Subject: Re: Re: More of a dog person
Tell me you don’t actually have a checklist for looking through online dating profiles. I think I found your problem.
Des
P.S. You’re making those up. Why would I assume all flamingos are flamboyant?
Of course he would think a checklist was a bad idea. Des was more of a “gut feel” kind of person. In other words, he liked to fly by the seat of his pants.
Gracie shook her head. This was another reason—in a list of many—why they would never work as a couple. Imagine how he would react to her Christmas shopping list, sorted by family member and price point, and color-coded by shopping medium? Trying to organize him would be like herding llamas.
Gracelyn Greene <G.Greene@DIHRecruitment.com.au>
Subject: Making a list, checking it twice
What’s wrong with having a checklist? If you go to the supermarket you take a list with you, and that’s only food! Finding a partner is way more important than shopping for groceries. I need to know I haven’t missed anything. Don’t even get me started on Christmas lists…
Gracie
P.S. I definitely did not make that up. Google it!
Okay, so maybe she was a little extreme Type-A. Growing up with a mother who scrutinized every single detail of her life had made Gracie a bit of a control freak. She liked to do things properly. It was the only way to keep Cecilia Jane Greene at bay. Keeping her satisfied was one thing, but Gracie didn’t bother trying to make her mother happy. That would be like trying to cut an onion with a spoon—messy and definitely resulting in tears.
Des Chapman <desmondpietrochapman@FirstRestaurantandBar.com>
Subject: Re: Making a list, checking it twice
I’m not even going to touch the fact that you compared finding a partner with shopping for groceries. Maybe have a think about that next time you’re looking at dating profiles. Finding ingredients for soup is not the same as ticking off the attributes of a potential date.
Des
P.S. I’m not Googling flamboyant flamingos…how do you think that would look to my IT guy?
P.P.S. Gotta run. See you on Tuesday.
Gracie dragged the email chain into a folder marked “friends” and finished her lunch. She was already looking forward to Tuesday with much more excitement than she should—and it had nothing to do with her date.
Chapter Two
The days dragged until Tuesday night. Gracie had a blind date with the cousin of a friend—a lawyer, divorced, no kids—so she returned to First. She’d changed at work, touched up her makeup, and ignored the fact that she was more excited to see Des than she was to meet her date.
The city was dark and glittery. A hint of leftover winter chill caused Gracie to pull her coat tighter around her. She’d had one of those days—the drop your latte, ladder your tights, trip on the stairs in front of your boss kind of days—and she was late.
Clicking up the narrow sidewalk, she kept her head down to watch for any cracks or grates which might claim her new stilettos. Breaking a heel would be the cherry on top of a perfectly crappy day and, if Murphy had anything to say about it, a broken heel would come at the worst possible moment.
Her feet moved quickly, a blur of bright red patent leather, as she hurried toward First. As she was about to turn into the restaurant’s entrance she slammed into something hard and dark. Her flattened palms connected with a solid wall of muscle, her nose pushed against black fabric as she tottered on her heels.
What in the—
“Whoa.”
Large hands gripped her arms and the scent of spice and wood-fire filled her nostrils. Forcing herself not to sigh against the man’s chest, she looked up and met two onyx eyes. She would recognize those eyes anywhere.
“Gracie Greene, what a surprise.”
“Des,” she squeaked, stepping back to straighten herself. She brushed his hands off before her brain decided to remember how they felt, and tugged her coat back into place. “You shouldn’t come storming out of a doorway like that. Someone could get hurt.”
“Perhaps that someone should watch where they’re going.” He quirked a thick, black brow at her, his luscious lips curved into an amused smile.
Why did he have to smell so damn good?
“Isn’t the customer always right?” She tilted her head, hoping to hell her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.
Des stepped aside and pulled the door open with one hand, motioning with the other for her to enter. “I’m assuming the dude in the obnoxious suit is waiting for you? Be warned, he’s going thin on top. Give it a few years and you’ll be able to use his head for a solar panel.”
“You’re awful,” she said, stifling a laugh.
He didn’t move as she stepped through the doorway, the confines of the entrance forcing her to get close. At six feet something, he towered over her, and his huge shoulders crowded her as she slipped past. She kept her hands against her stomach, lest she brush them over the denim that melded to his thighs like a second skin.
“Give a girl a bit of room, why don’t you?” she muttered.
“That was much more pleasurable than giving you room.” His wolfish smile made her heart thud an erratic beat, her palms slick around the handle of her bag. “See you for a drink later?”
“Only if you’re lucky.”
She stepped into the restaurant, the dim lighting making everything warm and cozy. Deeply colored wood panelled the walls and candles flickered at every table. The space was intimate, sensual. Or perhaps she connected the place with Des, and she associated him with those words? Shaking her head, she looked around until she found the man in a suit sitting by himself. He wore a purple tie, as he’d said over the phone.
“Barkley?” His name was almost as obnoxious as his suit…almost. The dark gray wool was patterned with thick, white stripes, and the shirt he wore underneath was louder still.
“Lovely to meet you, Gracie.” He extended his hand. Clammy flesh slid into her palm and Gracie swallowed.
Perhaps breaking a heel wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen to her that evening. Her date smiled, his reptilian lips spreading thin.
“Nice to meet you, too.”
“I don’t usually do this,” he said, retracting his hand and appraising her openly.
“Date?”
“Specifically, blind date. I’m serious about finding someone to settle down with, and like all good investments, I like a thorough opportunity to do my homework before making any commitments.”
Did he call me an investment?
“Of course,” she said slowly, careful to keep her facial expression neutral. When she didn’t continue, Barkley motioned for the waiter.
“A bottle of the De Bortoli Reserve Chardonnay, please,” he said.
Gracie opened her mouth to respond but quickly snapped it shut when her date relieved the waiter with a, “That will be all”.
“You’ll like it, Gracie. It’s an excellent wine.”
“I don’t drink chardonnay,” Gracie replied, stifling a smile at the shocked look on his face. “I’m quite capable of ordering my own drinks.”
“Excuse me for being a gentleman.”