Midnight Valentine

28

“You don’t say,” I murmur, feeling like I’m having an out-of-body experience.

“So I thought, shoot—why not just go for it? I think you’re a beautiful girl. Ballsy too. There aren’t many guys who negotiate as hard as you do. I like that.”

He likes how I negotiate? What the f**k is happening right now? I have to take a moment to compose myself before I answer.

“That’s…very flattering, Craig. But I have to be honest and tell you I thought you and Suzanne really hit it off at dinner. Why don’t you ask her for a date?”

In the pause as he chooses his words, I hear street noise in the background. “She’s not really my type.”

“Smart, sexy career girls aren’t your type? I find that hard to believe.”

“Listen, I don’t want to say anything negative about your friend, okay? She’s just a little too obvious for my taste.”

A flash of irritation hardens my tone. “Obvious. That’s guy code for desperate, slutty, cheap, or all of the above, right?”

He pauses again, longer this time. “I’m sorry if that was offensive. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice of word. I just don’t find her as attractive as I find you.”

“You could’ve fooled me. You two were all over each other at dinner.”

“No, she was all over me. I kept trying to get your attention, but you seemed distracted.”

I was distracted by all the hormones in the air, but from what he’s telling me, his hormones were aimed in my direction. God, are my instincts that off? Maybe being celibate for five years has dried up my intuition along with my poor uterus.

I stand from the bed, walk to the windows, and stare out at the restless sea. It’s the same leaden gray as the sky, and my heart. I muse aloud, “I haven’t been on a date since I was a teenager. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do.”

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” he says, his voice warm.

“It wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t a no either.”

I have to smile at his cocky tone. “I hate to be a downer, Craig, but I’m pretty sure you just told me you’re unemployed. Dating might not be in your budget right now.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you think I only want you for your money, is that it? I can honestly say that’s the last thing on my mind when I look at you.”

Now he’s outright flirting. I’ve always been the absolute worst at flirting and am generally suspicious of people who are skilled at it. But his resiliency in the face of disaster is something I admire. If I were in his shoes, I’d be a sobbing mess right now, not calling up some dude I like to ask for a date.

“I tell you what. I’ll think about it, how’s that?”

“Deal,” he says instantly. “How long will this thinking process last? Just so I know when to make reservations at this awesome restaurant I’m gonna take you to.”

I shake my head, smiling. This guy is unbelievable. “Call me on Wednesday. And be prepared to be disappointed, because I’ll probably turn you down.”

Craig’s chuckle is full of self-confidence. “Nah, you’re gonna say yes. I’ll talk to you Wednesday.”

He hangs up before I can contradict him.

I disconnect and stand watching as four huge pelicans swoop down from the sky and skim the surface of the waves, wings outstretched, hunting for food. I follow their path as they fly north toward the curve on the shoreline, until my attention is caught by something else.

Someone stands alone and unmoving on the deserted beach. Even from this distance, I can see that the person is large, with wide shoulders and long legs. He’s wearing a black windbreaker with the hood pulled up over his head, gazing south down the shore like he’s searching for something.

He’s too far away for me to see his face, but I have the strangest sensation he’s looking right at me.

He stands there a long time, motionless, hands shoved deep in his pockets, until he turns and walks away, head lowered into the cold morning wind.

* * *

Though the weather isn’t good, I’m too restless to stay indoors, so I decide to get some exercise. I put on my walking shoes and head toward the historic seaside promenade that borders the ocean for a mile and a half, ending in a large turnaround that boasts a huge statue of Lewis and Clark in the middle. The turnaround is made to redirect tourists to get back down Broadway, but also signifies how Lewis and Clark turned again for home after reaching the Pacific Ocean.

Surprisingly, a lot of people had the same idea I did. Once I get near downtown, I encounter a lot of walkers, runners, couples with strollers, and dogs of various sizes happily enjoying the windswept day. Out on the beach, kids dig for clams in the wet sand left by the low tide. Someone flies a red kite. The view of Tillamook Head, a rocky, wooded promontory jutting into the Pacific, is gorgeous.

The east side of the prom is lined with condos, shops, restaurants, and the Seaside Aquarium, where I admire a skeleton of a gray whale displayed in the front window. I eat a corn dog from a street vendor, then, still feeling hungry, head over to Booger’s to get something more substantial.

The entire time, I think about Theo Valentine. He’s on simmer in the back of my mind, a restless disturbance just beneath the surface.

We can never be friends, Megan. We can never be anything.

It’s the second part of that statement that bothers me most, though I can’t say exactly why. If we’re going to do business together, we don’t have to be friends, but we have to be something. More than acquaintances, certainly. Partners, at least in a business sense.