Page 27 of My Killer Blind Date

‘Please. All those reality TV shows where people are like “this was meant to be” and “everything happens for a reason,” bla bla bla?’ I make a yapping motion with my hand. ‘Total bullshit. I swear. I mean … I watch those shows. Guilty. But come on.’

I’m not going to tell him that, actually, finding a soulmate would be my absolute dream. But having a dream and believing it could actually happen are two different things.

‘Wait, wait—’ Liam is laughing again. ‘You don’t believe everything happens for a reason?’

‘Of course not!’ I swing an arm wide, as if to encompass not just the restaurant, but the world. ‘Look around you. War. Violence. Cancer. Natural disasters. Good people dying young—’ My throat catches, but I force myself to continue. ‘—bad people getting away with terrible things. It’s completely senseless. Anyone who says otherwise is, first of all, extremely fucking privileged, and second, either naive or stupidly delusional.’

Whoops. I did not mean to get that intense. What is it about this guy that, even in these extreme circumstances, makes me want to open up?

He leans in, his expression open. Unguarded.

‘But there is a reason for war and violence. It’s human choice. Even cancer – think microplastics, carcinogens in laundry detergent, I mean, the list goes on. My point is – humans are behind those things, the good and the bad.’

‘Fair,’ I concede. ‘But natural disasters? Accidents?’

‘We keep building cities in floodplains and driving recklessly.’

‘Genetic diseases. Dementia. Human agency isn’t behind everything, Liam.’

‘What about divine agency? Do you believe in a higher power?’

‘No, or they’d have to be a complete monster. Why? Do you?’

‘Absolutely.’ He says it so certainly, like there’s no doubt in his mind, which I find both enraging and … endearing? ‘I absolutely believe in a higher power that makes sense of everything. Maybe we can’t understand it now. But one day …’

OK, as much as I disagree, this does not seem like the philosophy of a killer.

‘You’re surprising me,’ I blurt out before I can check myself.

Liam’s mouth turns up at one side, like this pleases him extraordinarily. ‘In a good way, I hope?’

Yes. Which, damn it. I was supposed to be uncovering his dark side. Not whatever this is.

‘I’m just seeing another side of you. That’s all.’

‘I have sides for days,’ he says with a slightly naughty wink, knocking back the last bit of his beverage.

‘I like sides,’ I say before I can stop myself.

‘So that’s your type?’ he teases. ‘Guys with sides?’ He rotates his body back and forth, as if showing me his sides … and damn his cut torso is certainly nice to look at from multiple angles.

‘Yeah. People with dimensions. Interesting people,’ I reply, realizing as I say this that Liam, whoever he actually is under his charm, whatever he’s actually done, is the most interesting guy I’ve dated – ever. My main takeaway from dating over the years is that the grand majority of people are reading from the same script. Not Liam. ‘And guys who collect ceramic squirrels,’ I add.

He laughs, full-bellied, and my whole body buzzes. Truly, I shouldn’t like making him laugh this much. I might accidentally get addicted.

‘Well – I’ll have to beg off on the squirrels,’ he says when he recovers. ‘But if you’ll go on another date with me, I can promise to keep things interesting.’

I bet you can, I think as a traitorous warmth trembles in my core. I shift on my seat. What the fuck, Margot??? Getting turned on by interesting men – and their forearms – has always been my kryptonite. Unfortunately, my body seems to have categorized ‘potential serial killer with layers’ under the ‘interesting’ umbrella, like it didn’t get the message about the nonnegotiable moral disqualifiers.

Then, Liam leans forward. The space between us is reduced to inches, and this time, I’m a willing participant. A tremble of a breath passes through my lips. I want him to kiss me. Which is so wrong.

‘Wait. I don’t know your last name,’ I breathe. ‘And I don’t have your number.’

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. At the touch of his fingers, goosebumps race up my arms and legs. His touch feels incredibly intimate. More alarmingly, I have no desire for him to stop.

‘Porter.’ His hand lingers at my face. ‘And you can have my number if you promise we can do this again tomorrow. Please say yes.’

Then, before I can answer, his lips brush mine. My body comes alive as his hand cups my neck, drawing me closer. It’s a sweet kiss – no tongue – just a light pressure on my lips, and his hand moving up my neck, into my hair. I put my hand on his face, feeling the warmth of his skin, the scratch of stubble on his jaw.