Page 2 of Happily Ever Never

“Honesty is wonderful. Being cruel and talking aboutsomeone’s weight isn’t. Especially because my weight has nothing to do withyou. My curves have nothing to do with you. And now I’m going to make sure thatmy aunt knows her accountant’s coworker is an idiot.”

“Hey, I don’t like to hear those words.”

“Then don’t be one. Have a great day, Jake.”

“My name is Josh.”

“See? It’s rude when somebody uses the wrong name.”

I resisted the urge to stomp out of the restaurant.

My hostess gave me a thumbs-up, and I shook my head. “Thanksfor a lovely evening.”

“What did he do?” she asked, and I was grateful for thiswoman who, while not a friend, knew me well enough from my bad dates that Icounted her as a nice acquaintance.

“Nothing relevant. It’s just not going to work.”

“I would’ve slapped him upside the head with my notepad, butthe manager was watching,” the other waiter said as he came forward. “Seriously,you shouldn’t even have left money for the bill.”

The humiliation stung, but I simply smiled and acted as if Iweren’t embarrassed about the fact that somebody else had heard his comments. Ididn’t know the rest of the staff well, though I had been on a few first dateshere.

Never second dates. I didn’t get second dates. I had afeeling that as soon as I walked out the door, everybody would be talking aboutmy lack of a second date. For all I knew, there was probably a betting pool.

How many first dates can May get before it’s the end ofthe line? Until she runs out of men to date at all?

Was it me?

The common denominator was me. Maybe I just wasn’t good atfirst dates. Perhaps I needed to get over myself and ignore the NO columncompletely. After all, I was nervous on first dates. On the other hand, maybemy dates were, too, and that was why everything ended up going horribly wrong.

In fact, the only first date I’d had recently that had beennice, albeit without sparks, had ended up being with my new employer—my friendcurrently in love with one of my best friends.

That wasn’t awkward at all.

“As for paying my half of the bill…I just want to get out ofhere. Not that I don’t love the food. You guys do make an amazing bisque.”

“We do. Will we see you soon?” the hostess asked, thencringed. “With your friends,” she amended.

I smiled, nodded, and waved, ignoring the twinge in mychest. She likely assumed I would be here again for another first date thatwould inevitably crash and burn.

There was that one time the guy bailed on me. Or the timeanother had shown up with his four kids—which was fine when I assumed it was achildcare issue. But no, he’d wanted to go on a date with his wife,needed a babysitter, and thought I could do it since I was sitting alone at thenext table over.

There was the time the man showed up, grinned at me, andended up arrested on a bench warrant halfway through the hors d’oeuvres.

At another restaurant, my date had tried to grope me underthe table before we could even finish introducing ourselves.

Then there was the other married guy.

And the widower who cried in my arms as I cried with him,holding him as the waitstaff walked around us, nervously wondering what to do.

That one had broken my heart. I still talked to him and hadeven introduced him to his new wife, a soft and sweet woman who wasn’t thefirst person he’d tried to date after his late wife passed.

I had been through my share of first dates. And I hated it.

I got to my car and checked my phone for the time.

“Six-thirty p.m. That’s a new record for me.”

I rolled my eyes and started my car, heading out of theparking lot. With a sigh, I saw a familiar lit sign and smiled. I did not wantto go home. I didn’t want to watch TV, read a book, or study the latestarticles and research for my field. I didn’t want to prep for my day with Luke,the little boy that I adored and cared for during the day. I didn’t want tofocus on my childcare management classes or the lessons I would be teaching atupcoming seminars.