A Second Bite at the Apple by Dana Bate Page A

blame your job for being too time consuming, which is only partially true but sounds more reasonable to an outsider than blaming an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen or talked to in a year. And then, even once the early sting of betrayal wears off, it becomes easier not to date. To opt out. To protect yourself from rejection. Publicly you still blame your job, and you hide behind that story, until that hidden space becomes warm and cozy, and you don’t want to come out from behind it. And the more time that passes, the cozier that space becomes, until the dating world seems like a wild jungle, full of traps and hazards and scary things. So what do you do? You burrow deeper into that space and spend your nights alone, fantasizing about an ex-boyfriend who probably doesn’t even think about you anymore.
    And then, by some combination of pressure and guilt and decidedly peculiar luck, you end up on a date with a guy named Jeremy, who proves dating isn’t scary after all.
    â€œThis octopus is to die for,” he says, cutting into a fat tentacle. “Here, try a bite.”
    He cuts off a large hunk and deposits it on my bread plate, and I poke my fork into it and stick the slice into my mouth. The meat is tender and juicy and slightly sweet, with a smoky kick from the charred grilled bits.
    â€œWow, you’re right,” I say, washing the octopus down with a sip of my beer. “That’s fantastic.”
    â€œI take it you’ve never been here before?”
    I shake my head. “I don’t get out a lot.”
    â€œNo?”
    I consider the best way not to sound socially incompetent. Given my track record, this will not be easy.
    â€œNo,” I say, opting for a one-word answer, simple and true.
    He grins as he cuts into another piece of octopus. “Then we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”
    The alcohol rushes to my cheeks, and I can hear my heart thumping in my ears. “Sure,” I say.
    I smile and fix my eyes on his, and then, to dispel any ambiguity in my response, I add, “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

CHAPTER 11
    On a good day, an appetizer, entrée, and two beers would put me into a full-fledged food coma, but the warm and gooey chocolate peanut butter tart we share for dessert puts me over the top. I can barely breathe. The button to my pants gave up two courses ago.
    But I don’t even care because, wow, I forgot how wonderful it is to dine at a nice restaurant. And I forgot how nice it is to sit across from someone of the opposite sex who is attractive and interesting and engaging and actually seems to like me. That, of course, suggests I knew what such an experience was like with anyone other than Zach, which—let’s face it—I didn’t. So, on all fronts, the evening has been a success.
    Jeremy pulls out my chair and helps me into my coat. “You look great, by the way,” he says. “I should have said that earlier. I kind of panicked under the whole fifteen-minute rule. But you really do look terrific.”
    I feel myself blush. “Thanks. Although I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m wearing two different shades of black. And these pants are at least three years old.”
    I have no idea why I am sharing this with him. I blame the beer, along with my general social awkwardness.
    â€œWell, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he says, lowering his voice as he comes in close. “This tie is five years old. And I bought it at the Leesburg outlets.”
    I widen my eyes, feigning shock. “You’re a discount shopper?”
    He shrugs. “What can I say? I like a good deal.”
    It’s about now that I feel an overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss this man, this adorable smooth talker who managed to cajole me into going to dinner with him. But we’re still standing in the middle of the restaurant, and though I may lack the ever-elusive quality of grace, I