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on our blind dates—a perfect example of supreme confidence. I was impressed.” She suddenly laughed. “It was touch and go for a while if I would scream the house down, but I was impressed. And you look like the perfect example of the serial dater—handsome, smooth, suave…”

      “Thank you,” he tried to interrupt her, very much aware that the tone of her voice was not conveying any positivism toward these supposedly positive traits, and not really up to hearing more.

      She continued. “Commitment-phobic, right? Not even looking for the right woman? Right?”

      He nodded reluctantly. She had him pegged pretty well.

      “See, you’re a player, even if you don’t know that word. Perfect for me. I bet you’re a businessman, aren’t you? Wheeler and dealer, right? The Dow index gets your blood pressure rising, doesn’t it?”

      “The Dow index…?”

      “I’m sorry.” Lea lowered her voice. “I don’t know you at all. I shouldn’t judge you. My ex was all these things. And, I admit again, I may have drunk one too many glasses of wine during the footsie session.”

      “If you were with your ex for years, he can hardly have been much of a commitment-phobic or a serial dater.”

      She narrowed her eyes and stared into her glass. “That’s what you think. All that time, and he was never ready to move in together. Oh, he moved into my apartment, more or less, but he kept his and I wasn’t allowed to move so much as a toothbrush in there.” She swirled the wine reflectively, staring into the dark red liquid, then looked up at him with a faint smile. “I made a mistake. Or on second thoughts, maybe it wasn’t a mistake at all. Anyway—I started pushing. I started mentioning settling down to one place, that there was no point in wasting rent on two apartments when we only used one.”

      This sounded familiar. “Did you mention having children? That sends a lot of men fleeing in the other direction if they aren’t ready.” It had once sent him halfway across the world. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but he remembered the feeling of panic and dread at the thought of getting trapped in a relationship. He could sympathize with her ex in that area.

      She shook her head. “I thought about mentioning having a family, but I never did. But he may have read my mind. He had an affair, that he knew I would find out about, and was extremely relieved when I told him to get the hell out of my life.” She drew patterns on the outside of the wineglass with a fingernail. “I’m guessing he’d been wanting to dump me for a while but never had the guts. So he did something that was guaranteed to make me dump him.”

      “What a jerk,” Thomas said, disgusted. Even he would never have stooped to a lousy trick like that. “That’s pretty low. I’m sorry.”

      There was a flash of cynicism in her eyes. “You wouldn’t do the same in his situation?”

      “No. If I wanted out of a relationship, I’d make a clean break before jumping beds.”

      She shrugged, and he had the feeling she didn’t believe him. “Anyway, I’m not telling you all this to get pity, Thomas. I’m over him. I guess the only thing I’m not over is my own stupidity, to have clung to him for so long.”

      “Well, there’s a reason love is associated with the heart and not the brain.”

      “I don’t think we’d been in love for a long time,” she mused. “If ever. We were just used to each other. In hindsight, we probably stayed together so long because it was the simplest thing, not because we were particularly happy together.” She shrugged. “Anyway, he was a stockbroker. For years, my emotional well-being hinged on the Dow index. I could check the Net before going home from work, and know what kind of an evening was ahead. But you’re not him—I’m sorry I made that crack.”

      “It’s okay.”

      “So, what’s your answer? Will you be my consultant?”

      Thomas leaned forward to see her face better, wondering why he hadn’t already said no. “First tell me, in practical terms—what exactly is it that you want me to do?”

      “There are a few things. First, help me find suitable men. I’d like to avoid more blind dates like tonight, and I’m not really sure how to go about it, how to screen them to avoid the worst riff-raff. I’d also like you to help me get through the first few dates, sort of give me hints on what to do, what not to do.” She shrugged. “Be there for me to ask stupid questions that my girlfriends can’t answer. Just help me get confident. Get my dating legs.”

      “Dating legs?” He had sudden visions he had no business seeing. “What are dating legs?”

      “You know, like sea legs.”

      “Oh.” Dizziness again. The effect the woman was having on his balance system was remarkable, and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of too much alcohol.

      “Like, tonight. I didn’t even know what to do when James started acting like an eight-footed octopus. I was busy enough worrying about having to kiss him at the end of the evening.”

      “Maybe you worry too much about how things are supposed to be. Just let it come naturally.”

      “That’s the point!” she said. “I don’t know what comes naturally. It doesn’t come naturally to me. I know that may be hard for you to understand, since this is all probably just second nature to you, but it’s a complete mystery to me.”

      He nodded. “I see.”

      “Will you help me?” she asked. “Just say yes or no, I’m not pushing. No explanation needed if you don’t feel like it.”

      She expected him to say no. It was obvious from the way her shoulders had slumped when she’d asked the question.

      And of course he would say no. What else could he do? If nothing else, she would skin both him and Anne if she found out he’d been sent to chaperone her—and then kept his identity from her while she told him some of her deepest secrets and innermost feelings, thinking she was safe confiding in a stranger what she could not confide in friends.

      He would say no—and with luck they’d never see each other again and the problem would be solved.

      “Yes,” he heard himself say instead. “I’ll help you.”

      What had she done?

      After showering and putting on one of the oversized T-shirts she liked to wear to bed, Lea grabbed the sleeping cat from the sofa and carried her to the bedroom. She needed the companionship. The satisfied sound of the cat purring always made her feel better. It calmed her down. Most of the time, it also helped her think more clearly. There was probably a medical explanation for this. If not, there should be.

      Uruk hardly woke up during the transfer, just opened her mouth and yawned once, before curling up again at the foot of the bed in an identical position from the one she’d just been removed from. Lea checked the Caller ID on the phone sitting on the bedside table, and saw that Anne had called several times. It was too late to call her back now. She’d drop by tomorrow and tell her matchmaking friend all about the updated definition of “dreadful.”

      Feeling too jittery to go straight to bed, Lea walked barefoot to the window and rested her forehead against the cool pane. Tonight really had happened, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it, now that the exhilarating effects of having been rescued from a horror date had worn off.

      She’d asked a stranger—a very attractive stranger—to teach her to date.

      The effects of the wine were also wearing off—and already she wasn’t sure she’d be very pleased with herself in the morning. Apart from everything else, she must have come across like a pruny old spinster, desperate to find a man. She whimpered and knocked her head softly against the window a few times. Why had he agreed, anyway? Out of amusement? He must have better things to do with his time.

      He seemed nice. Very nice, she admitted. She’d

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