Easy Kisses (Boudreaux 4)
“We’ll see how you rank in brother status after this date,” I reply and smirk. “And seriously? His name is George? Is he ninety?”
“No, he’s thirty, and you can’t decide you don’t like a man based on his name.”
“Clearly you’ve never tried to date me before,” I say. “I could decide I don’t like him because his fingernails are too long.”
“Well, of course. That’s disgusting.” I hear Eli chuckle on the other end. “George is a good guy. Call me later and let me know how it goes.”
“Okay,” I reply with a sigh and hang up, check myself in the mirror, and decide that the purple dress with white accents is a good choice for a first date. It’s not too tight, but it’s flirty around the hem, floating around my knees.
And the lime-green heels make it perfect.
I smooth on some lip gloss and walk the few blocks from my house to a pretty café where George said he’d meet me for dinner. I haven’t been there in a while, but the last time I was there the atmosphere was casual and the food delicious.
When I turn the corner and the café comes into view, I’m not disappointed. It hasn’t changed. And standing on the sidewalk is a tall man in a suit. He has dark blond hair and blue eyes, not quite as blue as Simon’s.
Stop comparing every man you see to Simon!
“You must be Charly,” he says as he approaches. His smile is warm and when he takes my hand in his, he’s gentle.
“Guilty,” I reply. “George?”
“That’s me. I’ve heard good things about this place.”
“I like it,” I confirm and walk ahead of him inside. After we’ve been seated and ordered, he grins at me. “So how do you know Eli?”
“I work with him,” he says. “I am the head of his marketing department.”
“That’s interesting,” I reply, already encouraged by George. He’s handsome, has clean fingernails, and a great sense of style. “How did you get into that?”
“I was originally an art history major,” he replies with a laugh. “But I soon realized that appreciating art wasn’t going to bring home the bacon.”
“Enjoying art isn’t a bad thing,” I point out and smile at the waitress when she delivers our food.
“It is when you have an affection for old cars and love to travel,” he replies and stares down at his sandwich. “This is huge.”
“That’s what she said,” I reply immediately, and we both laugh. I like him, but he’s definitely not for me even though he’s a nice guy, and I’m enjoying myself.
“So tell me about your little store.”
My teeth clench at little store. “I own a shoe store in the Quarter called Head Over Heels.”
“My sister has told me about that store,” he replies and shoves some chips in his mouth. “She loves it in there.”
“I’m glad. I like it too. How do you get that much food in your mouth?”
I should be horrified, or at the very least insulted that his manners are so horrible, but all I can do is laugh. He’s funny.
“Talent,” he replies with a wink. “Sorry, I was hungry.”
“I have three brothers,” I remind him and shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”
“And this is just the first date. Just wait.”
Oh, I don’t think there will be a second date. He’s good looking, but my brain is screaming Abort, abort!
He’s not the one for me.
“How did you come to own a shoe shop?” he asks.
“I’m a shoe-whore,” I reply and lean over to slap him on the back when he coughs on his food, then he breaks down in laughter.
“I hear that acknowledging you have a problem is the first step.”
“Oh, I have a problem, and I don’t plan to ever fix it. I knew I didn’t want to go into the family business, and I love shopping. Few things beat the look in a woman’s eye when she finds a pair of shoes that she loves. Sometimes, it’s better than sex.”
“Really.” He sits back and smiles at me, but there is no spark in his blue eyes. “Well then, I’d say they weren’t having sex right.”
“Or the shoes are just amazing,” I counter and take a sip of my sweet tea. “That’s basically it. I just love shoes.”
“Not a bad reason to start a business, I guess.”
“I don’t think so either.” I push my plate away and order the peach cobbler when the waitress arrives.
“I’ll have the same,” George says.
“So tell me about your family,” I say, leaning on my elbow.
“I have two sisters,” he replies. “My mother passed when we were kids. Dad lives in Florida now in a retirement community. He loves it. Golfs all day, plays bridge in the evenings with friends. It works for him.”
“Are you close to your sisters?”
“Not really.” He shrugs, as if it doesn’t mean anything, and there’s just one more reason that he’s not the one for me. “We don’t not get along, but they have families of their own, and I don’t see them often.”
“I see.”
“But from what I can tell, you’re close with your family.”
“Very. I don’t know what I would do without them.”
George smiles and takes a bite of his cobbler and we fall into silence as we eat our dessert. Finally, when the dishes are cleared, he leans over and takes my hand, and I feel…nothing.