his loss, McKenna,” I say in a fierce tone. I barely know this woman, but what kind of jackass leaves a woman the day of her wedding?
She clears the emotion from her throat. “It’s all for the best. I’m better off without him.”
“But he should have figured that out a week or a month before.”
“True.” She raises her mug and offers it in a toast. “But I’ll drink to learning it before I said ‘I do.’ Besides, one of the biggest red flags was there from the get-go. He liked to steal the first sip of Diet Coke every time I opened a new can. And hello! That’s kind of a passion of mine.”
I smile at her ability to make light of a difficult situation, lifting my mug and clinking back. “To never stealing first sips.” I take a drink of my espresso then ask a question. “And now you’re out there and dating again?” The words taste like sawdust.
Or maybe that’s jealousy. Which makes zero sense, since I barely know her. Must be a standard territorial guy thing I’m feeling. Yeah, that has to be it.
“I’m kicking it old-school.” She slashes her hand through the air, like she’s making a no sign. “No apps, no online matching, no swipe this or that. I’m going to try my luck the old-fashioned way. I was asked out the other day on the street by a guy who owns a restaurant. Lucky me.”
The smile she gives makes it clear she’s 100 percent excited for this date, and then some.
“Lucky guy,” I say, and I mean it 100 percent.
Her eyes lock on mine for a second, the flecks in them sparkling. “What about you? You must be inundated with date requests all the time.”
I scoff. “I’m not on the apps.”
“Of course,” she says quickly, as if she’s correcting herself. “You don't need to be. You probably get asked out when you walk into coffee shops.”
She’s not wrong, but that’s not why I’m not on the apps.
I heave a sigh, and serve up the truth. “I’m honestly not focused on that right now. I have what’s known as trust issues,” I say, trying to make light of it.
“Ooh. Sounds fascinating.” She leans closer, her tone like those used in a 1940s detective flick. “I have those too. Tell me, Chris. What are your trust issues?”
I picture Carly, the producer I dated at work last year. She was fun, ambitious, and fiery. Trouble was, she was also a bit vengeful. “I dated a woman I worked with for about six months. She wanted more, and I didn’t. No particular reason, but I just didn’t feel the same level of spark. It didn’t work out.”
“Spark is critical. Or so I hear.”
“Spark is essential. I ended things before Carly tried to take it to the next level. She didn’t take it well.”
McKenna winces. “What did she do?”
My gut churns as I recall the turbulence. “Subtle things. In meetings she’d shoot down all my ideas. On the set, she’d say I was doing everything wrong. She’d claim I missed her emails about how we were doing this or that segment. She’d change up the questions from viewers without telling me. Her mission was to make life as unpleasant as possible, and it worked. I was miserable while she was working on my show, and I don’t think I did my best work then, truth be told.”
“Was there anything you could do about it?”
I shake my head. “Maybe, but I didn’t, which wasn’t the best idea in retrospect. There are a lot of people working on the show—writers, other producers, stagehands—who depend on it. But I was so hamstrung and unsure of what to do. I didn’t want to rock the boat and cause more problems. I didn’t want to misstep and hurt her career.”
“Seems like she was trying to hurt yours,” she says softly.
I nod, sighing, since that’s precisely what nearly happened. “One time we were taking live questions from viewers, and her job was to screen them. She let a guy on who asked, ‘Can you give me your best tip for scoring with a girl at work?’”
McKenna’s expression goes ashen. “Oh no, she didn’t.”
“She did, and I was so taken aback by it, I kind of bungled it. I asked her why she let that guy on, thinking maybe the viewer changed up the question. But she said she thought it was a timely topic, given all the various dating and girl questions that viewers send