the idea of breakfast somewhat revolting. But coffee . . .
Still, before she set up her morning hit, she wandered—casually—to her answering machine.
No messages.
Instant disappointment made her feel foolish. She hadn’t sat around waiting for him to call—again. She’d enjoyed her evening. Besides, it had been her turn to call, if she’d wanted to extend the little game.
And besides, she was being stupid.
She wasn’t going to think about Carter Maguire and his sexy glasses or frumpy tweed jacket—and his amazing lips. She had coffee to brew, work to do, life to lead.
“SATURDAY NIGHT DATE? OKAY, THIS IS MAJOR.”
Why, Carter asked himself, why had he opened his mouth? What had made him think mentioning it would simply be a little conversation over coffee in the teachers’ lounge before classes began?
“Well, I should go over the quiz I’m—”
“Major,” Bob repeated, drilling a finger into the coffee counter to mark his point. “You need to take her flowers. Not roses. Roses are too important, too symbolic. A more casual flower, or those mixed deals.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Something else to worry about now.
“Nothing big or flashy. She’s going to want to put them in a vase, and that gives you time to go in, talk, break that ice. So make sure you make the reservations accordingly. What time are they?”
“I haven’t made them yet.”
“You need to get on that.” With a wise nod, Bob sipped his coffee with low-fat creamer. “Where are you taking her?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“You need a place just a click over middle range. Don’t want to go all-out first time, but you don’t want to run on the cheap either. You want atmosphere, but not stuffy. A nice established place.”
“Bob, you’re going to give me an ulcer.”
“This is all ammunition, Cart. All ammo. You want to be able to order a nice bottle of wine. Oh, and after dinner, if she says how she doesn’t want dessert, you suggest she pick one and you’ll split it. Women love that. Sharing dessert’s sexy. Do not go on and on about your job over dinner. Certain death. Get her to talk about hers, and what she likes to do. Then—”
“Should I be writing this down?”
“It wouldn’t hurt. If dinner goes to say ten, or over, you should have a second venue picked out. Music’s best. A place you can go listen to music. If it winds up earlier, you should have a movie picked out. This is assuming she isn’t sending you the ‘let’s go back to my place’ signals. In that case—”
“Don’t go there, Bob. Let’s just not go there.” He thought, Literally, saved by the bell, when it rang. “I’ve got to get to my first period class.”
“We’ll talk later. I’ll try to write some of this down for you.”
“Great.” Carter made his escape, joined the flock of students and teachers in the corridor.
He thought he might not make it to Saturday. At least not sanely.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE BOUGHT FLOWERS. IT ANNOYED HIM BECAUSE HE’D INTENDED to take her flowers in the first place. But Bob’s tutorial changed the simple gesture into a complex and essential symbolic act so fraught with pitfalls, he’d decided to skip the step.
One of her best friends was a florist, wasn’t she? Mackensie could carpet her studio with flowers if she wanted to.
Then he worried that by not bringing the damn flowers he’d be committing some unwritten but universally known dating faux pas. In the end, he’d doubled back—he’d left plenty of time for the drive from his place to Mackensie’s. There might’ve been traffic, a five-car collision. Many casualties.
He rushed into the supermarket, and had stood studying, debating, questioning the flowers on display until sweat beaded on his forehead.
Bob, he assumed, would have something cutting to say about the choice of supermarket flowers. But he’d left it too late for a florist, and he could hardly rush over to Emma’s and throw himself on her mercy.
He wished he’d just left it at coffee. They’d had a nice conversation, a pleasant time. You go your way now, I’ll go mine, and that’s that. All this was just too complicated, too intense. But he could hardly call her now, make up some excuse, even if he could successfully lie his way through it. And the chances of that were slim to none.
People dated all the time, didn’t they? They rarely died due to the activity. He grabbed what seemed to be a colorful, casual arrangement, and stalked over to the express line.