I shrug. “It’s all right.”
“I thought we’d try that new bar and grill place,” he says, backing the car out into the street.
I force a smile at him. “That sounds great.” I’m not even hungry, because my stomach is still in knots over Lukas. I tried to distract myself all day by cleaning the house and doing laundry to get my mind off him, but instead, I found myself daydreaming about him randomly throughout the day. Suddenly, I was having quick flashbacks of how his lips felt on mine, sending warm shivers coursing through my body.
“I’m glad you finally agreed to go out with me. I’ve thought you were attractive since the day you interviewed me.” Tim smiles over at me and then averts his eyes back to the road. “I was disappointed to find out you were married, to be honest.”
Ugh. How do I even reply to that? I’m a little disturbed that he was checking me out during the interview process. That seems a bit unprofessional to me. I really should not have agreed to this dinner. I already know that there is no chemistry here, and I’m not going to want to go out with him again, so it’s going to be really awkward if I ever have to fire him. I’m sure he won’t be attracted to me then.
“Well, like I said, Tim, I don’t believe in dating co-workers.”
“I’m hoping I can change your mind.”
Saying nothing, I turn to stare out the window, just as we are driving past Lukas’ tattoo parlor. Could the timing be any worse? Red holiday lights shine from around his business sign, and little lights glow amber in the upstairs windows of his apartment. As we drive further away, a sense of sadness creeps up on me. If I had said yes to Lukas earlier, we’d probably be having dinner together right now. I could be smiling at how his hair falls over his face, covering those dark sexy eyes of his.
The new restaurant is packed. Even with the reservation that Tim made, we have to wait thirty minutes to get a table. It’s so loud, from the music playing over the speakers and people talking around us, that we really can’t talk while we wait, which he takes as an opportunity to play around on his phone.
“The emails never stop,” he finally says to me. “It’s hard to get away from work.”
I smile sympathetically at him. Tim is an electrical engineer, and a good one from what I’ve heard. His performance reviews have been consistently excellent since he was hired five years ago. He’s definitely not a slacker.
“It’s okay. I understand,” I reply.
Finally, our little pager goes off and we’re taken to a table not far away from the bar. There aren’t many places to eat in this small town, so it appears that everyone is flocking here to eat and hang out.
“You look great,” Tim says after I take my winter coat off and sit down across from him at the tiny table. I notice his eyes lingering at the v of my sweater. I normally don’t wear anything that shows off even the tiniest bit of cleavage at the office, but when I go out, I like to look a little more human and less like an office worker. Now, though, I’m afraid I’m sending the wrong message. Not that my boobs are huge or really very visible, but there is a bit of cleavage showing, which he has managed to zone in on.
“Thanks,” I say, opening my menu and strategically holding it so he can’t look at my chest anymore. I hate this awkwardness. Tim is not a bad looking guy at all, to be honest. In fact, he’s actually pretty good looking. His short brown hair is perfectly styled in the latest men’s do, with a little bit messed up at the front. He’s tall and lean, with bright sky-blue eyes. He always dresses well, and looks as though he has stepped out of a men’s clothing ad. A lot of the women at the office flirt with him and hang out in his office for unnecessarily long periods of time. I peek up at him as he peruses the menu. Maybe I’m being too hard on him and need to drop my defences a little. He is a nice guy—a little annoying sometimes, but still a decent, hard-working guy. Lindsay is right; I need to give people a chance and not run away from everyone just because Paul hurt me.
“What are you going to have?” I ask him while I attempt to narrow down my own choices.
“I think I’m going to get the rib eye. I’ve been dying for a good steak. How ‘bout you? Please don’t get a salad,” he jokes.
I smile over the menu at him. “I think I’m going to have the vegetable ravioli. That sounds really good.”
He nods in agreement. “It does. I’ve heard everything here is good.”
The waitress arrives to takes our order, and I order a white wine with my dinner, hoping it will calm my nerves.