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