Page 2 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

A particular couple catches my eye at the corner table across from me. She’s wearing the cutest little flowered top and jeans so tight that I seriously question how she’s able to sit at all. The man she’s with has a handsome, studious look to him. Horn-rimmed glasses, unkempt dark hair that curls over the collar of his oxford shirt.

And elbow patches.

The man has elbow patches.

I would bet my apartment that he’s a professor.

She awkwardly extends her hand to him as he lowers himself to sit across from her.

First date.

An adorable first date, too.

I sip my wine, enjoying the show as they chat for a few minutes and she fidgets, constantly pulling her hair andsmoothing it over her ear.

“Quit playing with your hair,” a man sitting beside me mutters quietly.

I smile and glance at him, thinking he must be enjoying the show, too.

Only, he isn’t watching the couple with the same lighthearted curiosity I am.

He’s got his eyes cast down on a laptop. And pulled up on the screen is a picture of the girl on the date…and the guy on the date.

And below their pictures, their names and stats are listed…

Brianne Hamilton and Professor Elliott Carlisle.

Professor! I knew it. I give myself a little mental fist bump.

Is this man a stalker? Her ex-boyfriend?

“Just put your hands in your lap,” he instructs.

And what’s even more surprising…the woman, Brianne, it seems…listens to him.

She immediately stops fidgeting with her hair and clenches her hands in her lap beneath the table.

What in the absolute hell is going on here?

I force myself not to stare at him, but my journalism spidey senses are tingling.

Suddenly, a crash comes from Brianne’s table. She knocked over both her wineglass and his, causing them to shatter. Red wine cascades to the floor, splattering on the professor’s camel-colored leather loafers.

“Oh my gosh!” she cries. “I’m so sorry! I’m nervous, you know?”

“Relax,” the man beside me says. “Breathe.”

Melanie rushes over and quickly cleans the mess while beside me, I listen to the man do damage control.

“I’ve seen dates come back from way worse than this,” he reassures her. “My intel shows that he has a golden retriever. Tell him something charming. Like…how you have to have plastic wineglasses at home because you’re always afraid your dog might step on a broken shard of glass.”

Brianne gives a little titter and repeats the man almost verbatim.

Elliott’s eyes light up. “You have a dog?” he asks.

She nods, beaming too. “I do! He’s a beagle. Do you like dogs?”

“I love dogs. I’ve got a golden,” Elliott adds.

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