1. Dating is My Superpower

Juliet

A few months earlier…

He's so wrong. Monroe thinks he can analyze my prospective date for tonight, but my co-host is wronger than wrong. He issues his prediction from his podcast throne, jaw set, blue eyes steely, expression a little unnerving.

"I'm calling it now. There won't be a second date with this guy," he declares into the mic.

"Yes, there will. And not just because I'm overdue for a second date." I give it right back to the infuriating man across the sleek, metal table in the podcast studio. "Want to know why?"

"Enlighten me," Monroe says with too much amusement. "Tell all the Heartbreakers and Matchmakers listeners how well you think this date will go with…Who's the guy tonight? A gym bro? An art critic? A get-in-touch-with-your-chakras guru? A hot suit? You love the hot suits."

"I am a sucker for a suit," I admit. "But he's not a suit."

"A mysterious, inscrutable dark knight, then?"

I square my shoulders. "None of the above."

Ha. Not even close.

"Is he a hot nerd? You love the hot nerds." Monroe fake coughs as he mutters, "Slang for a tech bro bad boy."

Narrowing my eyes, I grip the edge of the table for a second, but nope, I don't give in. I let it go. I am calm. I am peaceful. I won't let him wind me up, not even for the "Predict Juliet's Date" segment of our podcast, where he always tries to push my buttons. Listeners love it when he does.

Besides, my recent string of bad dates is a relatable problem for single women. It's part of modern dating in your thirties. When you first join an app, you're a hot new release. But if you're not paired up and happily ordering monogrammed hand towels with your new love interest a few weeks later, the algorithm drops you to the bottom of the sea of single despair.

That's why I took extra time, did extra research before swiping in the lead-up to tonight's match. It's one I feel pretty good about, so I counter the know-it-all across from me with, "Tonight's date is with an artist, and we've been having a great exchange on the app about?—"

"—poetry and wine?"

Grrr."Song lyrics," I grumble.

"So, poetry then."

"But not wine." Details matter, after all.

"Don't worry. I'm sure he knows everything about every vintage. But the song lyrics? Yeah, that's a sign."

"Of what?" I ask, a little indignant.

"That you won't be headed on a second date together."

"Are you saying I'm undateable?" That irks me. It's not my fault the algorithm is evil.

Monroe folds his arms across his chest. "I'm saying he is."

Wait. What? How could Monroe say that? "You don't even know him!"

He gives me a look like, Sweetheart, I know him. Then, with a thoughtful hum, he strokes his lightly stubbled jaw.

That's a little distracting, because…stubble. Nice, golden-brown stubble, a little lighter than his thick brown hair. Also, the pose displays those tattoos on his left forearm. He lowers his hand, making life a little easier for me. "Actually," he says, "You might even cut out early."

Blasphemy. Utter blasphemy. "As if I'd do such a thing. I give all my dates a fair chance."

"I know you're not the problem. But why don't we take a listener on Mister Song-lyrics-and-wine's prospects for a second date?"

"Bring it on," I say. I love hearing what listeners think. They're always more hopeful than Monroe, but that's what I'd expect for a relationship call-in advice show.

Monroe turns to our wunderkind producer at the other end of the table. Sadie's in the studio with us for every episode, occasionally piping in with a sidekick comment but mostly running all the gadgets and doodads. "Sadie, want to work your magic?"

"I'm on it," she says with a crisp nod. Pink streaks of once-blonde hair poke out from under her rainbow-striped beanie. She hits a button on her keyboard, opening up the polls for pre-date voting while I take over the talking.

"And feel free, friends, to weigh in on whether I'll make it to a third date or even a fourth one. But I'm telling everyone, and especially you," I say, pointing at Monroe with a firm stare, "that I'm breaking my string of bad dates tonight. Want to know why?"

Monroe leans back in the chair, linking his hands behind his head, his eyes twinkling. Even the scar on his chin looks amused. "I really do."

I sit up straight with determination, visualizing the date unfolding wonderfully. "Because the guy and I planned this evening together. We've picked something we both want to do. We're already vibing. In fact, I bet we have so much fun tonight that the date lasts longer than planned." Ha, take that, Monroe. "Like a first date and a second date all in one. It's the extend-a-date plan."

"Wait. Wait. You're claiming this combo date is a thing."

"Yes," I say, chin up, bravado on.

Monroe shakes his head, his gaze calling bullshit. "You don't count a longer-than-expected first date as a second date. There's no such thing as a two-in-one combo date."

Sadie chuckles, winking at me. "Tell that to my girlfriend and me."

I smile at her. "See, it is a thing," I tell Monroe. Then I switch to an exaggeratedly gentle voice. "I know it's been a while since you've been out there, Monroe, but try to stay with me here. It's called…ExtraDate."

There's a curious pause from him. Brief. Then he says, "An ExtraDate, then. Okay. Fine." Monroe's smile is even more challenging than usual. "Care to bet on it, Juliet?"

