Page 25 of Making Over Maris

Chapter Five

It took him a while to prepare for their date—reviewing his notes on nonverbal communication and emotional intelligence…and applying the “product” Kriss had insisted upon—but in the end, Jack was still ready way too early.

Tristan had offered a litany of restaurant ideas but they had finally settled on a nice, elegant Italian bistro off Vanowen. Jack stopped by to check it out. It passed his review, meeting every mark on his Romantic Restaurant Checklist.

Dim lighting.

Linen tablecloths.

Real silverware.

He was at her place by five-thirty and sat in his car scanning his First Date crib notes while he waited for his watch to tick around to the appointed hour. He tried not to be restless but a tight ball had formed in his gut and it surged whenever he thought about what was going to happen tonight.

As he usually did to deal with stress, he processed it, sketching out a flowchart for A Date With Sara on the back of an envelope. He’d certainly played through the scenario plenty of times in his head but he stalled when he got to Step Seven: Take Sara Home.

Should he kiss her? Or not?

It was a fake date.

Did that call for a fake kiss?

He made a face. He didn’t want a fake kiss—

The alarm on his watch beeped and his pulse kicked into high gear.

It was time.

He folded the envelope, tucked it into the ashtray, grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat and levered himself out of his car. He rang her bell at 6:00 p.m. and zero seconds.

Then he stood on her porch, waiting for her to answer the door, shifting from one foot to the other, trying not to be nervous. Trying not to feel like some kind of fraud. He’d spent a long time this afternoon studying his reflection in the mirror, trying to get a grip on his new look. It was so different from what he was used to, it almost scared him.

But he reminded himself why he was doing this and his uneasiness faded.

This was for Sara. He’d been more than a little in love with her for years. And according to the nonverbal communication handbook, she might actually be attracted to him. A bit.

She had leaned toward him when she talked to him. There had been a hint of a flush on her cheeks. And those sooty lashes had fluttered. And yes, she had licked her lips while talking to him. All the evidence showed that might be a hint of attraction. A nano-crush.

Finally, finally, he might actually have a chance with her. But he’d have to take it easy. Take it slow. He knew instinctively—and from reading all those romance novels—if he put it all out there right away, he’d scare her off. He didn’t want to be the slimy dude in the story who had the hots for the heroine but creeped her out. He wanted to be the hero dude. It was a pity he wasn’t a Navy SEAL. Or an earl. They always did well in romance novels.

But he could do this. He just needed to be distant and standoffish—but not cold—and let her draw him in.

That was, assuming she was attracted. At all.

According to the data, she’d been somewhat attracted this afternoon but that could have been a result of her surprise at his transformation.

That shit had certainly surprised him.

He heard her approach and he stiffened, sucking in his gut and throwing back his shoulders. The door opened…and there she was.

She was so pretty it scrambled his brain. She’d done up her hair and put on makeup and everything. Sparkly studs winked in her earlobes. She wore a slinky blue dress with a flirty skirt and strappy sandals. Her legs were bare. His gaze stalled for a second on her perfectly pedicured toes.

“Jack,” she said breathlessly. She was breathless, wasn’t she? Surely she was. “You’re right on time.”

“Here.” He thrust the bouquet at her.

Her hand drifted to her chest. He tracked its movement. “For me?”

He shrugged. “Tristan said I should bring some.”