Page 131 of The Business of Love Box Set 1: Books 1 - 4

PETER

F uck me.

I scrambled to undo the only remaining dry napkin from its binding around a fork and knife. Katie was giggling with a hand over her mouth as I stared in horror at how much water I’d managed to cover her in.

Both of her legs were soaked.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like a damn fool as I reached out and wiped her bare thigh with the napkin. Only after I’d rubbed her leg up and down three times did I realize that this was even more horrifying than actually spilling the water.

Katie was still giggling.

I held the napkin out to her. “Sorry. That’s inappropriate, isn’t it? Shit. I’m such a klutz. Here. I’ll try and get you another napkin. Just hang tight.”

“Peter,” she managed between breathless laughs. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a bit of water. Sit. A server will come wipe it up.”

I watched her wipe her legs down.

Was it possible that she was this beautiful and this chill? I’d had women freak out on me over a hell of a lot less than some spilled water.

She took the seat across from me but didn’t pull it up close to the table. Water was still running off the edge. A waiter went past and she flagged him down. In less than a minute, he returned with several towels and took care of the mess. A second server appeared to refill our water glasses.

Finally, Katie and I tucked into the table.

We’d missed the sunset in all the frantic cleaning.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “Not the right foot to start the evening off on, huh?”

She shrugged. “I thought it was the perfect ice breaker.”

“At your expense.”

She smiled at me. “You’re overthinking it. A little bit of water won’t stop me from having a good night. What will stop me from having a good night is being with a guy who completely misses my attempt at a dad joke.”

I frowned.

“Ice breaker?” she asked. “Spilled iced water? Come on, Peter. That was comedy gold.”

I snorted. “Is it too late for me to bail?”

She chuckled and retrieved a drink menu from the stand on one edge of the table. With a cute smile still lingering on her lips, she flipped it open and began scanning the pages. “So what’s the plan?”

I shrugged. “I’d love for you to buy me a drink.”

Her eyebrow arched and she peered up at me with her face still tilted down toward the menu. “Oh, you would, would you?”

I paused. “Wait, I got that wrong. I mean I’d love to buy you a drink. You know, because the guy should pay. Not the woman. It’s a man’s job.”

You’re saying a lot of things, Peter. Shut up.

Her eyebrow remained arched as she leaned back in her chair. “Why? Because women have no money?”

“Er…”

“Or because you think buying me a martini will impress me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Or is it just something you feel like you’re supposed to do on a first date?”

“The last one,” I said hurriedly. “Definitely the last one.”

Her smile returned, but she rolled her eyes at me. “I’m not one for gender roles, Peter. Or first date traditions. So on that note, I would love to buy you a drink.”

“I didn’t just blow my chances?”

She scanned the menu, amused. “Not yet.”

She had every reason to get up and walk out on this date. I’d spilled water on her, insinuated I made more money than her, and subscribed to patriarchal dating rules (which was not true), and generally made an ass of myself.

Again.

On top of knocking her down in the middle of the market, I wasn’t looking like that great of a candidate to share drinks with.

And yet there she was, smiling.

She intrigued me. She was equally as beautiful as she was quick-witted and sharp-tongued.

She dressed like a lady but teased me like she was one of my buddies.

Somehow, she made me feel flustered and at ease all at once, and I had a hard time putting my finger on what exactly it was about her that I found so alluring.

Everything.

A waiter returned to take our drink orders.

I opted for a beer and Katie ordered a mojito.

By the time the drinks arrived, we had agreed to order an appetizer to share even though both of us had had dinner before we came.

Katie explained all she’d had time for was half a bowl of soup before she got out of the hotel and it hardly seemed right to only have drinks when she’d be hungry in an hour or less.

“You can pay for the food,” Katie said after we’d put in an order for lettuce wraps with fresh fish and mango salsa. “And I’ll cover the drinks. Sound fair?”

“Sounds fair.”

She leaned on the table and studied me quietly for a minute.

“What?” I asked. Was there something in my teeth? Was she evaluating the choices she’d made that landed her sitting across the table from me?

“What do you do for work, Peter?”

“I’m a web developer. A programmer.”

“Interesting.”

“Is it?”

“I think so.” Katie stirred her mojito and took a sip.

A piece of mint leaf clogged her straw and she glared at it like it had accused her of something terrible.

She looked around, made sure nobody was watching her, and leaned over the railing.

I watched, transfixed, as she pursed her lips on the end of the straw and blew.

A piece of soaking-wet mint flew out of the end of the straw and landed on the sand below.

