Page 29 of Book and Ladder
I pass the Little Free Library on the way to my car and smile to myself.
If only finding the love of my life were as easy as leaving a note in a book.
Chapter 9
Patrick
Have you ever gotten the feeling that you aren't completely embarrassed yet,
but you glimpse tomorrow's embarrassment?
~ Tom Cruise
My phone pings.
Not an email. It’s a message.
Blaire:Hey, Patrick. Looking forward to dinner this week. Your mom said she got us reservations at Fork and Fiddle at six fifteen.
“She what?” I blurt.
“Who did what?” Dustin asks. “I knew you had a secret affair going on!”
“My mother,” I say with no further explanation.
“Yeah. Yeah. Your mother,” Dustin teases. “That wasn’t your mother you were hiding in your guest room.”
Cody laughs.
Greyson shoots me a quizzical look. I shake my head in silent assurance I’ve got no actual love life, real or imagined.
I step outside the bay to call my mom.
My mother. She’s the perfect match for my father. They fit one another.
Do I want what they have? Oddly, no. Mom is the type of woman who loves a strong man who leads her in all things. She’s smart and kind and has a sense of humor she lets out of the bag when she’s comfortable. But she never seems to make her own decisions.
The idea of a woman who capitulates to me at every turn doesn’t excite me. I like to be challenged. That’s one of the things I love about my job—the unpredictability and the constant need to think on my feet. I guess I want a woman with a little fire in her.
Saturday, after I left my meeting with my dad, I dutifully stopped by my childhood home. Mom was waiting for me as Dad had said she would be. And the “thing” she wanted to talk to me about was not a “thing” at all. She and Dad had been to the club for lunch earlier in the week and bumped into Blaire’s mother and father. They all decided it would be lovely if Blaire and I reconnected.
I thought arranged marriages were a thing of the past. Apparently, in our circles, we’re stuck in the late 1800s. Mom even went to the effort of basically asking Blaire out for me and choosing the restaurant—as if that’s not intrusive or weird.
Blaire seems fine with the whole situation.
I dial my mom.
“Hi, hunny,” she answers, sweetness in her tone.
“Let’s play truth or dare,” I say. “Only we’ll leave out the dare part. Did you actually make reservations for Blaire and me to go to dinner?”
“I did. I figured you’ve been too busy to set anything up, so I pitched in.”
“You … pitched in.”
“Are you upset, Patrick? I never would have done this if I thought it would upset you. I asked if you’d consider taking her out and you said yes.”
“Yes to me considering taking her out. Not yes to you puppeteering the date. Are you planning on joining us?”
