The Date Auction (13 page)

“No.” He resisted the temptation to cross his arms and pout. He didn't think it would make him look mature, and he had been desperately trying to look mature for her. “But if you happen to find the last shreds of my dignity, please send them back to me.”

“Oh, Jaime...”

“You've killed my heart tonight.” But she must not have cared, because she left the room anyway. Now he understood why he was so intimidated by her, why he had been so reluctant to make a move.

Deep down, he must have known she would be the first woman to reject him.

Chapter Fourteen

Cora couldn't believe it. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, she had actually received a text message from Harry Shaw. After the incident at Starbucks, she never expected to hear from him again. But there it was, as plain as day:

To Cora
:
Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?

At first, she wondered if he had sent the text to the wrong person. For several minutes she stared at the message, debating the necessity of a reply. She still liked Harry very much, but she wondered if it was better to admire him from afar. The real Harry left something to be desired, and it wasn't as if he would ever reciprocate the fond feelings she felt for him. Not to mention, what if the text message
had
been delivered to her by mistake? Every time she thought about contacting him, she felt like the psycho fan who was trying desperately to integrate herself into his life.

In the end, the temptation was too much to resist.

To Harry
:
Make it up to me? What do you mean?

It was the perfect reply. It didn't make her sound desperate, and if he meant to send it to someone else, he was the only one who would look like a fool.

To Cora
:
I mean I was an arsehole and I would like to improve your opinion of me.

Cora took a moment to marvel at his usage of complete sentences and capitalization, which was something she rarely found in text messages. Being a writer, she was impressed and pleasantly surprised. Cora was a sucker for good grammar.

To Harry
:
You weren't bad. I overreacted and I was too sensitive.

To Cora
:
No, I was a knob. Please give me another chance.

Cora had to read his message several times before she decided she wasn't having a dream. It couldn't have been a dream, because not even in her wildest dreams would Harry Shaw have asked
her
for a second chance.

“Knob...” she said aloud. “That's cute.”

To Cora
:
Are you busy right now?

Right now?! She glanced around the room. There was an empty cup, from which she had recently consumed a root beer float. Her laptop was sitting in front of her; she had just finished typing her obligatory thousand words for the day. She certainly wasn't busy.

To Harry
:
No. Did you have something in mind?

To Cora:
Meet me at the top of the Empire State Building in an hour. Is that alright?

She was tempted to mention the steep entrance fee for visitors, but the thought of meeting Harry Shaw at the top of the Empire State Building was even more tempting. It even sounded a bit romantic, but she didn't want to get her hopes up.

To Harry
:
Sure. Sounds fine. I'll be there.

Cora
still wasn't convinced she wasn't stuck in a dream, so she gave herself a pinch on the arm. She didn't wake up, so she assumed she was awake. She looked down at her phone, rereading Harry's messages for a third or fourth time.

No matter how many times she read the texts, she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Did Harry Shaw just ask her out?

* * *

There was a significant crowd on top of The Empire State Building. Tourists with bulky cameras jostled her as she circled the veranda, and the wind whipped the wisps of hair that surrounded her face. She had worn it in a ponytail in anticipation of the wind, even though ponytails made her chubby cheeks a bit more obvious. Harry Shaw already knew what she looked like, so there was no reason to make an effort to improve her looks. No matter what she did, she could never come close to the adorable young actresses he usually dated.

After circling the observation deck three times, she finally found him. Harry was dressed more casually today, in jeans and a t-shirt. And he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

Flowers?!
Was he really supposed to be meeting
her
at the top of the Empire State Building and not someone else? Surely those flowers weren't meant for her! And yet, as she approached him, he extended the flowers in her direction.

“It's good to see you again, Cora,” Harry greeted her. “Sorry I was such a twat.”

“You weren't a... a
twat
.” The word felt awkward as she uttered it. Normal British slang sounded much more crude than anything she would say.

“I was. My behavior at Starbucks was inexcusable.”

“Well... Starbucks usually puts me in a bad mood.” Cora's attempt at a joke was met with a blank stare. “I'm sure I overreacted.”

“I'm not even particularly impressed with my behavior during our first date.” Harry was still holding the flowers, so he pushed them closer to her. “I should have asked more questions about you. I should have been a gentleman.”

Cora still didn't accept the flowers; she was still convinced they couldn't possibly be for her. “You seemed fine to me.”

Harry took her hand, uncurled her fingers, and encouraged them to take the flowers. “Here. These flowers come with an official apology.”

“Harry...” He seemed like a new Harry Shaw, one who was almost worthy of the unrequited adoration she showered on him every day. “You really don't have to apologize. Everything is fine!”

“So you accept my apology then?”

“I suppose.”

“Good.” Harry laid an arm across her back and turned her in the direction of the stunning New York view. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky a pale orange. The city lights had already started twinkling, signaling the beginning of night. “It's really lovely up here. Before you arrived, I'd been enjoying the breeze.”

Breeze? The lashing wind, which was ripping through her jacket, was hardly what she could describe as a
breeze
. “It
is
nice up here,” she half-heartedly agreed.

“I remember the first time I visited the Empire State Building. I was about fifteen or sixteen, and I was visiting New York with my parents. I didn't want to be here.” They were standing side-by-side, so close she could feel the heat of his body. When Harry smiled at her over his shoulder, she felt her knees weakening. “What about you?”

“Huh?”

“How old were you the first time you came here?”

“Um... well... I think I'd just graduated high school. I went on a vacation with my sister.” With a wicked smile on her lips, she said, “For your benefit, I guess I should say I went on holiday.”

“Thanks for that.”

“No problem.” Cora looked down at his hand and shivered. Maybe it was the wind, or maybe it was her thoughts that made her shiver. She wondered what it would be like to be touched by his hands, as perfect as they were.

