My Sort-of, Kind-of Hero (9 page)

I know we all have our vices, but there seems to be something a little off with Sara.

“Do you like dogs?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.

Sara shifts in her seat before shrugging. “Sort of.”

“I love dogs,” Travis offers.

“They are really cute,” Sara smiles at Travis.

“And what are your thoughts on peanut butter?” I ask.

“Er−” she looks thrown off by the question. “I used to eat it a lot as a kid.”

“Travis is allergic,” I say, looking regretful.

“I don’t eat it anymore,” she says, looking over at Travis.

“What’s your favourite TV show?” I quickly shoot out.

Travis looks at me in warning, but I avoid his eyes.

“I like Criminal Minds,” she says.

“Travis likes sitcoms and sports,” I say, looking to Travis for agreement.

Except he just looks really mad.

“I like sitcoms too,” she quickly says.

I knew it! She’s just agreeing with everything that Travis says.

And the snowman joke wasn’t
that
funny.

By the time our meals arrive, I’m convinced that Sara isn’t the one for Travis. Travis is a unique kind of guy and Sara just seems to say exactly what she thinks he wants to hear− which is never good. He needs someone that is genuinely interested in the same things as him, or at least someone who can tell him she doesn’t like hockey.

At least Travis doesn’t seem to be quite as engaging towards her as he was at the beginning of this date, which makes me think that he knows this isn’t going anywhere good.
Or
he’s really mad at me.

It’s quite possible it could be the latter.

He lifts the scallop potatoes bowl and scoops some onto my plate without even waiting for me to dramatically sigh over them, but doesn’t look at me.

Okay, he’s definitely mad.

After we finish our dinner Travis asks if Sara would like some dessert. She takes a lifetime thinking about it before Travis volunteers, “I’m kind of full.”

Sara nods, “I think I’ll pass on dessert.”

I was going to see if they had a cheesecake but I can see that it might not be the best time to make my presence known.

The waiter comes over to the table and Travis lets him know we won’t be having any dessert.

“The two tables are on my bill,” he says.

As the waiter walks away I lean over to him.

“You don’t have to pay for my meal,” I say.

He shoots me a sideways glance like it’s not something that is up for discussion, and I decide it isn’t the right moment to push it.

When the bill is settled I stand up and put my coat on.

“I’m going to get out of your way,” I say, picking up my bag and smiling at Sara.

“Oh,” she says, looking from Travis to me. “Travis said you might need to talk to me after the date. Should we set something up now?”

“Oh, er−” I look away before returning my gaze to her face. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

She looks slightly confused.

“It was nice meeting you Sara,” I offer, and look to Travis but his eyes are closed and he has that look like he is counting in his head.

“You too,” she says, still frowning.

Chapter Seven

“What the hell was that?” Travis basically yells, barging through the front door of my apartment.

I lift my head from my pillow and prop myself up on my elbows.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“First you show up on my date in a see-through top. You make your presence known at every possible second, which, by the way, is extremely distracting, and then you give my date the Spanish Inquisition and go out of your way to show us how incompatible we are!”

“My shirt isn’t see-through!” I say, sitting up on my bed and scooting towards the edge to put my feet on the floor.

“Seriously, that’s what you took from that?”

“Well it isn’t,” I say defensively.

“Care to comment on anything else that happened tonight?” He puts his arms out at his sides.

“I thought it was a very productive meeting,” I say, shrugging. “Very informative.”

“It wasn’t a meeting, it was a date!” Travis says.

“I don’t see why you are getting upset with me,” I say, standing up and crossing my arms.

“Really, you don’t have any idea?” Travis asks incredulously.

“Is this about the Caesar salad?” I ask, frowning.

“Unbelievable,” he shakes his head and walks towards my fridge. “You are unbelievable.”

Alright, I might have a pretty good idea why Travis is mad at me, and as I was walking home I did feel somewhat ashamed of my actions. Sara was probably really nervous and she might not have deserved the grilling I gave her.

“Okay, maybe I crossed the line a little,” I say.

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” I say. “It was just a little weird for me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry it was weird for
you
,” he says.

“You ignored me the whole night,” I argue.

“I was trying to pay attention to my date!” Travis says, exasperated.

“I know that,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m just not used to it.”

Travis looks like he is at a loss for words.

“Did you honestly want to have a relationship with Sara?” I ask.

“No, but that’s not the point,” Travis says, getting a beer out of the fridge and popping it open.

“She isn’t the right one for you,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “I don’t know why you even asked her out in the first place.”

“And I suppose you are the expert on who is the right one for me?” He runs his hand through his hair.

I look down at my feet.

“No,” I admit, and then look up to meet his gaze. “But I know Sara isn’t it.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but women aren’t exactly knocking down my door to get in on your little social experiment here,” he complains.

Watching him drink the beer a thought suddenly occurs to me.

“You knew it wasn’t going to work out with Sara, but you asked her out anyways to sabotage my project!” I accuse.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, avoiding my eyes and taking another sip of beer.

“I’m right!” I say, walking up to him. “I knew I should have interviewed the potential candidates. I could tell after ten minutes that she wasn’t the one for you.”

“Oh really,” he says, turning towards me. “And how did you know that?”

“She didn’t call you on anything,” I say. “You’re too self-assured to not have someone that will keep you on your toes.”

“Maybe she was just shy,” he argues. “It was our first date.”

“It’s not just that,” I say. “She laughed at everything you said. She was too eager to please you.”

“Maybe she thought I was funny!”

“You are funny,” I say, “but you also need someone who isn’t afraid to roll their eyes at you as well.”

I walk over to the corner of my kitchen counter and lean on it.

