Page 20 of The Dating Game

“Yup. So, she’ll probably be stopping by your office later to chat about the details.”

“Okay, sure.” I repress a sigh. I’ll have to be sure my shoes are tied for the occasion.

Now that this mission trip problem is taken care of, I just have to wait for Brooke to ask me out, then I can initiate Operation Scare Her Away.

Nah, that’s not a good title. Maybe, Operation Lose the Girl. Better. Still not quite right. Oh, I got it:Operation Dating Game.

***

HourslaterI’vefinalizedthe set for Sunday, coordinated the schedule for the next month, spoken with—and prayed with —three parishioners in crisis, and gotten the ball rolling on a service project idea I had involving putting a worship concert on at a local homeless shelter.

It’s almost three now, which marks the end of the school day. Since I run the worship at all of the school’s chapel services that makes me faculty for the school as well as the church which means I too get assigned car line duties—and this is one of my weeks.

I open my desk drawer to retrieve my staff badge, but it’s not there. Weird. I search all of my other drawers and under my desk. Nothing.

It’s as I’m looking one more time through my top drawer that I remember I accidentally wore it home last night. I know because right before I went onstage at Twist and Shout last night, the guy at the piano pointed to his own chest and when I looked down I saw my badge was still clipped to my shirt. So I unclipped it and, after the piano guy tapped the top of his piano to indicate I could set it there, I did.

And I never retrieved it, because I was too busy chasing after Brooke.

I sigh as I get to my feet. Well, I guess I’ll have to head over to the bar tonight to get it. Hopefully Brooke will be there and it’ll give her another chance to ask me out. And I in turn can make my first move.

Chapter 7

Brooke

“Haveagoodnight!”I wave goodbye to my last student to be picked up for the night, then head downstairs to check in with Abby, the manager on duty tonight, to make sure she doesn’t need anything before I head home for the night.

Ten minutes later I’m wrapped up in a discussion with Stone, one of our bartenders, about whether or not I’m willing to add a cocktail of his own invention to the menu.

“Taste it!” he keeps urging me. “Just taste it, and you’ll see.”

“I totally would, Stone,” I tell him, “but I told you, I’m allergic to mangos.”

He’s not convinced. He still wants me to try his mango-lada. A pina colada with mango juice instead of pineapple juice.

I tell you. Has the man not seenHitch?Excuse me for not wanting my face to blow up like Will Smith’s.

Most of the time I love owning my own business, and I’ve worked really hard to get to where I am. Of course, my parents did give me the startup money, so it’s not like I have much to brag about. Still, both my dance school (which runs on Saturdays and from 3-6 on weeknights), and my karaoke bar (open on weeknights from 7-11 and weekends from 4-midnight) are now turning a profit, so at least I can say that. I’ve paid off my parents and I’m makingmoney! Yay!

But also, when I have to deal with difficult—or in Stone’s case, overexcited—employees or customers, I love owning my business less. No job is perfect, though, but mine is awfully close.

“Stone,” I try again, “I already told you we can put it on the menu on a trial basis, but I’m not going to try it.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then sighs. “Okay. I get you,” he says. “You’re allergic.” He says the word like he doesn’t believe me.

I pat him on the arm. “Invent a drink that’s mango-free and I’ll be more than happy to give it a try.”

He brightens at this, and I’m able to turn away and make my escape. I’m halfway to the door when I spot the out-of-place man standing at the hostess stand talking to Meredith, the hostess on duty tonight. It’s Will. We’re not even open for the night yet, so who let him in? Duh, probably Meredith. But why is he here? And why is my heart suddenly beating really loudly?

Probably because the last time I saw this man I was wearing a blindfold.

Goodness, I’m weird. Boring and weird. What a horrible combination.

I’m considering turning tail and running, but then Will looks up and spots me just standing in the middle of the room staring at him.

Real nice, Brooke. Hastily I lift a hand in greeting.

“Hi, Will,” I squeak like a mouse who’s caught sight of a cat.

---