“Where would you like to go for dinner? I'll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“Um... it doesn't matter. I'm happy with anything.”

“But today is Cora's day,” Harry said. “Everything is Cora's choice.”

“Oh, wow. I wasn't aware of that. Umm... hmm...” She wasn't good at making decisions, but he was looking at her expectantly. She had to think of something. “There's a Tex Mex restaurant not too far from here. It's been awhile since I've had anything like that.”

“Tex Mex. That sounds adventurous.”

“It's not that adventurous,” Cora laughed. “And it's not that easy to find good Mexican food in New York City. This place is about as good as it gets.”

“Brilliant! Now we have a plan. I'll follow you.”

Some time later, they were sitting across from each other at a kitschy Tex Mex restaurant, staring at a bowl of subpar salsa. When they were browsing the menu, Cora told him, “I would recommend the chilaquiles.”

“The chila-whatees?”

“The chilaquiles,” she repeated with a chuckle. “It's the most authentic thing on the menu. You won't be disappointed.” Harry still looked confused, so she reached across the table and tapped his menu. “There.”

“Alright. Sounds good.”

“But you don't have to order it just because I suggested it.” With a smirk, she added, “Even on Cora Day, you can order whatever you want.”

When the waitress came, Cora had to resist the temptation to laugh when Harry said “chilaquiles” in such a way that it sounded like “quills.” The fact that he said it with an English accent made it even better.

Harry decided to brave the salsa, even though it was brown and lumpy, and the tortilla chips were cold. It left something to be desired, but it wasn't as dreadful as he feared. “On our first date,” he began, pausing for dramatic effect, “I should have been more attentive. I should have been more interested in finding out about you.”

Her mind lingered on the words
first
and
date
. Was their current outing supposed to be a second date, or was it erroneously implied? “Oh, it's okay. I don't really like talking about myself that much.”

“Be that as it may, I could have been kinder,” Harry insisted. “Now, are you ready for the barrage of questions?”

“Oh no.” Cora winced. “If we must.”

“Where were you born?”

“Indiana,” she replied. “But I grew up in Connecticut.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight. And I
just
turned twenty eight, FYI.”

“Well, you're a bit further from thirty than I am, so it's commendable. Now... what else should I ask? Let's see...” He pursed his lips in concentration. “What's your favorite movie?”

She didn't think
anything with Harry Shaw
would be a good answer, so she said, “The Shawshank Redemption.” At least it had
Shaw
in it.

“Oh, that's a popular one. Statistically, I think one out of every five persons will cite Shawshank as their favorite.”

“Well it
is
a good movie.”

“Who is your favorite actor?” Harry asked. “And this is a trick question, so you better think long and hard.”

“Harry Shaw.”

“I suspected as much.” Harry grinned at her—it was the same grin that had melted her heart at least a thousand times. “And that was the correct answer, by the way.”

“I was hoping it was.”

The waitress returned with their chila “quills,” into which Harry eagerly plunged his fork. After the first two bites, he exclaimed, “Mm, this is actually good!”

“I'm glad you like it.”

“Just because the food has arrived, that doesn't mean your interrogation is over.”

“Oh no.”

“I know you're a writer, so I would assume you enjoy writing.”

“In the same way that you're an actor and I would assume you enjoy acting,” she fired back at him.

“Right. I think we're both lucky enough to have jobs we enjoy. As for my question, I was wondering what other hobbies you might have.”

“I like to paint,” Cora said. “I'm not very good at it, but I enjoy it. It's really relaxing.”

“I don't think I've painted since I was ten years old, and I'm sure it involved my fingers. Rossetti I am not.” As he stared at her from across the table, he realized she was the epitome of pre-Raphaelite. She was the sort of woman who would have been Rossetti's muse: long red hair, ivory skin, full lips, a bit plump. At one time, she might have been the world's ideal woman.

“I paint a lot of abstract. I tried to do landscapes, but my mountains always looked stupid, and my clouds looked like blobs.”

“Don't feel bad. When I attempt to draw, my people look like sticks.”

“As do mine,” she admitted. “I hope I'm better at writing than painting, but sometimes I'm not sure.”

“Oh. I'm sure you're a brilliant writer! You should have confidence in your work.”

“In my case, confidence would be delusion and blind faith. I'm really not that good. Anyway...” She stuffed her mouth with a heaping forkful of chicken and tortilla, chewed, and swallowed. “Is there anything else you wanted to ask?”

“Just one more question. I, uh...” He wondered if his question was too personal, which was why he hesitated. “How many boyfriends have you had?”

Suddenly, Cora's throat was in a knot, constricting, tightening. She stuck her hands under the table, hiding them from view, and fidgeted nervously. Should she tell him the truth? Should she lie? The truth would make her sound undesirable, but her tongue was rebelling against a lie. She had always been a terrible liar.

“None.” She looked down at the table as she said it. “I've been on a few dates, but I've never really had a boyfriend.”

“Really?
Are you serious
?!” His eyes were wide with shock, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. “Why not?”

“I'm.... too shy, I guess.” She shrugged. “It's not that big of a deal. I don't really feel like I've missed out on anything.”

“You've never had a boyfriend?” Cora wasn't a stunning woman, but she was pretty enough to attract the attention of
someone
. He couldn't believe it was true, so he had to ask the question again. “
Really
?”

“Really.” Her answer was as firm as it could possibly be. “I've been single all my life.”

Cora hoped he wouldn't draw the obvious conclusion, even though it was true.

She was a virgin.

Chapter Fifteen

“Will Will.” Alaina cooed his nickname in a baby voice, as she so often did. “Can you think of a word that rhymes with happy?”