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I lean against my headrest. It’s such a unique way to meet. She went on the show to find love, and she did, just not the way she expected.

Not as unique as the way we met. Jack’s voice is like a caress, and I blush. When his eyes meet mine, it feels like the temperature in the truck goes up about ten degrees.

We might have to invent a new story to tell the grandkids, though, he continues.

Um, what? He’s joking, but what guy is secure enough to mention marriage on the almost-first date? I slot Jack into the not afraid of commitment column. I struggle to respond, while my mind is flooded with images of his gorgeous naked body.

Finally, Jack takes pity on me and asks, So, does Bea’s story put me in the running for one of your athlete profiles?

Sorry, it only works if you were the one on Farming for Love . As if Jack would need any help finding love.

Darn. You’re a hard woman to impress, Andy Robson.

I’m not, though. And I’m already impressed by Jack’s easy charm. I squeeze his hand, and he turns towards me.

What is it? he asks

Nothing. I just enjoy being with you.

He breaks into a brilliant smile. His mother the dentist should really take a bow. Same, Andy. Same.

We drive along in silence for a few minutes as the grey landscape flies by. We’re definitely not going to Duluth, but I’m not sure where we’re off to instead.

I motion towards the dashboard. Are we listening to Taylor Swift?

The tip of his ear turns pink, and I want to kiss it.

Uh, yeah. Feel free to switch up the music, he mumbles.

No, I love her. But I’m wondering why she’s on your playlist. I would have pegged you as maybe a country rap or retro rock guy.

Really? Based on what, exactly? Jack asks.

You’re a hockey player. From a farm in Saskatchewan.

He makes a tsking sound. I thought we got you over those hockey player stereotypes.

Well, Tay Tay would not have been on my Jack Sinclair playlist bingo card.

Don’t forget my three older sisters. I was that pesky little brother who always wanted to hang out with them. I tried to keep quiet so they wouldn’t notice me and kick me out, he says.

It’s so ridiculous to look at this gorgeous hunk of a man and imagine him trying to blend into the background. I can’t help giggling.

Jack grins in response. You’re in a good mood today.

Why wouldn’t I be? I’m going on a mystery date that won’t involve combat. With a guy who is… I hesitate over how to describe Jack. In my mind, he’s both the epitome of hotness and a really nice guy. But I’m not going to say that out loud. …an above-average hockey player.

Phew, I thought you were going to insult me there, he says.

I considered it. But I’ll withhold judgement until after our date. Now we’re on the interstate. Wow, we’re really going far.

Yeah, we are. Do you have to be back by a certain time?

Well, I have an RA meeting at 8:00 tonight. We’re not going to be gone more than ten hours, are we? I joke.

He shrugs. Would that be so bad? But don’t worry, I’ll have you back by then.

I pull my hand away from his to find my sunglasses, put them on, and settle back in my seat. It’s all good. I just wasn’t expecting a road trip.

Jack smiles. I figured this would be part of the date too.

I’ve always liked driving. Back home, we had to go a long way to get anywhere, so the trip was part of the experience.

Like if I needed new skates, we’d drive to Saskatoon.

It took more than an hour, but my dad and I would get to talk.

He was always busy, so that was a treat.

And we had our favourite lunch place in the city.

Jack’s family sounds like they’re all close, and he speaks of them with such genuine affection. I feel a bit envious.

As I gaze out the window, I see a road sign. Wait. Are we going to Minneapolis?

Yup. Jack glances down at his phone, where he’s got a route planned out. I assume he didn’t link it to the truck’s display so I wouldn’t be able to guess.

Wow, I can’t believe you’re casually going all this way. It’s an almost two-hour drive, one way. But he’s used to long drives to get anywhere.

Do you not like Minneapolis? he asks.

Oh, no, I really like it. When my mother was pregnant with my twin brothers, she had to have complete bed rest, so she sent me to stay with my grandmother in Minneapolis for six months. She lived in a condo downtown and took me to places like the zoo or the art gallery. Stuff I’d never done before.

So, you were adopted and then your mother got pregnant? Jack asks.

Yes, apparently it’s not that uncommon for couples who deal with infertility to get pregnant after an adoption. They’re no longer stressed about it, so… I wave my hand in vague explanation and keep my words neutral. We don’t have to get into my family issues now. Or ever, really.

Naturally, Jack senses my tension. That must have been tough for you though—to have to leave home. How old were you?

I was four. Old enough that my parents could have explained exactly why I was being shipped off to Grandma’s. Instead, I spent six months worrying that I’d been abandoned, or that my mother was really sick. But maybe things were different back then.

Jack takes my hand again. It seems like you don’t want to talk about this, and that’s fine. But I’m always happy to listen.

I nod tightly in thanks. We drive along in silence, but it’s a comfortable quiet.

I turn to my positive memories, like how my grandmother was the one who inspired me to become a journalist. Even though the medium may not be in its heyday, she’s the reason why I want to work for a newspaper.

Besides, it’s a good start for any writing or editing career.

The landscape slowly becomes more suburban as we get closer to Minneapolis. Once we’re in the city, Jack navigates easily through the downtown traffic, parks his truck, and leads me to a large, familiar bookstore.

Have you been here before? he asks.

