Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

BLAKE

I can't get Molly and Kyle's story out of my head. They're sure to catch readers' interest. Titles for the piece start to pop into my mind. "Dumped!" "Karma Calling!" Or maybe simply, "Second Chances?"—although Molly doesn't strike me like the type who would ever forgive a betrayal like Kyle's. Even so, there isn't a person alive who wouldn't be invested in seeing how things turn out between these two star-crossed ex-lovers.

My problem is that Molly is so incredibly endearing, all I want to do is talk to her and get to know her better. I come short of admitting that I'd like to date her for myself because I'm sure as heck not going to write about my own social life. In an attempt to break this crazy tension between us, I turn and look around at the attendees of tonight's event and ask her, "Which guy here looks like he's a lumberjack?"

Molly takes a sip of her drink before letting her gaze wander. She finally points across the room at a bearded man wearing a flannel shirt. "Him?"

"That's your type?" I ask, surprised she's not interested in someone more refined looking—someone like me, perhaps .

Her head moves from side to side before she answers, "You didn't tell me to find someone who was my type. You told me to find a lumberjack. Not all lumberjacks are created equal, you know."

I can't help but smile at her wit. "Find a guy you think you might be interested in getting to know better."

She looks up at me from under her long eyelashes before turning toward the assemblage of hopeful singles. Then she points at a man wearing a dark business suit. I inexplicably hate him on sight. "I suppose he looks interesting."

"Interesting. That's it?"

Molly glares at me. "Who do you see me with?"

I look from one group to another before gesturing toward a guy who's probably about five seven. He's wearing glasses and a sweater vest. "What about him?"

Molly's lips curl into something of a sneer. "I don't think so. I like my guys taller."

"But you're only, what? Five-six?"

She slams back the rest of her drink before dropping her glass on the tray of a passing waiter. "Are you only interested in women over six feet?" she asks brusquely.

"I wouldn't have much of a selection, if that was my criteria."

"Nor would I have a big variety if I was determined to date men only an inch taller than me."

"It's not necessarily a height thing," I lie. Pointing to the guy I picked for her, I add, "He looks smart and thoughtful. I bet he'd never cheat on you."

Molly's eyes narrow to the point where only the barest slits remain open. "Fine, I'll go talk to him, but you have to go talk to the woman I pick for you."

Fortunately, I'm not actually looking, and therefore have no problem agreeing. "Go for it."

Scanning the room, Molly settles on a woman I'd guess was a librarian in Victorian times. She's wearing a cardigan sweater over a turtleneck and her skirt is so long it's nearly brushing the top of her shoes. "Her."

"She looks very nice," I tell her. "Dependable."

"You could do worse than dependable," Molly says. "Trust me on that."

"Meet me back here in ten minutes?" I ask. "You know, so we can compare notes."

Molly rolls her beautiful blue eyes. "Fine." Then she wanders off in the direction of the least threatening man in the room. In turn, I head toward her choice for me.

When I arrive at the woman's side, I smile and ask, "Are you having a nice time?"

Her posture jolts upward before she answers, "Not at all. How about you?"

I decide to come clean. "This kind of thing isn't really my bag."

"Then why are you here?"

Playing on a variation of my previous lies, I tell her, "I'm writing a book. The main character is going on one of these dating weekends, so I figured I'd come check it out."

"You're here on false pretenses!" she practically shouts, which causes several people in the near vicinity to turn and stare at me.

"No, not really," I tell her. "I mean, I'm single too."

"If you're not here to meet someone, then you're throwing off the numbers for everyone else."

"But I'm not," I try to explain.

Before I can convince her, she declares, "I'm going to tell Trina. The only people that should be in this room are ones who are sincere about finding love. If you're not serious, you shouldn't be here."

While I'd like nothing more than to get kicked out of this event, I'm guessing Gillian's retribution would be swift and painful. Like she'd put me on the morgue beat or make me the person in charge of covering PTA meetings at elementary schools. I hurry to tell the flustered woman in front of me, "My name is Blake and while I am writing a book, I'm also a single man looking to find my person."

Her left eye starts to twitch nervously and I'm about to suggest she go lie down when she blurts out, "Olivia. I'm Olivia."

Hoping to establish some normal dialogue, I ask. "What do you do, Olivia?"

