On the Corner of Love and Hate Page 2

  Months ago, before he had decided to run for mayor and before he had become so distracted by the election, Cooper had been an asset. I longed for those days. He had a gift, an ability to coax the very best of ideas out of you, and he transformed them into solid plans that we then presented to Mayor Dad and the town council. His undivided input would have been valuable here.

  That part of Cooper I respected and enjoyed working with. Pre-candidate Cooper. Except lately, so much had changed. I missed the focused Cooper. The guy who would pull together a presentation in just a few hours. The guy I could count on to bring the best ideas out of me when I thought I had hit a wall. Or even the guy who got his work done on time. I hated myself a little bit because I was missing that coworking partnership. We did make a good team when we weren’t arguing.

  “Not for anything, but you’d think he’d want to head over to Hope Lake Brewing Company to see the guys.”

  “His head was so buried in his phone, he probably didn’t hear you mention them.”

  Nancy nodded. “What do you think? Is this going to get better or worse as the campaign progresses?” She packed up her Sharpies and hoisted the large calendar off the table, mindful not to drop any of the Post-its and papers tacked to it.

  I slung my arm over her shoulder. “Worse. So much worse.”

  2

  * * *

  Dating is like shopping the clearance racks: you sift through a lot of pretty yet questionable items in the hope of lucking out and finding that one perfect outfit.

  The same could be said about the men I’d been with lately.

  I’d had my fair share of the ubermacho, the supersensitive, the would-be feminists, and the still-live-at-home-at-thirty-five.

  But lately work had become my life, and I wanted to find something that would bring me a little more joy. There had to be more to life than getting a contract flawless on the first try or finding the perfect business to take over a vacant building. There was always a little hopeless romantic lying dormant inside me.

  That’s why now, even after a lousy day at work with a few more hours’ worth of work to do when I got home, I was heading out to meet a potential candidate for Mr. Right. A much better candidate to spend my time with, I thought as I walked out the door, than our current candidate for Mr. Mayor. We’d met on a dating app. When I’d swiped right during lunch, he’d swiped right, too.

  And they say that romance is dead.

  I got to the restaurant twenty minutes early in the hope of finding a good seat and, if I were being honest, an exit strategy just in case it went south fast like the last one. I was nothing if not pragmatic. When he’d asked for a suggestion of where we should go for dinner, I’d chosen La Bella Notte because it was the quintessential date-night, getting-to-know-you spot in town. Not that we had a ton of options, but it was cozy and romantic. It wasn’t just the best place for carb overload—which I always craved when stressed (lonely, sad, annoyed with Cooper, you get the picture)—but if the conversation went stale, I could use the restaurant’s history and the CDO’s relationship with it as a way to revive it.

  The place, built along the water, had come together a few years ago. My department had helped Guido, the owner and grandson of the original owners, expand the restaurant, opening it up onto the waterfront with a massive multiseasonal wraparound porch. In the dead of winter, you could watch the lake freeze over while the snow swirled around you like in a snow globe. In the summer, you could wave to kayakers and outdoor enthusiasts over your tiramisù. It was picturesque, rustic, and just about as traditional Italian as you could get in the mountains of Pennsylvania.

  It also happened to be one of my favorite places in town, which was why it wasn’t a place that I visited willy-nilly with these dates. But this guy had ticked off all the right boxes. No red flags in sight.

  Single. Employed. Lived alone. Philanthropic. Handsome. Did I mention single? My listing it twice was warranted because you’d be surprised how many married piglets were just trying to get laid. He was a doctor in his early thirties and lived in Barreton, the next town over. We’d been texting for the past month trying to find a night to meet. We seemed similar, so busy that we’d rescheduled four times already.

  I was looking forward to tonight, but at the same time, I was indifferent. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what made me pause. Maybe it was thinking about the work I could be doing or the myriad other things that needed my attention.

  But I needed this. Me time with a side of like-minded adult male. I texted him as much before I even left the office.

