I wondered if Svetlana had known they weren’t going out before she’d come over. She wasn’t dressed for a night in—at least not by my standards. She wore a form-fitting blouse with a plunging neckline with a pair of flowy pants and gold stilettos.
I decided to pretend she’d expected an expensive dinner—likely what I was getting—and gave them both a sweet smile. “That sounds fun. Have a good night, you two. Don’t wait up.” I winked at Richard.
He grinned back at me. “Have a great time.”
With his arm still around my shoulders, Shepherd steered me out into the hallway. As soon as the door closed behind us, he let go and shifted so there were several inches of space between us.
Right. Faking it. Our audience was gone.
I took a deep breath to center myself as we walked to the elevator. Maybe it was catty of me, but the fact that Shepherd was taking me out to a nice dinner—treating me to something Svetlana likely wanted—gave me warm fuzzies.
Shepherd was quiet on the ride down the elevator to the parking garage. He didn’t say much on the way to the restaurant, either. I was used to that. And being with Shepherd like this—outside of work—had grown increasingly comfortable. I didn’t feel the need to fidget, or try to make conversation as we drove. I sat with my legs crossed, admired my cute heels once or twice, and watched the bright lights of the city twinkle in the evening darkness.
We pulled up to the curb and a valet opened my door and helped me out of the car. Shepherd was there a second later, offering me his arm. That was interesting. This date was only to maintain the charade that we were indeed dating, but there wasn’t anyone out here who knew us. We didn’t have to act too couple-ish. But maybe he figured we were better safe than sorry.
I took his arm and we walked into the dimly lit restaurant. El Gaucho was beautiful, with glamorous retro decor and live piano music in the background. Shepherd helped me out of my coat, then pulled out my chair for me before taking his own.
We got menus and ordered drinks. A martini for me—gin, with a twist—and a Manhattan for him.
“Do you know what you’d like?” he asked.
I pursed my lips as I perused the menu. “Probably the fish. Definitely not steak.”
“Do you not eat red meat?”
“No, I do. It’s just…” I hesitated, not sure if I wanted to share the details of one of my worst bad first dates. But I guess it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like I was here to impress him. “The one time I had dinner here, I choked on a piece of steak. My date just kind of watched in horror while a lady from a nearby table did the Heimlich maneuver on me. Then in the aftermath, he ditched me and stuck me with the bill.”
Shepherd blinked once. “Is that a joke?”
“Unfortunately, no. It actually happened.”
“You were choking and he left you here?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I don’t exactly have great luck in the dating department. Especially when it comes to first dates. That’s probably the worst one, though.” I paused, the menu loose between my fingertips. “Well, maybe not the worst.”
“What could be worse than that?”
“Well, let’s see. There was the guy who was trying to find women who looked like his ex-girlfriend,” I said. “He asked me to take a selfie with him, even though we’d only just met for coffee. And then he sent it to his ex, who also happened to be working right next door. She marched over and they got in an argument. It was really awkward.”
Shepherd’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“I know,” I said with a sigh. “The guy who took me to a wedding on the first date was pretty bad, too. It was two hours away and I didn’t have my own car. Everyone got really drunk and got in a cake food-fight. He left me there because I didn’t want to go to a hotel for a threesome with him and a drunk bridesmaid.”
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding,” he said.
“Nope. And then there was the guy who kind of muscled me into playing a no-hands balloon-popping game at a bar. He got stabbed in the… well, you know.” I pointed downward. “With the pin that had been holding the balloon to my clothes. Served him right, though. This was after he grabbed my hips and started thrusting his crotch against me to pop the balloon.”
I pressed my lips closed to stop myself from making this worse. Why was I telling him all these stories?
But instead of continuing to eye me like I was crazy, he smiled, laughing softly. “That’s… awful.”
“Yeah, it was. Needless to say, there weren’t second dates in any of those cases.”
“I should hope not.”
“Like I said, I don’t have great luck. Obviously, I’m here with you, aren’t I?” I closed my eyes again. “That came out wrong. I just meant—”
“Everly, stop,” he said. “It’s okay, I know what you meant. And I have to agree with you on the bad luck. That’s an impressive list of horror stories.”
I stopped myself from telling him that those weren’t the only ones. But at a certain point, it was going to start making me look pathetic. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”
“You’re not the only one who’s had bad dates.”
“Well, I know that. Most people have a bad date story or two. But you can’t mean you.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I once went on a date with a woman who drank an entire bottle of champagne while we were waiting for our dinner. By the end of the meal, she’d hit on the man next to us, cried twice, called an ex-boyfriend, had a lengthy debate with the bartender about someone on a reality show, and taken off her bra by doing that thing women do when they slip it out the sleeve of their top.”
I covered my mouth, trying not to laugh. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “I wish I was.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I guess it’s nice to know I’m not alone in the terrible date department.”
He lifted his glass and raised an eyebrow. “To no more bad dates.”
I clicked my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”
After dinner—during which there was absolutely zero choking—Shepherd drove us home. The food had been delicious, the conversation interesting and fun. I’d had a great time. If it had been a real date, I would have gone home giddy, floating on a cloud of endorphins, and texted my girlfriends to gush about what an amazing time I’d had.
But I didn’t. It had been a great evening, but instead of making me feel light and happy, it made me a little bit sad. Because none of it had been real.
14
Shepherd
The waiting room at the oncologist’s office was surprisingly comfortable. Light gray walls. Soft lighting. A large saltwater fish tank took up almost an entire wall.
I’d spoken with my dad’s doctor when we’d first arrived. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything Dad had been keeping from us regarding his illness or treatment plan. He hadn’t been. His prognosis was good, his course of treatment what I expected.
I flipped through my messages on my phone while I waited. I’d left the office early so I could come to his appointment, but it looked like I hadn’t missed much. Everly had things well in hand. In fact, she’d probably gone home for the evening.