"I'm a pet psychic," she answers. So much for normal.

"What does that entail?" I valiantly try not to let any judgment show.

"It entails talking to animals and asking them about their feelings. What did you think it meant?"

Suddenly feeling like a three-hundred-pound man walking across a newly frozen lake, I respond, "I didn't really know. You're the first pet psychic I've ever met."

"Do you even have pets?" I'm not sure there's a man alive who would be suited to a woman with this bristly of an attitude.

"Not currently," I tell her, "but I used to have a piranha. I don't suppose you communicate with fish, do you?"

"Why wouldn't I? I'm not prejudiced against fish." I briefly wonder if Olivia didn't just get released from some kind of mental health program. Prematurely.

"I guess I didn't know if fish communicated the same way other animals do."

"Of course they do! They have brains, don't they?" I cannot get away from this woman fast enough.

"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "I don't really know much about fish."

"Then why would you ever share your household with one?"

"I liked the way he looked," I tell her.

"Oh, so you're one of those." At this point, I half expect Olivia to punch me in the throat and be done with it.

"You know what, Olivia?" I ask, but before she can answer, I tell her, "I think that maybe you and I aren't a match."

She has the audacity to look surprised. "Why would you say that? "

"You seem a little hostile," I say. "I get that I'm not everyone's cup of tea, so maybe we should both chat with other people."

Her expression falls to the point where I'm worried she's going to start crying. "Fine, go. I didn't want to talk to you anyway."

A tiny part of me wants to console her, but the bigger part compels me to run for my life. "I hope you meet someone nice," I tell Olivia. I don't wait for her response. Instead, I turn around and hurry back to the spot where Molly and I parted ways. I wait for what must be at least twenty minutes before she finally returns.

"Took you long enough," I accuse.

"Don't get snippy with me," she says. "It turns out you might have a future in matchmaking."

"What?"

"Ronald is very nice."

"You can't be serious." She can't be serious.

"Why not? Why would you have picked him for me if you didn't think we would be a good match?"

Because I don't want you to match with him. But I don't say that. Instead, I want to know, "What's his story?"

"Let's see." Molly taps on her chin for a few beats. "Ronald is thirty-four. He's a computer analyst for the FBI." My eyes open wider at that information. I'm not surprised the guy's a computer geek, and the whole working for the feds thing might give him an aura of mystery. I wonder if that's the part Molly likes about him.

"Let me guess, he's a spy and he's here undercover on a mission to save Elk Lake from a communist invasion." I can't seem to keep the sarcasm from dripping out of me.

Molly shakes her head. "No, he's really here looking for a girlfriend."

"And you like him?"

She shrugs. "I don't dislike him. Although, I think the whole," she makes air quotes with her fingers before adding, "'living in his mother's basement' is a bit of a red flag. "

"No!" I laugh out loud.

"They have meatloaf every Monday night," Molly says seriously. Her expression turns concerned as she adds, "But last Monday Ronald's mom made roasted potatoes instead of mashed and Ronald isn't quite sure he can forgive her."

"It's no wonder there are so many single people in this world," I say. "Seriously, not shocking at all."

"Did you have better luck?"

A full body shiver overtakes me before I tell her about Olivia. "Mine was a pet psychic with what I'm guessing might be a personality disorder."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," I tell her. "I hate to be that person, but I think she might also be off her meds."

Molly laughs in earnest. "Poor Blake. Coming all this way and not finding anyone decent to date."

Feeling the need to defend my honor, I tell her, "I met a very nice kindergarten teacher earlier."

Easygoing Molly leaves the room. "Really? Then why aren't you talking to her?"

Because I'd rather talk to you . Looking for any sign of jealousy, I announce, "Maybe I'll look for her later."

"Maybe you should go now."

Before I can leave, Trina is back at the microphone. "It's me again!" She signals to the piano player who starts to play an old Frank Sinatra tune. "It's time to hit the dance floor with the man or woman you're currently talking to. Don't ask questions, just open your arms and start moving."

I take a moment to thank my lucky stars I'm not still talking to Olivia. She'd probably put me in a choke hold. But then I realize I'm going to have to dance with Molly, and while I'd truly love nothing more, I'm not sure having her in my arms is for the best.