  ME: I’m looking forward to finally meeting you!

  ME: We’ve got a great table. Private. I called in a favor.

  ME: You know, so we’re not disturbed ;)

  ROBERT: [read at 5:07PM]

  ME: Oh, and wine.

  ROBERT: [read at 5:27PM]

  As I waited for Robert, my iPhone, which was clutched in my palm beneath the crisp white tablecloth, pinged softly. Laying it on the table, I rested my chin in my hand and scrolled through the few notifications that I’d received in the short time I’d been sitting there.

  Five texts from my mother. Skip. She could wait until after my date since she was only looking for gossip or to needle me.

  MOTHER: Is he handsome?

  MOTHER: Is he really a doctor?

  MOTHER: Don’t forget to smile.

  MOTHER: Make sure nothing is in your teeth!

  MOTHER: Don’t slouch!

  I loved her dearly, but she was a bit insufferable when it came to my (lack of) love life. When you’ve been happily married to your childhood sweetheart forever, you wish that same thing for your children. I got that, but it wasn’t like I wasn’t valiantly trying.

  I scrolled through my notifications. Facebook birthdays, CNN alerts, my favorite Etsy shop was having a sale, and surprisingly, three texts from work. This late on a Friday night, no one should have still been at the building, let alone working. Not even me.

  As I scrolled through the texts, my mood soured like milk left in the hot sun. According to Nancy, the proposal that Cooper had promised he would handle was a mess.

  From my view in the far dark corner of the crowded restaurant, I could tell he was able to handle one thing, however: a leggy, artificially top-heavy blonde who cackled at everything he said.

  “I have to leave early for an important campaign meeting,” he’d said.

  When would I learn?

  The urge to charge over and dump his “meeting’s” shared appetizer into his lap was strong, but instead, I responded to Nancy. I let her know that I’d take care of what was needed. Again. There was a reason I carried my iPad with me everywhere I went. When emergencies happened, I fixed them. Even when I was supposed to be having a date night to distract me from work. Which Cooper had somehow still managed to interrupt.

  Opening the Dropbox app on my iPad, I downloaded the forms and the press release Nancy had uploaded to the cloud and got to work. The documents Nancy had sent weren’t just a mess—they were a train wreck. The task should have been simple. Cooper had written a hundred new business proposals in the past, yet he’d somehow managed to misspell his own name in the very first line of this one.

  By the second page, I was fuming.

  I checked the time. What would the good doctor date think if he walked in in ten minutes and I was hard at work and chewing on a bread stick? Hopefully that I was a go-getter, responsible, dedicated, and clearly not afraid of carbs.

  A part of me thought about leaving the proposal as it was and letting Cooper finally take the fall for his mistakes. But I couldn’t risk having the CDO or Mayor Dad looking foolish. So in between bread sticks and more wine, there were switching, inserting, scribbling on some napkins, and more proofing than I cared to admit. I could tell that he’d half-assed this on his way out the door. After I’d gone through a few pages, I checked the time. Hmmm. My date was officially late.

  ME: Me again. When you come in, the hostess will bri
ng you back to where I’m sitting. I’m working, but it’s just to pass the time. Looking forward to seeing you!

  ROBERT: [read at 6:11PM]

  I glanced down at the read receipt. It looked like there would be no response, but maybe he was stuck in traffic. It wasn’t exactly unheard of to get stuck on the highway between Barreton and Hope Lake. And it would make sense that he wouldn’t text back while driving. He was a doctor, so he was responsible. I reconciled the thought with another bread stick.

  EMMA THOUGHT: Don’t judge yourself, they’re small bread sticks.

  While I sat working at my table, I was surrounded by couples engrossed in each other. I tried to ignore the moony eyes across the flickering candlelight as I worked, but after a while I noticed that a bottle of wine had appeared. There was a small card beside it.

  Stood up?

