My coaching fees are inclusive of the bill.
“When’s your upcoming date with Amber?” I ask.
“Tomorrow night. I booked us a wine tasting at Telaya.”
I avoid his eyes while I focus on signing the receipt. This poor guy’s manners won’t be ready to woo anyone by then.
