Page 9

The conversation flows easily after that.

We discover shared tastes in music, debates about movies, and a mutual disdain for reality television.

Andrew tells stories from his residency days that have me laughing despite myself.

Brandon reveals he was almost an Olympic swimmer before an injury derailed his plans.

They're charming, attentive, and genuinely interesting. When our entrees arrive, I'm almost disappointed that we have to pause our conversation to eat. Then I taste the food.

"This is delicious," I say after sampling my seafood risotto.

"Martin's never disappoints," Andrew agrees, cutting into his steak. "Though I hear the chef is considering a move to Chicago next year."

"Speaking of business changes," Brandon says, setting down his fork, "what exactly do you do, Lexie? Your profile mentioned a small business?"

"I design and sell clothing," I explain, warming to my favorite topic. "Mostly sweaters and accessories. It's a one-woman operation at the moment, but I'm hoping to hire help soon."

“Fascinating.” Brandon's eyes light up. "So you work from home?"

"My apartment doubles as my studio," I nod. "Not ideal, but it keeps overhead low until I can justify the expense of a separate workspace."

"Do you have insurance?" The question comes abruptly from Brandon, his tone shifting subtly.

I blink. "Insurance?"

"For your business," he clarifies, reaching for his wine. "Home-based businesses often fall into a coverage gap. Your renter's policy likely excludes business activities."

My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "I haven't really thought about it."

"You absolutely should," Brandon says, his enthusiasm growing. "Especially with inventory in your living space. One fire, one burst pipe, and you could lose everything."

Andrew clears his throat. "Perhaps we could discuss something more?—"

"No, this is important," Brandon insists, turning back to me. "As it happens, my firm specializes in small business coverage. We could put together a package that would protect both your inventory and your liability exposure."

The wine turns sour in my mouth as realization dawns. "Are you... trying to sell me insurance? Right now? On our date?"

Brandon's smile doesn't falter. "I'm just offering to help protect something you've obviously worked hard to build."

"Brandon," Andrew says, his voice carrying a plea that suggests this isn't the first time. But it might be the first time someone puts a pasta fork through his partner's hand.

"What? It's a genuine concern." Brandon reaches down beside his chair and produces a slim leather portfolio that I hadn't noticed before. "I actually brought some materials that outline our small business packages."

He opens the portfolio and slides out glossy brochures, spreading them across the table between our wine glasses and dinner plates. The company logo gleams under the restaurant lighting, mocking me.

"These premiums are extremely competitive," Brandon continues, completely oblivious to my stunned expression. "And given your specific situation of operating from a residential space, I'd recommend our comprehensive package that includes?—"

"Excuse me," I cut him off, placing my napkin beside my half-eaten risotto. "I need to use the restroom."

I don't wait for a response, just stand and walk away from the table, my face burning with embarrassment and anger. This isn't a date. This is a fucking sales pitch.

Is this real life?

The restroom is mercifully empty. I lean against the marble counter, staring at my reflection in the ornate mirror. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes too bright.

After a few seconds, I burst into hysterical laughter. It was either that or belly-aching sobs. I'll take it as a win.

That settles it. I must have been a volunteer meter maid in a past life who evicted two-legged puppies in her free time.

That's the only explanation for why the universe has it out for my dating life.

Four failed relationships weren't enough of a lesson, apparently.

I needed this humiliation to really drive the point home.

I pull out my phone and text Jessica.

LEXIE: I am never doing this again. Never, ever, ever.

Three dots appear immediately. Then a message.

JESSICA: What happened??

Before I can respond, Jessica's name flashes on my screen. I answer, keeping my voice low.

"He tried to sell me insurance."

"What? Who did?" Jessica sounds genuinely confused.

"Brandon. The insurance 'executive.' Who is actually just a salesman looking for new clients.

" I pace the small bathroom, grateful again that I'm alone.

I'm at least eighty percent sure he's not desperate enough to close a sale that he'll follow me in here.

"The whole date was a setup to sell me a policy. "

"No way. Are you sure? Maybe he just?—"

"Jessica, he brought brochures." My voice cracks. "Glossy fucking brochures about small business coverage that he just happened to have with him. On a first date."

"Oh my God." For once, my sister is speechless. "Are you serious?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking?" I hiss.

