Page 22 of All I Desire

Chapter Six

NATALIA

I saunterinto the Square Grouper fifteen minutes early. It’s my thing, arriving early to a Tinder date. It allows me to get comfy, take a few sips of water, and feel grounded. Despite my rousing success on the beach the other night with Matthew, I’m not the best at dating.

Normally, I’m awkward, blurt snarky and inappropriate things, and am generally a nervous wreck. Unlike with my other Tinder dates, though, I’m not feeling anxious tonight. Not even a bit.

Honestly, I’m in a sleepy mood after drinking all that herbal tea at Bead and B*tch. Going home, nestling into my sofa, and texting with Matthew while Mister Sinister kneads my belly with his paws sounds pretty awesome right now.

But, I’m here early and ready to mingle. Or at least be friendly over a decent dinner. I hate when people cancel on me hours before an appointment, and I’m nothing if not polite. Plus, ever since there was talk of chargrilled oysters during the craft hour, I’ve been hankering for a dozen. I can already smell the smoky, salty goodness in the air, and my stomach rumbles in response.

“Hey, Nat. You eating at the bar tonight?” It’s Dexter, the owner. He went to school with my brother Max. They were close in high school, almost like brothers. Max and Dex. Dex and Max. With sandy hair, pale skin, broad-shoulders, and a six-two frame, I never imagined he’d be single for this long. Some people on the island thought we’d hook up, but memories of him sleeping over and lighting his farts on fire with my brother when they were twelve keep him firmly, and eternally, in the friend zone.

“No, I’ve got a date,” I whisper.

Dexter grins. “Ahh, it’s probably that dude over in the corner. He looks like he’s waiting for someone.”

“Where?” I crane my neck, hoping to get a glimpse of Jordan before I take the plunge.

“Back corner. Waterfront side. Here, hide behind these plants and you can sneak a peek.” He points to a bank of potted tropical ferns.

Feeling foolish — but obviously not foolish enough, because I step over to the ferns and part them slightly, like I’m in a spy movie — I focus on the man at the table in the corner. The guy is handsome, if not a little stern-looking. Probably a few years older than me. Wearing a suit. At least he looks like his profile pic. Once, I went out with a guy whose profile pic turned out to be from 1983. I’d thought it was an Instagram filter. Turned out, he was the real deal, a 1980s cocaine cowboy kind of dude. Cool guy, though. Owned a parrot. Awesome storyteller. We had a lovely dinner, although I did wonder if he was still wanted by the feds.

Experiences like that are why I don’t mind online dating — at least I meet some interesting people.

“Not bad,” I say out loud.

“Seems like a business type of guy. He’s not from the island, is he?”

“How’d you guess?” I let the ferns fall back into place and glance at Dex.

“Not many people show up to The Grouper in a suit in the dog days of summer.”

“Well, maybe this means he really does have a job, like he claimed in his profile,” I offer hopefully.

“Or that he owns a suit.”

“Or that.” Not many people on Paradise Beach dress up for work. Even I feel overdressed in my simple, black, cotton wrap dress.

Dexter shrugs. “I dunno. I’ve struck out with online dating. Hey, I thought you hooked up with that guy during the beach photo thing the other day?”

I roll my eyes. “Does literally everyone on the island know my business? Is it in the paper today? Did a plane fly a banner over the beach with the news?”

“Naw. Saw your brother Remy and he told me all about it.”

“Jesus, that’s so Remy,” I whisper, and stalk off to meet Jordan. Still, the idea that people know about Matthew and me leaves a pleasant afterglow in my chest. Not for long, though, because when I arrive at the table overlooking the water, my date is on the phone, barking out orders to some unfortunate assistant or secretary.

“The spreadsheets. I told you. They’re in the folder marked Mall Project. No, not Mall Project One. Did I say the word one? How many times do I have to repeat myself? You need to open your ears and listen. Text me when you’ve gone over them.”

I’m wincing as he sets his phone down on the table and stands. “Hello there,” he says, his demeanor changing from arrogant and annoyed to smooth and seductive. He’s grinning like a cross between a car salesman and a predatory shark.

My heart speeds up, and not out of lust. My breath catches in my throat. It’s an involuntary reaction to men like him.

“Hello.” I pause, debating whether I should sit, turn and run out of the restaurant, or kick him in the balls simply for existing. I loathe arrogant men, and I’d even put that on my online dating profile.

Jordan holds out his hand and I take it. His handshake is firm, competent, normal. I exhale.

Maybe I caught him at a bad moment. Maybe his assistant or secretary really is incompetent. Give him a chance. I smile and let go of his hand, sliding into the booth. An image of Matthew comes to mind, the one where he carefully helped Nina’s assistant fold the beach blanket when we were finished.

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