Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
That’s a gut punch. But only for a second. “Losing my mom was a long time ago.”
“I know, but still. I can tell she was…special.”
I nod, memories tugging on my heart. “She was. There aren’t many moms who build you a tree house.”
Her green eyes sparkle with delight. “She built you a tree house and taught you to ride a bike.”
“And to read a book,” I add.
“All the best things in life,” she says.
“Yeah.” I don’t even try to picture my mom anymore. It was so long ago, more than two decades. But she’s all the good things from when I was younger. “Also, you’d have liked her. She liked cats.”
“The woman had taste,” Juliet says.
“How’s your boy doing?” I ask, moving the conversation away from me and onto her.
She shows me a picture Rachel sent of the black-and-white guy rubbing up against her leg and purring. “This was taken even after she fed him, proving I have the best cat,” she says.
“Yeah, you do.”
She looks at the pic on her phone a little longer, then sets it down. “And I suppose it’d be nice to have more than his company.”
I hate how sad she sounds right now, but I hope she’ll let me help solve her dilemma. I desperately want her to agree, for all the reasons I shared with her.
And also…maybe because a tiny part of me is hoping for a little romance.
No, that’s not the right word. It’s just that, unlike those bad boys, I know how to treat a woman.
I’d like to show Juliet what it’d be like to date a real man.
When dinner is done, I pay. That’s the very least that a man should do.
13
THE SECRET SAUCE
Juliet
As I lie awake in bed alone on Tuesday morning, I don’t even bother tuning in to one of my dating or self-improvement podcasts to learn more about this so-called role-play dating. That can’t possibly be a thing, can it? It’s not fake-dating, or plus-one-ing. It’s a whole new dating frontier. Maybe it’s reserved for the worst cases?
Ugh. This has got to be one of those last-ditch, we’ve-tried-everything-already options. I bet there’s a school of dating coaches somewhere who say things like and the last resort for the truly hapless is role-play.
Monroe’s gone. He took off early, judging from the ungodly time stamp on his out for a bit text. He’s probably off running, or biking, or working on his new course in a coffee shop after having already biked and ran.
I grab my phone and google dating coaches.
Huh.
That’s interesting. There are a ton of dating coaches in San Francisco alone, promising to help you write a great bio, give you pointers on what to talk about, analyze your dates, and improve your conversational skills.
Okay, their services aren’t too weird or pathetic. Those offerings don’t scream, You suck at love. Dating coaches just give you some truth and a little boost.
Monroe’s role-play offer is basically to just help me analyze my dates. This would be a live, real-time dating analysis, which could be super helpful.
But we do work together. Is it dicey to mix business with pleasure like this?
I flick through my text messages, finding the group chat with my girlfriends. A modern woman can’t survive without her besties. I click open my near-daily communiqué with my friend Hazel, a romance writer who lives in New York; my sister, Rachel; and our friends Elodie and Fable, who live in San Francisco. Elodie’s a chocolatier who recently married a single dad bartender. And Fable’s happily single and working as a merch designer for the city’s football team.
Juliet: You know how happily married and coupled-up friends love hearing the antics of the single?
Hazel: Ooh, I’ll bite. Tell me!
Elodie: Watch out, J. That means Hazel’s in full thief mode.
Fable: She sure is. She’s going to steal anything good you share for her next book.
Hazel: Of course I am.
Rachel: So shameless.
Hazel: Exactly. So don’t make me wait. Tell us everything, J.
I draw a deep breath, then open my optimistic heart that’s, admittedly, a little beaten down.
Juliet: To make a long story short, Monroe offered to be my dating coach while we’re here in Darling Springs. I’ll start fresh and pick a few potential guys to date. But I won’t really date them. Instead, he’ll help me spot the signs of trouble in the men I choose…by, well, pretending to be the different guys on a series of dates. And I’m considering saying yes to his outrageous proposal even though, as I re-read this note, it sure sounds like the sign of a woman who’s hit dating rock bottom. I guess you’ll find me on the bottom of the dating pool, sinking in a pair of concrete Louboutins.
Before I lose my nerve, I hit send, wincing as I wait for the bubbles to appear.