"Maybe you misunderstood? Maybe it wasn't planned and he just?—"

"He had the paperwork with him, Jess." I stare at the small window above the toilet stall. It's not large, but it might be just big enough. And I could reach it if I climb on the radiator. "I'm getting out of here."

I can't believe I'm actually thinking about climbing out a window to get away from a bad date. And that's not even the craziest part of the evening.

"Lexie, don't you dare?—"

"Watch me." I hang up and tuck my phone into my purse.

The window is higher than I'd like, but there's a trash can that seems sturdy enough to serve as a step stool. I test it with one foot, then hoist myself up, thanking whatever workout gods have blessed me with enough upper body strength to manage this.

The window slides open with minimal resistance. Cool night air rushes in, carrying the sounds of traffic and faint conversation from the restaurant's outdoor patio. I squeeze through the opening, thanking my lucky stars that the blue dress is stretchy enough to accommodate my undignified escape.

I land with a less-than-graceful thud in the alley behind the restaurant. My knees protest the impact, but nothing seems injured except my pride. I smooth down my dress, adjust my purse strap, and walk quickly toward the street, already searching for a cab.

My phone buzzes insistently. Jessica again.

JESSICA: Are you okay? What's happening?

LEXIE: Escaped through the bathroom window. Looking for a cab.

The response is immediate.

JESSICA: WHAT?? I'm calling you right now.

Sure enough, my phone lights up with her call.

"Please tell me you didn't actually climb out a window," Jessica says when I answer.

"Okay, I didn't actually climb out a window," I say flatly, spotting a cab and raising my hand to flag it down. "I levitated through it using my previously undiscovered psychic powers."

"Lexie, oh my God!"

"Look, I couldn't face going back to that table." I start walking toward the approaching cab. "Not one of my proudest moments, but I couldn't stand the thought of sitting through another minute of his sales pitch."

"I can't believe he actually tried to sell you insurance." Jessica sounds stunned. "On a date !"

"Believe it." I reach the curb as the cab pulls up. "He probably scours dating apps looking for small business owners to target. I bet he?—"

"Lexie!"

The voice isn't coming from my phone. I freeze, hand on the cab door, and turn slowly to see Brandon jogging toward me, waving something that looks suspiciously like one of his insurance brochures.

"Oh no," I murmur into the phone.

"What? What's happening?" Jessica demands.

"He followed me out of the restaurant." I stare in horrified disbelief as Brandon approaches, not even slightly out of breath. His hair must be some kind of helmet, because not a strand is out of place.

"Where are you going?" he calls, closing the distance between us. "We were in the middle of discussing your coverage options!"

"Is that him?" Jessica asks, loud enough that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

"Yes," I hiss, yanking open the cab door. "Yes, it is."

Brandon reaches me just as I'm stepping into the cab. “Lexie, wait—you didn't even see the premium calculations I worked up based on your business description!” He holds out the papers, his expression earnest. “Look. I can offer you twenty percent off if you sign up tonight.”

"I have to go," I tell Jessica, then drop into the taxi seat. "Sorry, work emergency," I tell Brandon, and pull the door closed. "But don't worry, I'm covered!"

The cab pulls away from the curb. Through the back window, I can see Brandon still standing there, papers in hand, looking genuinely confused about what just happened.

Jessica's voice comes through the phone: "Holy shit, Lexie. I am so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault." I lean back against the seat, suddenly exhausted. "But I hope you'll finally accept the fact that I am cursed when it comes to love."

"Maybe the sixth time's the charm?" she suggests weakly.

I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. "You'd better get that guest room ready. The yarn and I are moving in permanently."

I hang up before she can respond, staring out the window as the city lights blur together. Another disaster. Another story for the collection. Another night I'll spend alone in my apartment surrounded by sweaters that, unlike men, have never let me down.

Maybe I'll start a new fashion line. The Rejection Collection. Perfect for climbing out bathroom windows and hailing cabs in the middle of disastrous dates.

I close my eyes, wondering if that doctor is still sitting at the table and whether he'll pay the bill or just leave. Then, I find myself wondering if he was in on it or if he was as duped as I was. Then I decide I don't care.

Some people find love. Some people find packs. And some people, like me, find insurance salesmen with glossy brochures and twenty percent discounts.

At least the blue dress looks good.