Page 32 of Accidental Blind Date
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m trying. Just…send a sign. I mean, look at me. I’m drunk. I have a tomato plant depending on me. And I’m about to lose our livelihood to the devil. And to top it off, I don’t think I’m ever going to be a mom.”
The last words hurt.
My dad always told me I would be a great mom. He knew it was important to me, even from a young age. And now here I am worried that I’m going to kill the plant too. Five days in my care and all those promising little tomato buds will be shriveling up. Tom will be yet another plant carcass that goes out in the Sunday trash.
I giggle out loud at the insanity of my thoughts and take in a deep breath. “Sorry to bother you this late, Dad. Just…send help. Please.”
Just then, my peripheral catches movement in the shape of a man across the street. A man headed right towards me. I straighten up, fumbling with my keys and hold them out like a knife. Meanwhile my other hand has a death grip on Tom.
“Don’t move. I have…a knife.”
“Calm down, it’s just me.”
The voice is familiar, though not comforting.
It’s Dax.
Fuck.
Chapter 9
Dax
Ionly had one beer. A tall boy but at my height and weight, that’s not enough to make me buzzy and definitely not enough to make me see things.
No, the woman I am staring at across the street by the wine bar is definitely real.
And it’s definitely Libby.
I want to walk away. I want to pretend I didn’t see her and go about my night ignoring that she is a part of my now very complicated and stressful life. But now that I’d locked eyes on her, there are several things preventing me from doing that.
She looks absolutely fucking stunning. She’s wearing a yellow top that dips low in the front and the back, showcasing her more than perfect rack and revealing that she most likely isn’t wearing a bra because there’s no straps to be found.
She’s tipsy. She’s fumbling with her keys, the door, and everything else as she leans against her car. If I had to guess, wine was the culprit.
She’s holding a potted plant.
The first one is something I should walk away from. Libby looking ten out of ten in the moonlight is a huge red flag. A danger zone that I know better than to go jaywalking into. The second, though, has my hands tied. If she is in fact as intoxicated as I think she is, I can’t with good conscience let her get in that car and drive off, putting herself and others in danger.
But number three is actually the reason I start walking towards her. Because why on God’s green earth, is she holding a large potted plant? All of her plants in the shop are fake, a tacky detail I noticed among other tacky details about Way With Words that I will soon paint over. This plant is very much alive and has unfortunately piqued my interest.
As I cross the street, she jumps. Juggling to hold the plant with one arm while arming herself with her car key with the other hand, she calls out.
“Don’t move. I have a…knife.”
I snort at that. “Calm down. It’s just me.”
