Page 19 of Make a Scene

“She’s beautiful, but this is strictly business,” Duncan said before throwing a punch.

ChapterSix

What struckDuncan when he entered the bowling alley, the site of his “date” with Retta, was how few people were in there. The only other patrons were a group of forty-somethings who were singing along to the muffled 2000s pop music playing from the speakers above. He chose to ignore the feet and onion ring smell that also drifted through the building.

After getting his shoes and assigned a lane, he waited only a few minutes before Retta arrived as well.

“You look great,” Duncan said, taking in her breezy countenance.

“Oh!” She looked down at her jeans and a flowy blouse. “It’s old. I stole it from my friend’s closet.”

He wanted to say more about it. Flirt a little bit, but he didn’t know if that was allowed. There wasn’t exactly a guidebook on how to fake date.

“This is for you,” Duncan said, handing her a wrapped square package.

Her eyes widened as she took a hold of it. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s honestly nothing,” he said. This was a weird situation, and he felt like maybe this might ease the awkwardness. But now he was second-guessing the logic.

She unwrapped the small gift to reveal colorful Post-it notes. The same ones she’d been leaving on his and the team’s cars for the past weeks.

Retta cracked a smile, and he relaxed a bit.

“I thought you might’ve been running low,” he said.

She smiled even wider and shook her head. “Thank you.” After placing the bundle in her purse, she said, “I was thinking we could start with some ice breakers.”

Smart. It would make them comfortable talking to each other. “Hit me,” he said, stepping up onto the raised platform closer to her.

Adjusting her glasses with the tips of her fingers, she looked down at her phone. “Last name?”

“Gilmore.”

“Majors,” she offered.

She then asked his age.

“Twenty-nine,” he said after the noise from the rowdy group bowling beside them died down.

“Twenty-eight.”

He nodded, trying not to betray how amusing he found having questions launched at him as if he were at a job interview.

“What did you want to be when you were younger?” Retta read from her screen.

“A school teacher. My whole family are teachers. That’s how my parents met, actually.”

She opened her mouth like she might have a follow-up question, but instead she said, “I wanted to be an artist.”

Beforehecould find out more, she queried about something else.

He realized after another three questions, she’d be content to do this for their entire date and that certainly wouldn’t happen on his watch. He wasn’t going to spend his one day off answering prompts that, at best, would help unlock his dormant Facebook account.

“If you could be an animal—”

“Hey, hey,” he gently said. She looked up at him over the brim of her glasses, and for the briefest of moments, something in his stomach caught.

“What?” she asked.