“I did you a favour and you know it,” I say.

“You still broke the rules,” he argues.

“I thought all was fair in love and war?” I raise my eyebrow, hoping to get a laugh out of him.

He looks at me for a minute before shaking his head.

“This isn’t going to work,” he says and walks over to my bed and sits on the edge.

“What? Why not?” I ask, following him.

“It just doesn’t feel right: you watching me go on dates.” He sips his beer again.

I’ll admit it was a little weird for me being there− being the third wheel on his date− and I know I’m going to have to get over him shutting me out. But, it’s only because it’s not something we are used to; I mean, anyone would feel weird if they were observing someone make the moves on someone else… right?

“I won’t say anything next time,” I assure him.

He looks over at me doubtfully from the corner of his eye.

“Well, unless I am asked a question,” I amend.

“Can’t we just say we tried and it didn’t work?” he asks. “Or can’t you just write about something else? Come follow me around at work and write about that.”

“I’m a romance writer,” I argue before sitting down next to him.

“I hate this,” he mutters.

I put my hand on his leg.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it? The food was pretty good,” I say in a helpful tone.

Honestly, I will be talking about that Caesar salad for years to come. It might be the only thing from tonight that makes the book.

“I just think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment here,” he says.

“Because you had one bad date?” I ask. “Honestly, compared to some of the whoppers I’ve been on, I had a pretty nice time tonight.”

“It’s not the date; it’s this whole idea,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t think you have a realistic concept of love.”

My head snaps back as though I’ve been hit.

Seriously?
I
don’t have a realistic concept of love?

I am a
romance
writer.

I
live
for love.

“I can’t believe you just said that!” I exclaim, getting up from the bed. “I write about love for a living.”

“No, you write about
falling
in love for a living,” he says. “There’s a difference.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Etty, anyone could make someone fall in love with them. You say the right things, do the right things, and bam! You’re in love. But that’s not
really
love.”

“Then what is it?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Lust, maybe?” he shrugs. “Infatuation. Why do you think no one ever writes stories about people after they get married, have a couple of kids, and do the daily commute every day?”

“Lots of books are about that,” I argue.

“No, in those books something happens to those ordinary people during their ‘every day’ routine which turns their lives upside down.”

“I’m not sure what your point is here,” I counter, crossing my arms.

“My point is, you want to write a true life story, but the things that you read about in books, that you see in movies, they’re not
real
life. Even the ones that are− they’re
based
on a true story; one that is fine-tuned for dramatic effect.”

“So you’re saying if I was to write a story about people falling in love, and wanted to make it accurate, it would have to be boring? I don’t agree with that.”

“No, I think falling in love is really exciting. But if you want to write a story about being in love and staying in love – well, I just don’t think it’s going to work out the way you want it to.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You think actual love is boring?”

“No, I think love is wonderful− for the people in the relationship.”

“And for everyone else?”

“If you’re doing it right, people shouldn’t find entertainment from your love life,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Oh really?” I say, shaking my head. “And why not?”

“Because love isn’t about saying all the right things, or giving the perfect gifts. Love is about sharing something special with someone else that no one else will ever understand or can be a part of. Love is about sticking with someone when in that moment everything inside of you wants to bolt, and knowing that even though the other person could feel the same way, they aren’t going anywhere either. Because you made a commitment to each other and that promise means something, even when you want to pretend it doesn’t. Love is being able to stay in on a Friday night with a pizza and movie and know that there isn’t anywhere else you would rather be. Love is wanting to strangle someone one minute and then the second anyone else says something bad about them you defend them to your last dying breath.”

“I− I could write about that.” I am a little breathless.

“It’s kind of hard to write about something when you’ve never experienced it yourself,” he argues.

I narrow my eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?

“When have you ever been in love?” he asks, lowering his voice.

“I−” I sputter, “Have you forgotten about Todd?”

Travis shakes his head. “You weren’t in love with him.”

“Yes I was!” I argue.

“You broke up with him right after the dog thing,” he points out.

“He wasn’t ready for a commitment, obviously.”

“No, something uncomfortable happened and you bolted the first chance you got. That’s not love,” Travis says.

Okay, maybe he has a point. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what love is.

“I− there’s others,” I say. “People you don’t know about.”

His eyes narrow slightly before he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

I clench my jaw and try to think of someone’s name−any guy’s name− but nothing pops into my head. This is why I never made the debate team.

“I’m not sure what my love life has to do with anything,” I say. “Jane Austen never got married, but she wrote some of the most beautiful love stories ever written.”

“Listen, I’m not trying to put you down here. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and then have this experiment not turn out the way you want it to. You don’t exactly have a clear concept of the real world.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I missed the moment when we decided that this was ‘let’s attack Etty Lawrence’ night,” I shoot back at him.

“Etty, you grew up in a nice house, with a nice family. You now live in a nice apartment and work at a decent job.”

“My life is not perfect−” I argue.

“I know that, but your life hasn’t exactly been a struggle either. And there is nothing wrong with that,” he says, raising his arms in defense. “But that isn’t the case for a lot of people, and when people don’t come from a privileged life, theirs tends to be a little more… messy.”

“So what? You don’t think this is going to work out because you had a crappy upbringing?” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t buy it. In fact, you’re the perfect example as to why that theory is crap. You put yourself through school. You have a great job and live in a place where I couldn’t even afford the security deposit.”

“But that doesn’t mean that my life is perfect. I might never fall in love and get married,” he argues.

I’m not sure why, but the thought of Travis being alone makes me even angrier than his earlier arguments.

“You will,” I argue. “And it will be more special than you think.”