The Proposal - Kitty Thomas Page 0,21

someone proposes. I can hardly blame the guy for seeing how I'll react to this dining choice.

In another situation I might take it as a sign that he's stingy or cheap, but he's already proven that isn't so. He seems like a generous person, and that's what matters because no one wants to be with a man who hoards his money like a dragon guarding a golden egg—someone who keeps a running tally of “all he's done for you”.

I'm actually thrilled by the restaurant choice. It shows he's not trying to buy me like a common whore. I might actually like this guy.

Part of me hopes he does something disastrous tonight to give me an excuse not to see him again. I can't date four men. It's too many, logistically. I can't spend my whole life doing nothing but dating.

And I don't really want to drop anyone. I could probably drop Jack, but even though he can be an arrogant prick, I'm not sure if I'm ready to boot him out just yet—though he is the obvious choice for dismissal. A few months ago it would have been Soren, but he's been the perfect gentleman lately.

When I walk inside the restaurant, I spot Dayne at a small candlelit table at the back, but I allow the Maître D to walk me to the table. As we approach, Dayne stands. The Maître D pulls out my chair, and Dayne and I both sit.

I really love that. The standing thing. Part of why I meet men for the first date besides safety is to see if he'll stand when I approach. It's an old-fashioned gesture of respect, and I love chivalry. I love doors opened, checks paid, standing, that hand at the small of my back leading me into a crowded venue. All the things that so many women fight and claw to erase, I savor and enjoy. These things make me feel cherished, and since the roster started, I've dropped any man who doesn't do them. This is how I want to be treated, and a man is never going to get better than the first few dates.

“I love this restaurant,” I say.

He seems disappointed by this. “So you've been here?”

“Yes, but it was with girlfriends for lunch. Definitely not the same romantic atmosphere,” I say to reassure him that even though I know this place and love the food, he's the first man to bring me here. It really was a good restaurant choice.

When the waiter comes, I'm allowed to order first. I like that Dayne doesn't try to order for me. Telling me what I'm going to eat is a bridge too far. It comes across as controlling rather than chivalrous unless he knows me and what I order—I like it then—but definitely not on a first date. He's just ticking all the boxes. Poor Jack may be on borrowed time.

“You look beautiful,” Dayne says when we're alone again.

I smile. “Thank you.”

He's pretty beautiful himself. He has dark hair and warm chocolate brown eyes. Kind eyes. And I can tell he's got some serious muscle definition underneath the navy suit he's wearing.

There are several beats of silence, those inevitable awkward moments of oh god what are we supposed to talk about now?

“What do you do for a living?” he asks finally.

I catch him wincing at his own boring standard interview question. And I'm sure he's asking it only because I didn't ask first. I don't do the interview questions. There's plenty of time to get to know a guy. All I care about on the first date is if I'm attracted, if I have fun, and if I feel comfortable with him.

I take a sip of my water before answering. “I'm a lion tamer.”

He laughs, “Really?”

“No, I'm messing with you. Guess.”

“Hmmm, this is a lot of work for a first date. Is there a prize if I guess right?”

“Yes. A kiss.”

“I'd get that at the end of the night anyway,” he says, sure of himself.

I laugh. “Well this way it's guaranteed.”

“Fair enough. Lady Astronaut?”

“Nope.”

“Hairdresser?”

“Nu uh.”

He goes through a string of guesses... teacher, dog walker, hotel manager. Finally he gives up.

“Okay, I'll have mercy on you. I'm a veterinary assistant. The clinic I work for works mainly with rescue groups. They get animals out of abusive situations and bring them to us to treat and rehabilitate them so they can find forever homes.”

“That's really nice,” he says, seeming genuine.

“So what do you do?”

“Guess.”

“hmmm, international spy?”

he shakes his head.

My other guesses