Page 62 of The Romance Adventure

“It’s on another island, twenty-five minutes away.”

“You can take my car.”

She plies me with chocolate and I cannot resist. “I’m only going because I haven’t fallen for Royal.”

“Famous last words,” Bean mutters.

An hour and twenty-five minutes later—I definitely dragged my flip-flops, since I ruined Bean’s high heels—my sister pushed me out the door. Next thing I know, I’m seated at a table near a water feature in a swanky resort restaurant. It’s all opulent gloss and manicured shine—if this is what resorts are like these days, the Driftwood has a lot to live up to. Then again, my vision for it, not that it matters, is more of a homestyle place for families. Where guests are comfortable yet not afraid that they might chip the crystal sculpture that looks an awful lot like a sandcastle that a kid would love to climb on.

I wait with water at my place setting because if this guy stands me up, I’m not paying for a fifty-dollar entrée when I could go home and gorge myself on Bean’s chocolate. That woman has an impressive stash in her closet, which is near the AC vent, so it doesn’t melt.

Just when I’m about to ask the server if they charge for ice, I catch the scent of spicy, manly, expensive aftershave cologne—I still don’t know the difference. With a glance over my shoulder, a man in a three-piece suit, killer quads, strong hands, a deep tan, stylish and short-cropped brown hair, and pewter eyes stares down at me.

“Hello, Mr. McMuffin. What brings you here? Trying to ruin my evening like you did my day?”

“Is this a practical joke?”

“That someone would be interested in going on a date with me? I prefer your stony silence to you slinging insults. I’m here on a blind date, so if you wouldn’t mind, vamoose.”

His gaze darkens. “Strawberry Shortcake, I’m here on a blind date.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “Then shoo. Go find her...” I trail off when I realize what’s happened. “Jackie is not a jokester.”

“Jackie as in Jack Butler? How do you know him? He doesn’t seem like⁠—”

“Like someone who would hang out with me? We go way back and he has a lifelong crush on Bean, so if you’re saying he’s not good enough to be my friend, then you’re insulting her and I will knock out your pretty, perfect teeth.”

Royal blinks at me like he’s temporarily lost his vision. He blocks the aisle for the busboy and shuffles behind me.

I crane my head and say, “You’re hovering. Please sit down or go away.”

“Gladly.”

“Buh-bye.”

But before he can disappear, our server comes over and apologizes profusely for making us wait. “My name is Finley Kline and I’ll be your server this evening. Wait. You don’t need my last name. I keep forgetting. I’m nervous.” She leans in and adds, “It’s my last day. I mean, my first day. Hopefully, not my last. I’m saving up for a mission trip and am hoping tips will help. Okay, so what can I get you to drink before I come back to tell you the specials? Wait. I have that backward. First, I get your drink order and then share the specials so you can think about them while I’m gone.”

I offer her an understanding smile. “I’ll take a lemonade refresher and my dining companion will have the most expensive beverage on the menu.”

Royal glowers.

“Think of this as a business meeting.”

But by the time we’ve placed our orders, we fall into easy conversation as if we forgot we hate each other. Now, we just severely dislike each other, which is an improvement because I don’t want to walk away from this meal with a case of indigestion.

“So, you’re not a morning person, an afternoon person, or an evening person?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just so cranky.”

“I have a lot going on.”

“Don’t we all?”

Finley brings us three appetizers. I’m going to insist that Royal leave her a double tip.

“Thank you. You’re doing great,” I add, recalling the many first days I’ve had on various jobs over the years. “Royal, what do you say to our waitress?”