Page 23 of Banter & Blushes

Feeling a bit chastised and stinging from her criticism, I say, “My client feels the same. He’s going to ensure that the land is developed in an environmentally aware fashion.”

“Oh? I’m sorry Cade, but I’m skeptical since most sellers only care about the bottom line and how much money they can make.”

Feeling like a scolded child, I say, “Mr. Sears is a rare seller. I trust him.”

She sips her ice water and shrugs. I let her comments slide because I don’t need to strike out on this date. With seventy-six days to find a wife (of course Jerry reminded me again this morning), I might need to swallow my pride and make some compromises. Luna’s pretty face pops into my head, but I shove it away and focus on the woman sitting in front of me.

Relief flows through me when the waiter asks, “Are you ready to order?”

I getthe date back on better footing, directing the conversation towards the delicious food. At least Margorie orders an entrée and not just a side salad.

“These scallops are to die for! I wish I knew the recipe,” she says, pointing her fork towards her plate. The scallops and fettucine do look enticing, but I’ll pass on the side of wilted spinach.

“Do you enjoy cooking?”

“I do, and I always carve out time every week to make a homecooked meal.”

That’s good news. The future Mrs. Bainbridge is a great cook.“What’s your favorite dish to prepare?”

“Pasta of any kind. I’ve perfected a low-fat fettucine recipe.” She rattles on for several minutes about how she substitutes skim milk for cream and low-fat mozzarella for the high-fat version. My mouth isn’t exactly watering afterwards.

Thirty excruciating minutes later, I’m ready to bail. I simply have nothing in common with Margorie. It doesn’t seem fair to continue this date a second longer.

Margorie pauses in her current breakdown of how to make the best pan-seared steak. “Cade, may I be honest?”

“Of course.” My neck heats. I know I zoned out a couple of times during the monologue about the merits of resting cooked meat to retain juices or serve it immediately to preserve the crust. So, I haven’t really formed an opinion either way. Is she going to ask my stance on this topic?

“I don’t think we have any common interests. I’m sorry.”

My shoulders sag in relief. “No need to apologize.”

“You’re a perfectly nice guy, but I don’t think you’re destined to bemy guy.”

Even though she’s letting me off the hook, I’m curious as to what was the last straw. “Was it my lack of opinion about resting meat?”

She barks out a laugh. “That, among other things.”

We exchange grins.

“Would you mind if we got our food to go? I’ve been dying to catch the last episode ofCooking with Kale.”

Far be it for me to stand in the way of her education on that scintillating topic. “I understand.” Waving my hand, I catch our waitress’s eye. “We’d like to get containers for our meals.”

“Certainly, sir.” The woman doesn’t even blink an eye as she trots off.

As we wait, we talk about the beauty of Seabreeze Harbor. This is the least awkward conversation we’ve had all night.

After I pay the bill and our meals are boxed, I say, “Enjoy the scallops.”

“I’d say the same, but your tilapia looks like it could use a good sauce. I have a recipe for a tangy Dijon mustard sauce?—”

Before she can launch into a lecture about that, I say, “Please don’t let me keep you. I wouldn’t want you to miss your TV show.”

She gives a sheepish grin. “Oh my! Thank you! I need to hustle.”

Margorie scurries away and I stroll out of the restaurant, pleased to be done with that date but disappointed that I’m no closer to finding Mrs. Bainbridge.

The ocean breeze tickles my neck and it whispers in my ear, “You’ve already found your Mrs. Bainbridge.” My feet skid to a stop as the revelation hits me.Why have I refused to listen until now?

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