He was just a guy, right? And this wasn’t a date; it was a business transaction. I didn’t have to meet his approval—he had to meet mine! But my stomach jittered nonstop on the drive downtown.
I parked in a lot off Woodward and took deep breaths of icy cold air as I made my way up the snowy street. Right before I pushed open the heavy glass door of Great Lakes Coffee, I took a second to look through it, hoping to spot where Fred was sitting. Nothing worse than walking into a crowded place and trying to find someone while everyone stares at you. It always made me feel like I’d forgotten to put pants on or something.
But the place was busy, and I wasn’t able to stand out there for long because people were behind me, rushing to get out of the cold. I held the door open for them, and once I was in, I stepped aside to remove my gloves and surreptitiously glance around. I didn’t see anyone who looked like Fred sitting on the stools at the counter, nor seated at any of the tables close to me. Hmm, maybe he’s running late, too. Or maybe he’s at a table in the back.
Hoping to appear relaxed, casual, and not at all desperate, I strolled toward the counter to order, allowing two people to go ahead of me in line since I wasn’t in a hurry. Desperate people hurried. After I ordered my lavender latte, I stood aside and waited, scanning the place again. Still no Fred. What would I do if he didn’t show?
When my coffee was ready, I spotted two empty stools at the end of the counter and figured I’d grab them, just in case he made it. Unfortunately, the couple who’d come in behind me had the same idea I did, and we moved for them at the exact same time. “Oh, go ahead,” I told them, backing off. “My…person isn’t here yet anyway.”
One more look around the shop. No Fred. My entire body drooped. Feeling dejected, I took my latte to a table at the back that had a couple open seats. I slipped out of my puffy white winter coat and hung it on the back of my chair, then I sat down and stared at the empty space across the table, feeling more than a little sorry for myself since it looked like I might be stood up by a date I was willing to pay for.
Maybe I was doomed—the stars were never going to align for me. Perhaps I was born under a black cloud.
After all, storybooks have curses, too.
Three
Theo
* * *
I knew three things about Claire French within minutes of watching her walk through the coffee shop door.
One: She was a rule-follower. She didn’t go in the out door, up the down staircase, or beyond the No Trespassing sign. She didn’t jaywalk, speed, or cheat. She never parked in handicapped spots, always said yes when someone asked for a favor, and didn’t cut people off on the freeway. A genuinely good person. I also got the feeling she saw mostly good in others, too. I liked that, although it probably meant she trusted too easily. Forgave too soon. Got taken advantage of.
Two: She was a girlie girl. A romantic. Everything about her was soft and lovely and feminine, from her fuzzy pink sweater to her long, wavy hair to her puffy white coat and little knit hat. Her voice was warm and honey-sweet, even to strangers. I couldn’t smell her—and I wouldn’t—but I knew that if I did, it would be like when I was a kid and my grandmother used to make these treats out of marshmallows dipped in melted butter and rolled in cinnamon and sugar, then sealed up in crescent rolls. While those things were in the oven, the entire house smelled like you could eat it, like in a fairy tale.
I didn’t believe in fairy tales anymore, but I’d bet my life she did.
Three: She had no idea how beautiful she was.
Women like her never do.
Four
Claire
* * *
I pulled off my hat and fluffed my hair, figuring I’d give him at least the amount of time it took to drink my latte. But before I could take my first sip, a guy in a black leather jacket set a coffee cup down on the table and sat opposite me.
I looked over at him, feeling slightly awkward since I’d have to tell him he couldn’t sit there. He was handsome, with warm brown eyes and short dark hair, but he wasn’t Fred. “I’m sorry, I’m waiting for someone,” I said. “But I can move.”
To my surprise, he smiled confidently. “Claire, right? I’m Fred.”
I screwed up my face. “You can’t be. Fred has blond hair and blue eyes. I saw his picture.”
He laughed, almost condescendingly. “I don’t use my real picture, Claire. People are crazy.”
What? This made no sense. “I don’t understand. How can you advertise yourself with someone else’s photo? Don’t women get mad when you show up?”
He shrugged, his grin turning a little cocky. “Haven’t had any complaints so far.”
Actually, he was more attractive than the photo he’d used online—more rugged and masculine, with his scruffy jaw, big shoulders, and brawny chest. Meeting the real Fred was kind of like ordering the chicken piccata and being brought the Porterhouse, which hadn’t even been on the menu.
But that wasn’t the point.
(And I’d described someone completely different to Elyse.)
“So, what, you use a fake photo to lure potential clients and then you set up the coffee meeting to check them out first?” I asked indignantly.
“Wouldn’t you?” He shrugged out of his jacket. “It’s a scary world out there.”
I crossed my arms, sitting up tall. “No! That’s a scam. I don’t like scammers.”
“No, it isn’t. I don’t take any money from them. I don’t even talk to them, I just leave.”