glass and took a long sip of prosecco to cover the battle going on in her head. She had been on plenty of dates where she had been planning her way to an early exit in the first five minutes. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date with one guy wishing an entirely different one was in his seat. Get it together, Lacey. “So what do you do when you’re not training?”
Beck lifted one shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not that exciting. I do promo stuff for the team and my sponsors, help my mom out. I’m involved in a couple of heritage projects, mentor a few guys in my church’s youth group …”
He said something else, but Lacey’s brain had stopped on youth group.
“You’re religious?”
The words came out harsher than she’d expected, and Beckett stopped mid whatever else he was saying. He studied her carefully across the table. “Define what you mean by religious.”
Lacey shrugged. “You know, go to church, keep the rules, pray.” It wasn’t that she had a thing against men who were religious per se. She’d even dated a few. Just as long as it wasn’t the kind of religious that interfered with their lives. If they showed up at church for Easter and Christmas to make their parents happy, fine. Ditto with Hanukkah.
It was when things started getting personal that she drew the line. She’d learned her lesson long ago. She was never going to be good enough for those types.
Beckett swiped a piece of bread from the basket in front of him. “I would never describe myself as religious.”
Phew. The discomfort started to lift.
“But I believe God is real and has a purpose for our lives.”
Lacey shoved down the urge to fill her mouth with delicious, comforting focaccia. Of course, he did. She met a nice, charming, respectful guy, and he was proper religious. She sighed. She couldn’t date Beckett. Not if he was a true believer. Not when he obviously didn’t do casual dating. And not when—despite the flowers and the manners and the charm—she was sitting here wishing he was someone else.
“That’s not the answer you wanted.” Beckett dipped his knife into the butter and smeared it across his bread.
“I didn’t say that.” At least the whole religion thing provided an easy out. One that wasn’t personal. One that had nothing to do with Victor.
“You didn’t have to. Your face looked like I just told you I thought books were doomed.”
Lacey sighed. “Look, I don’t have anything against religion. All my best friends are religious.” She paused as her words registered. All her best friends were religious. They’d fallen like silent dominoes. It felt like a conspiracy. “It’s just not for me. And honestly, if it’s something that’s important to you, then you should date someone who it’s important to as well.”
“Do you mind if I ask why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why isn’t it for you?” He popped a large chunk of bread into his mouth.
Because I thought I had found somewhere to belong, and they discarded me like trash. Lacey shrugged and stabbed her fork into an olive to try and distract herself from the luscious basket of bread. Luckily she was good at telling the truth without telling the real truth. “I’ve done a couple of books for a couple of people who had big religious values platforms. Let’s just say neither of them exactly made me want to buy what they were selling.”
Beckett winced.
“Look, I’m not tarring you all with the same brush. I know not everyone is a hypocrite. I know there are plenty of religious types who are good, honest people doing their best to live what they believe. But I don’t think that could ever be me. In fact,” she waved her olive-loaded fork at him, “if it wasn’t for the fact that my friend’s husband just died, I’d set you up with her.”
Beckett choked out a half-laugh around his mouthful. “Um, no thanks?”
Lacey studied him as if seeing him through new eyes. She should have picked it when he didn’t go for a kiss goodnight after the musical. “Rachel was right. In a year or two, you could be perfect for Anna.” She chewed down on the salty olive and swallowed. “What do you think the chances are you might be still available?”
“Sorry, available for what?” Poor Beck looked like he had conversational whiplash.
“A date with our friend Anna. Her husband just died. Well, not just. Not like last week. It was last