Daniel stared at the text from Claire:
"Her name is Rachel. 34. Graphic designer. Likes dogs and hates cilantro. JUST SAY YES."
His thumb hovered over the keyboard. Three dots appeared—Claire typing again.
"You've been 'not ready' for 9 months. When's the magic switch flip, Dan?"
The Honda's engine roared outside as Luke pulled into the driveway, music blaring. Through the window, Daniel watched him toss a backpack over his shoulder, laughing at something on his phone.
He typed back: "Fine. But I'm not wearing a suit."
The coffee shop was too bright, the chairs too small, and Rachel—who did in fact look like a perfectly nice human being—was wearing lipstick. The kind that left a faint pink smudge on her cup. Lila had hated lipstick.
"So," Rachel said, stirring her latte. "Claire says you're a photographer?"
"Was," Daniel corrected. "Freelance. Mostly nature stuff."
"That's cool. I do a lot of poster design for indie bands. Lots of moody forests lately." She grinned. "Maybe we could collaborate."
Daniel's coffee tasted like acid. He imagined Lila's voice in his ear: "Oh my god, she's networking on a date. Kill me now."
His phone buzzed. Luke:
"How's it going? Did you do the thing where you talk about aperture and scare her off?"
Daniel choked on his coffee.
Rachel tilted her head. "You okay?"
"Fine," he wheezed. "Just—"
Another text: "If you bail now I'll never let you live it down."
Daniel stood so fast his knee hit the table. "I have to go."
Rachel's smile froze. "Oh. Um—"
"My kid's car broke down," Daniel lied. "Family emergency."
The second the words left his mouth, he knew they weren't entirely a lie.