  It was scribbled in Cooper’s messy handwriting. I recognized it immediately, for as put together as he was—or had been, up until the campaign—he had the penmanship of a second grader. My stomach lurched. I didn’t need any more snide remarks from Cooper today. I glanced over to his table to find him watching me. He raised a wineglass, smirking as his eyes flickered toward the empty seat in front of me. My stomach sank, but I masked my disappointment and flipped him off instead. A girl has to save face.

  Clutching the phone, I scrolled through the flirty texts with Robert from a few days ago, the more to-the-point ones from yesterday, the ignored ones from tonight. The realization hit me like a sinking boulder.

  ME: Looks like maybe something came up. Perhaps another night then.

  ME: Speak to you soon :)

  ROBERT: [read at 6:40PM]

  EMMA THOUGHT: You chose poorly.

  Outwardly I was fine. Especially with the audience, I would show nothing but a brave face. I was a single gal about town having a great dinner on my own like anyone else would. On the inside, though, I struggled to accept that not only was my date not coming but that I also probably came off as a bit . . . much. It was one thing to be stood up. But it was wholly another to have your chauvinist, manwhore coworker slash childhood friend slash enemy bear witness to it.

  Firing back a message to Nancy, I mentally flipped him off again and included a second middle finger for Blondie, just because. Clutching my iPad, I nestled into my seat and worked on finishing up Cooper’s work, fully giving up the pretense of waiting for a date who clearly wasn’t showing. I spread my work unashamed across the table, avoiding the bread crumbs strewn about the white tablecloth. I pulled the crust off the bread, dipping it into the oil on my plate.

  As I was about to bite into the warm goodness, I heard a voice telling the hostess that he was late for a first date.

  Could this be him after all?

  Sitting up a bit straighter, I looked down at my blouse to brush off some imaginary crumbs and held my breath as he began walking toward my section.

  Holy hell, he was handsome. Huzzah!

  Though he didn’t look a whole lot like the photo he had sent me, I wasn’t so sure I did, either. My profile featured a favorite picture of late, when I had been having a particularly good hair day. It wasn’t the norm for me to have my hair down with the unpredictable late-summer weather, but it just so happened that it hadn’t succumbed to the humidity that day. Half of my dark waves were tied back from my face, secured by oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses. The red bell-sleeved top I wore accentuated my curves, and the matching lips were a confidence booster. I wore the same outfit tonight, but I’d switched out the fitted tan skirt for a pair of skinny jeans and flats.

  The man coming toward me was dressed in neatly pressed gray slacks and a green V-neck sweater that brought out his eyes. His light brown hair was perfectly styled in that yes, I just got out of bed wink wink look.

  Take that, Cooper, I thought smugly.

  Taking another quick sip of wine, I smacked my lips together, praying that I still had some gloss left. Smoothing my hair, I stood to greet him, extending my hand warmly.

  My eyes were trained on his handsome face and his broad, blinding white smile.

  His eyes narrowed, his smile fell, and his brows furrowed confusedly. “Hi?”

  “Hi!” I parroted, shifting my weight between my feet.

  Do I hug him?

  Pull out his chair?

  Take my top off?

  “So good of you to make it. Hope the traffic wasn’t too bad?”

  After all, you’re very, very, very late.

  I watched his eyes glance over my shoulder briefly before giving me a crooked grin. “Forgive me, but do I know you?” he asked, resting his hand on the empty seat before me.

  Two things I found out too late: The smile wasn’t for me. And neither was the hot date.

  It was for the equally attractive man who stood up at the table beside me in greeting.

  We formed the strangest triangle.

  “Marcus, is everything okay?” he asked. Now there was not one but two magnificently attractive men looking at me quizzically along with my entire corner of the restaurant.

  Please don’t let Cooper be watching this.

  I didn’t dare look over to him. The thought of him watching, recording for posterity, or just plain laughing was too much for my already bruised ego to take.