Magers and Quinn. Yes, I have, I exclaim. It’s an incredible shop with new and used books, author events, and a twisting layout that offers the thrill of discovery.

Jack looks a bit disappointed, so I hasten to add, I love it. It’s one of my favourite places to go. So, what’s the plan, exactly?

He brightens and pulls out his phone. I figured we could browse separately for an hour, meet up here. Then, we’ll go for lunch.

I’m shocked at how well Jack knows me already. All the things I enjoy—big city energy, reading, browsing in an excellent bookstore—these aren’t needs I advertise. But he notices.

Tired of policing my reactions, I throw my arms around his neck. I can’t believe you planned all this, Jack. This is my dream date. Thank you.

Jack’s arms tighten around me. You’re an English major with a room full of books. How could I miss?

Depends on what we’re having for lunch, though. What if it’s something I don’t like? I hedge. Jack’s still clutching me tightly. I thought I didn’t like PDA, but apparently it was PDA with guys other than Jack.

Like you won’t tell me before we step foot in any restaurant, he scoffs.

As someone who’s been called bossy since she was five years old, I tense up. Does that bother you?

He snorts. No way. Do you know how exhausting it is to have to guess what someone wants? Knowing you’ll be straight with me is very relaxing.

Really? I’m still dubious.

Jack’s face grows serious. Can we make a deal to be honest with each other?

I don’t know, that sounds like the punishment in a Greek myth or a Jim Carrey movie.

We don’t have to be brutally I hate your new haircut honest. Just honest about the important things. Please. His hazel eyes bore into mine.

Sure. I think I’m pretty honest anyway.

Thank you. He plants a brief, warm kiss on the top of my head, and I feel reassured.

Let’s get to book shopping, I say.

Jack releases me and smooths my hair over my shoulder. See you in an hour, beautiful.

I watch as he heads to the non-fiction section, then plan my hour: first the new book section, then bargain books, then some random wandering.

While I love being able to order whatever book I want online, there’s something about the serendipity of discovering a book that I didn’t even know existed that’s magical.

I browse, read the staff recommendations, and leaf through anything with an intriguing cover.

Naturally, the hour flies by. I meet Jack with my cloth tote stuffed with books.

Wow. You bought a lot. He smiles and reaches over to carry my bag for me.

Ha! This is actually me being restrained. I have a book budget, and I stick to it. But I did find two books I really wanted to read—on sale, I say with satisfaction.

We stroll down the sidewalk.

So, you love a good bargain? he asks.

Definitely. Thanks to my RA job, I have more money than I budgeted for this year. But I still can’t go crazy. Besides, I don’t spend a lot on clothes or entertainment. Books are my indulgence.

Jack has a huge grin.

What is it? I ask.

I like your enthusiasm. It’s cute.

Did you buy anything? I hope this whole bookstore excursion wasn’t solely for me.

I actually read the latest volume in a graphic novel series I’m following. And I bought this. He pulls a battered paperback out of his jacket pocket and passes it to me.

The Hockey Handbook . I turn it over and skim the back. So it’s a guidebook for coaches and players? It looks pretty old.

Yeah, even this edition is a re-issue. It was written back in the fifties. One of my coaches said it was the best book ever written about playing hockey, but I’ve never seen it in a store before. Maybe I’ll learn something.

Are you always trying to get better? I hand the book back.

Jack shrugs. I got a late start in competitive hockey, so I always feel like I’m playing catch-up. He puts the book away.

Where are we going now? I ask.

I thought we’d wander around and find a restaurant that looks good. There are a bunch in this direction.

I reach for my phone. Or we could check the map and see which restaurants near us have the best ratings.

Ah, yes. The spontaneous method. He rolls his eyes.

I can be spontaneous, I lie.

Let’s test that. Close your eyes, he urges me.

What? No way, it’s too dangerous, I protest, but Jack insists.

He hooks my arm into his and guides me along.

Of course, I peek a little, but mostly to get my bearings.

I don’t look at the restaurant until we’re inside, seated at a table in an older building with modern black tables and sleek chairs.

The menu lists a lot of dishes I don’t recognize. I’ve never had Korean food, I confess.

That’s fine. I can order for both of us, Jack says.

Do they have a lot of Korean food in Rosetown, Saskatchewan? I ask.

He smiles. Nope. But I played my junior hockey in a suburb of Vancouver, where there was a lot of Korean food. As well as Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese. Everything.

Ugh. The irony that the person who looks Asian knows less about Asian food than the white person is not lost on me. But isn’t this the adventurous, big city life I want? Our waitress comes by, and Jack orders several dishes with complete confidence.

When the food arrives, it’s incredible. Noodles so spicy that my mouth is on fire. Delicious KFC, aka Korean fried chicken. And so many tiny side dishes, some of which are delicious, and others that may be more of an acquired taste.

As I watch Jack deftly wielding long metal chopsticks, I get a vision of my dating future. Adventures that push me out of my comfort zone. Being scared, but taking the leap anyway.

Thanks again, Jack. This is really fun, I conclude.

His eyebrows rise. And zero combat. Will this date make your top ten list?

Is he teasing me because I like to make lists? I don’t even care.

Best. Date. Ever, I say honestly.