From her producer's chair, Sadie whistles. "Oh, he went there."

A bet on how long my date will last? This is new. I won't back down from a dating challenge though.

"Sure. Bring it on," I say, wiggling my fingers his way.

"Fine. If it lasts more than an hour, you can ask me any personal question you want on air."

Sadie's jaw drops.

Me? I just blink. Monroe is serious. Those are real stakes. He hates personal questions. Ironic for a guy known as the Love Doctor, who started this advice call-in podcast meant to hit every stage of a relationship, from the matching to the dispatching. There has to be a catch. "And you'll really answer any question?"

Without hesitation, he says, "Yes. I will." Then, in a voice peppered with innuendo, he adds, "I never leave a woman hanging."

My brain whirs with questions I could volley at him in our next episode. Like, what do you really think when you walk into a date? Or what are you hoping for when you swipe? Or maybe do you ever think about that night we spent together years ago? The night you definitely didn't leave me hanging?

But I probably won't ask that one. Because I certainly don't think about that night with my brother's best friend. I've moved on. I'll just ask one of the other questions. No big deal.

"I'm in," I say, accepting the challenge. Not only do I want to win, but I do want this date to work, dammit.

"And what do I get if I'm right?"

"You won't be," I answer.

"But what if he is?" Sadie puts in, the college-age producer herding two unruly cats.

"Fair question," I concede, then turn my gaze back to Monroe, ready to make my own offer. "Fine, then you can ask me anything."

I make it sound like a generous offer when, truthfully, I'm an open book. If Monroe takes this bet, he's a fool.

But that gleam in his eyes turns a little mischievous, and he reaches a hand across the table. "Let's do it."

After we shake, Sadie handles the phones, taking a few calls from listeners. "And we've got Eleanor Longswallow on line one," Sadie announces. "She says she has a very important question for the Heartbreakers and Matchmakers."

I brighten as Sadie gives us the signal that our self-proclaimed superfan is on air. "Hey, cuties," she says in a familiar, gravelly voice that feels like your grandma's hug.

"Hi, bestie!" I say. "Please tell me you're working on your tan."

"And drinking mai tais," Monroe adds.

"Only pi?a coladas for this old dame. Which brings me to my question—what should I pack for my…wait for it…honeymoon?"

I squeal. "He popped the question?" I'm giddy with excitement. We helped coach her through her burgeoning romance with the younger tennis instructor at her club. Guess it's burgeoned.

"Please," Eleanor chides. "I did. I don't have time to waste waiting around for anyone. I asked my honey, and he said yes, and now we're cruising around the world."

"Congratulations!" I clap my hands together. "And as for what you should take on your honeymoon, I believe they say ‘less is more.'"

"Exactly what I was thinking." Eleanor cackles. "What about you, Monroe? Would you have bet on that first date of mine going the distance?"

"Absolutely. I had a feeling way back when that you'd be glad you went for it with him," Monroe says with a warm smile that's different from the smirks he slings my way. But that's fine. I don't expect him to needle listeners like he needles me. "Now, be sure to have a good time. And that's the doctor's orders."

"I will," Eleanor says. "And you two should be sure to enjoy yourselves."

She must mean on the show, so I add, "We always do."

We take a few more calls from listeners who mostly say encouraging things about my ExtraDate prospect, and then it's a wrap. Once we're no longer recording, I push back from the table and gather my things. Sadie tells Monroe she has some listener emails to review with him. That's his area, whereas I focus more on social media marketing, which means I'm free to go.

"I don't have any clients till four, so I've got some time," Monroe tells Sadie.

"Great." Then she turns to me. "Good luck tonight. I'm rooting for you. But I hope he doesn't talk about wine because that sounds snooze-inducing."

Time to play my ace. "Elijah and I will have no wine talk! It's going to be so fun. We're going to Zelda and Nico's Cheese Experience. It's reserved seating and ours is at eight, so yeah. The date is totally going to last more than an hour."

No one leaves the cheese experience early. It's legendary. Maybe I played dirty, holding this Gouda and cheddar intel back. But I don't care. Let Monroe eat his words when my date goes ExtraDate. Combo date. Extend-a-date.

But the cocky man just scoffs. "Doesn't matter. It's not going anywhere. You only do first dates these days."

I fume, my brow pinching. "It's not my fault! I keep getting bad matches."

Monroe holds my gaze for a good, long beat, his bedroom eyes taking me in, roaming up and down until I wonder if Sadie should even be in the room. "Or maybe you don't pick the right guys," he says.

Nope. Not true. But I let him have the last word because I have something better coming.

A great date. I just know it.

I leave on a cloud of hope.

That's the only way to move through this prickly, harrowing modern dating world. Otherwise, it'll eat your soul for breakfast and barf it out like a cat yakking up a hairball.