  Someone next to me snorted, earning a jab in the ribs from his date, who looked on with sympathy. I was pretty sure a woman snapped a photo that would surely end up on a dating fails website later.

  EMMA THOUGHT: There isn’t enough wine in the restaurant to make this suck less.

  “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I whispered, keeping my head down. My hope was that the two would sit down so that I could forget that the whole thing had happened.

  With two more curious looks, they took their seats, and I drained my wine and willed my face to return to its normal shade of not-mortified. Once my heart calmed, my cheeks cooled, and my ego climbed its way back up from the pit of my stomach, I went back to work quietly, all while refusing to glance over at Cooper and his date. I knew they were staring. I could already hear him chuckling. She guffawed.

  Do. Not. Look.

  After a few seconds passed, everyone else seemed to have moved on, but I still hadn’t quite recovered. In my periphery, I could see Cooper and his date leaning closer as their evening went on. I huffed a sigh. Focus, Emma. I sent another text off to Nancy.

  With her reply blinking, I allowed myself thirty more seconds of misery, deciding I’d lose myself in manicotti or cannelloni and . . .

  “More wine?” the server asked, popping up out of thin air. She had been lurking since I’d arrived. Even with the sun fading behind her, I could see her eye roll. It was clear she was trying to suppress her irritation that I was still here waiting and hadn’t yet ordered. Trust me, sister. This night isn’t going the way either of us planned.

  I glanced at my watch. It hadn’t been that long, had it? My shoulders slumped.

  It had been that long.

  The server cleared her throat.

  “Yes, I’ll have another glass.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re right, just give me what’s left of the bottle. Take this one back to the table that sent it,” I instructed, but then thought better of it. “On second thought, I’ll take that one home with me.”

  Cooper had plenty of money—the least he could do was buy me a bottle of wine after everything I’d done for him tonight.

  Maybe I should order another and put it on his tab.

  She was judging me. I could tell. Nearly every woman in the place had shot a sympathetic gaze my way over the course of the night, especially the ones within earshot of the embarrassing scene a few moments before.

  “Maybe you should switch to water,” she suggested gently, moving the thick leather book full of Italian wines out of my reach.

  “I’m sure drinking will improve my mood.”

  I wondered what she was thinking, looking down on me as I sat there in the romantic restaurant working. What I
would have been thinking if the roles had been reversed.

  “Or maybe you should order, or—”

  “Or,” I responded, dashing her hope of filling this table with a higher-paying check. “Just another thirty minutes,” I said. “Then I’ll go.” I wanted to choke myself with a bread stick.

  Speaking of choking, Cooper’s date had drawn the attention of the tables around them when she crawled into his lap to help feed him what was left of their shared dessert. Her dress was hiked up around her thighs as she straddled and spoon-fed him tiramisù.

  They were one bite, slap, and tickle away from a live-action adult film. If I got up to leave now, I’d have to say something to him. “Thanks for screwing me over, jackass. Again.”

  Drinks, dinner, flirt, giggle, flirt, giggle, was that a slap? I inwardly gagged at whatever pseudoromantic BS he was spewing. His date was obviously falling for it, given the haughty titters that spilled from her perfect pink-painted lips. Her graceful neck was thrown back as she laughed just before running a long, red-painted nail down his chest.

  The server spied me glaring and turned to check it out. All she could see was his back and his hand resting on her knee, his thumb rubbing circles slowly against skin.

  “I can slip you out the kitchen door if your ex is here,” she offered conspiratorially. Any trace of annoyance was gone. It had been replaced with a sense of solidarity that women get when one of their own is hurt.

  As if! I thought indignantly. I wouldn’t be caught dead dating Cooper!

  Even in my head my argument sounded forced.

  When you grow up being dear friends with a person, you have two choices when things go south. Either you continue to love the person he becomes while still considering him to be one of your dearest friends. Or you watch him turn into an unrecognizable adult who makes dreadful choices about life and love—or sex, as it were—and make the hard decision to excise him from your life as much as possible.