Page 12 of Accidental Blind Date

Libby turns to look at me, and I go on before I lose the guts to do so.

“What are you hesitant about? If the date didn’t go well, you would have cut it short. If you weren’t having a good time and you were ready to go home, you would have been gone by now. But you’re not. If I had to guess, you are going back and forth trying to decide whether to listen to the devil on one shoulder or the angel on the other.”

Libby blinks before asking, “And which one are you?”

“I guess that depends on how you see me. But I know how I see you.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, and it occurs to me that she might be cold.

I suddenly wish I had a jacket to offer.

Then she pops out a sassy hip (God those hips…thick like the molasses in the trees just north of here. Sweet too…) and levels me. Or tries to. “Oh really? How do you see me, hmm? As an opportunity? As a notch on a bedpost? An ego boost?”

“You’re beautiful,” I say and she snorts.

“Please.”

“Gorgeous even. You’re also younger than I expected.” I rub the back of my neck with my hand. I don’t know where that came from, but I am fairly certain I am a bit older than her and seeing as how she didn’t turn me away at the table, it’s safe to assumeJaxwas around my age too.

Libby looks right at me. Oh boy.

“Well, you’re older than I expected.” ".

“Fair shot. Not that I’ve actually told you how old I am.”

“Neither have I,” she retorts with a smug little smile that I’d love to kiss off her heart shaped face. If she lets me.

“29,” I state, and the smile falls to the ground.

“Is it that obvious?”

“What, that you’re gorgeous and vibrant yet levelheaded, and that is really saying something in this day and age?”

“This day and age?” Libby lets out another unapologetically bubbly laugh, and I immediately add it to my list of favorite sounds.

This time I am the one who laughs. “Alright, how old do you think I am? Take a stab at it.”

She taps her pretty lips with a pointed finger and narrows her eyes in speculation, running them up and down my body like an elevator that can’t decide where to go…before stopping on the second to top floor. Not the top of my head. That I am proud to say is full of thick dark blonde hair (even if the gray is slowly taking over). I also have a great hairline.

No, Libby is hyper focused on my temples, which in the right lighting shows off silver flecks. Apparently late-night street lighting is the right lighting.

“Forty…” she draws the word out. “...one.”

“That’s cute. You’re sweet. But no.”

Though that is the year I started growing gray hair…for reasons I am not going to mention because that breaks the rules.

“But we’re digressing, Libby. Either you want to spend more time with me, or you don’t.”

“Is it really that simple?” she asks, hugging herself.

“I think so. We’re two people who wanted to be here for a reason. And right now, my reason is I came across a beautiful, sassy, smart and entertaining woman who I’d really like to have another drink with before I go back to my boring, high-rise, demanding job tomorrow.”

Libby stares back at me, studying me closely before letting out an indifferent, “Mm.”

“Someone has told you differently,” I say. “Or at least made you feel differently.”

“That’s below the surface though, isn’t it,” she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.