She dropped the straw back in her drink and continued sipping while I chuckled.

“I’ve never been very good with computers, so I always find it fascinating to meet someone who made a career out of it. ”

“You can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I’m not allowed to touch the computers at work. I do everything on pen and paper and let my assistants log it into the systems. Otherwise, nothing would get done properly.”

“We can’t all be good at everything, I suppose.”

“How long have you been programming?”

“About eight years,” I said. “I started when I was twenty-four. I’d been working in labor up to that point.

You know, the usual trajectory of a guy who was raised by a mechanic and didn’t have much money for higher education.

I followed in my father’s footsteps and went the mechanic route. Or rather, I tried to go that route.”

“It didn’t work out for you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t like the people I always ended up working with. I didn’t like the customers, either. So I moved into carpentry. Well, that went about the same. I knew I had to switch gears and find something else, and I landed on programming.”

“That’s a career switch and a half.”

I nodded. “Nobody understood it in the beginning. Caught a lot of flak from my father who was appalled that I would trade in good reliable work for something computer related. He didn’t understand the kind of money involved with this kind of work, of course.

He thought I was being lazy and just wanted a desk job. ”

She nodded like she knew firsthand what I was talking about. “Did he come around?”

“Eventually.”

“Are you working while you’re here?”

I shook my head. “Nope. I’m taking three months off to figure out if I’m running away from or toward something.”

She smiled slyly and folded her arms over the table. “Oh? So I pegged you pretty well then?”

“Quite well. I’d say you were in my head.”

She tapped the side of her nose knowingly. “It’s all part of the simulation.”

The quip surprised me, and I laughed harder than I expected. It startled her too, and soon, both of us were in stitches over a joke I’d never expected a girl like her to make.

“Tell me about you,” I said. I didn’t want to take up any more time talking about myself. I had too many questions I wanted answered. Where did this girl come from? Why and how had she ended up on this little island? What made her laugh? What made her cry? What was her favorite dessert?

I wanted to know all of the things.

“Well,” she said slowly, clasping her hands together, “I’m a twin.”

My eyebrows rose. “A twin?”

“Yep, I have a twin brother. Not identical. He lives in New York. We’re very much the same. He’s as married to his job as I am to mine.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a matchmaker.”

“A matchmaker? Like for couples?”

“Exactly like that.”

“Is he good?”

“World famous,” she said.

“So you both work in the business of love?”

She smiled. “Yes, I like the sound of that. He works with couples in the beginning, and I work with them right after their wedding.”

“How did this whole honeymoon-coordinator thing start?”

“By accident,” she said. “I planned a honeymoon for a pair of my friends a long time ago, and they had such a good time that they told their friends, and word of mouth had my name on everyone’s lips in less than a year.

So I started my own business, built my own website, ordered business cards, and just started hustling because I loved it so much.

Before I knew it, I was booking clients with more money than I knew what to do with, and I was working closely with travel agents.

But I lost a lot of money having to split the pot that way. ”

“Until what? The El Cartana?”

She nodded. “Yep. I came out here for a friend’s bachelorette party actually. It was a complete accident that I happened upon the hotel. I fell in love with it immediately. I mean, how could you not? It’s stunning.”

“True. I felt like I was driving you to a royal palace the other day.”

“I feel that way every time I go home to the resort. It’s magnificent.

Anyway, we met the owner’s daughter here in town one night and I gave her my business card.

Three weeks later, I was on a flight back to the islands to meet with the owner and discuss the creation of a new position at the hotel.

I was hired and that was the end of it. Now I can’t imagine doing or being anywhere else. ”

“It almost sounds like a fairy tale.”

“It feels like one too,” she said. “Except for those stretches where I’m working fourteen-hour days for three weeks in a row. Then it’s a lot less magical.”

Her work ethic was as impressive as she was. Was she one of those women who defined herself by how busy and productive she was? I had a feeling she might be.

Wasn’t she exhausted?

“Do you ever think about things you might be missing out on?” I asked. It was forward of me but I had the impression it wouldn’t offend her.

Katie pressed her lips together and broke eye contact. “Sometimes. When a lot of long days fall back to back and I’m tired and losing perspective. But then I get a break and the love for the job comes back in full force. It’s impossible to love what you do a hundred percent of the time.”

“True.”

“I have an important question for you, Peter.”

“Shoot.”

She stirred her drink up. “How long are you staying for?”

“It depends.”

“On what?” she asked.

I smiled. “How things go.”