Page 48 of Accidental Blind Date

“I’m listening.”

“Match with people on the app. Don’t make any real plans, just talk enough to keep them interested. And then when your phone is blowing up, you’ll get Dax’s attention. And since he’s a man, he will get jealous.”

“So, fight fire with fire,” I say.

“Pretty much.”

“But what about the guys I start talking to? I don’t want to lead anyone on. And I’m not looking to go on another dating app date, that’s for sure.”

“Okay so maybe don’t use the app. Find someone to exchange numbers with organically.”

I nearly choke on my edamame. “You mean approach a person…in person?”

“It’s not that crazy,” she laughs. “I met my husband that way, you know.”

“You met him in high school,” I correct her. “In detention if I remember right.”

“Forced proximity at its very finest,” she reminisces.

“And as romantic as that is, I’m not in high school anymore so my odds of meeting a man in the wild are low.”

“Um, hi?” Joni waves around us.

I snort. “What? Here? Most of the people here are coupled off. And I doubt single guys go to all you can eat sushi joints to pick up chicks.” I shake my head, taking another bite.

“What about manbun over there?” she asks, lowering her voice.

“Who?”

“End of the bar. Eleven O clock.”

I glance up over her shoulder, unsure how Joni even saw him at the angle she’s sitting. “Christ, Jo. How did you–”

“I’m married, not dead, Libby. I clocked that man the moment we walked in. He’s been sitting there sipping on an old fashioned the entire time. No food. No date. Waiting.”

“That makes him sound like a serial killer,” I say, my eyes flickering over to him a couple times. Each time, I notice he is in fact looking our way.

“Not every man is a serial killer. And it doesn’t really matter why he’s here anyways. What matters is that you get a guy’snumber and get him chatting so every time you see a chick’s name pop up on his phone, he sees a guy’s name on your phone.”

I glance over again. He’s still looking. Not in a creepy way but more like he recognizes me. And as he takes a sip of his drink, I can’t help but feel like I know him too. Though I’m not sure how.

Either way I shake my head. “I think I’m good,” I say. “If Dax is going to be a jerk, let him be a jerk. He’s just a jerk that I’m not going to involve myself with.”

And I mean it. Playing games is not my style. Especially not with people’s hearts. I’m going to move on. No rearview mirror. No second thoughts. No regrets. And there’s nothing he, or his tongue, can do to change my opinion of him.

Chapter 15

Libby

It should be known just how much I love books.

I think it might be implied, considering that I own a bookshop in the heart of Boston. But then again, some people who shall remain nameless, that selling books for a living doesn’t always mean you love them.

But I do. And at the heart of that love, is the even deeper love for kids’ books. I think for most bookworms, writers, and artists, that’s where it starts, isn’t it? One nostalgically well-written children’s book bore the love affair that would imprint itself so deeply on our souls that we would seek out good stories sewn into old pages for the rest of time.

And this is why I also love elementary school book fairs. They cross two of my favorite things– picture books, and kids who want to take them home. Brooklyn Rose Elementary School is buzzing with little bodies, all flooding towards the library to ooo-and-ah the tables Joni and I spent all day setting up just for the fair.

“You know,” she says as we straighten the piles for the third time, “There really is no sense in making this look pretty. As soon as a swarm of first graders does one lap, it’s going to look like Walmart on Black Friday.”