48 First Dates (Seeking Romance #1)

Two Princes and No Stones

7

A haiku ninja,

A hardware comedian—

the next two first dates.

O ne delightful thing came out of my night with Zack—Cynthia Pritchard-Kennedy.

When she realized what he and his baseball boys had done, she hauled back and punched him in the gut. He crumpled to the ground, squealing like the pig he was. I really wish I had been there to see that one.

After that, Cynthia found me in the bathroom. She wiped my tears and helped me walk out with my head held high. She got her mom to pick us up at Honeybees after we shared the biggest caramel fudge sundae they had.

The night wasn’t what I thought it would be, but it had ended well. I debated about whether to add a charm for Zack. In the end, I placed a tiny baseball on the links to remind myself that lovely things can come out of unpleasant experiences.

Plus, it turns out I was right—Mitzi and Cynthia got along. The three of us quickly became inseparable best friends. My dad liked to call us the three amigos , minus the sombreros , glittery suits, and horses. We sat on the beach together. We schemed the best plans together. And we cried over caramel fudge sundaes together when those plans didn’t work out.

Mitzi and Cynthia spent plenty of time in our junior year wondering which boy liked them and deciding if they liked him back. I laughed with them and then headed home to hit the books. High school boys were no longer interesting to me, thanks to Zack. I decided I was going to wait. A pool of college men sounded way more interesting to choose from.

That’s when the notes started. They would appear in my locker, squares of paper with a ninja at the bottom corner and a short haiku written on them. Sometimes, it would be a simple stand-alone poem that would make me laugh. Sometimes, I was sure my haiku ninja was giving me a clue. Sometimes, the poems would string together to tell a story.

“What do you think he looks like? I think he’s tall and dark-haired. He’s a big adventure buff and does taekwondo to keep in shape, hence the ninja. I bet he had dreamy chocolate eyes and smells like the outdoors.” Mitzi asked and answered her own question.

I flopped on the bed next to her in Cynthia’s room. “No, he’s Irish because all the mysterious poets are from there. He’s well built, but not in a ridiculous muscle-bound way. He has green, piercing eyes and an inviting smile. His hair is thick and black—the kind you wanted to lose your fingers in.” I dreamed a lot about running my hands through a head of thick black hair back in those days.

Cynthia snorted at us from her perch on the chair in front of her desk. “You guys are ridiculous. If he looked like what either of you two are thinking, you’d already know him. Think about it. Is there anyone who looks like what you described in our high school?”

We both stared at her blankly.

“That’s right. There is not. He’s probably short, paunchy, and easily missed. What we should be talking about is getting together a plan to meet him in person. Then, all questions will be answered,” Cynthia said.

We came up with a plan that involved a few more cryptic haikus and lots of tense moments. After about a week of subterfuge, I met Mark at Honeybees . A white square in the middle of a honey-yellow table revealed his identity. He looked nothing like what the three of us hypothesized, but we had a pleasant time. Turns out we had a class together. We became friends, but the first date was a short one-hit wonder.

Even though the date was brief, the Prince of Haikus opened my eyes up to the possibility that not all high school boys were bad. I added a ninja charm to my bracelet, and the search for my fairytale continued.

During the break between junior and senior year, I spent most of my days at the beach with friends. If I wasn’t there, I was at my first real job as a cashier at the local hardware store. I secretly loved the smell of paint mixed with the tangy hint of metal shavings. That and I needed a real paycheck. My parents had given me my mom’s Honda Accord, green with a tan interior. I was in free-teen heaven, shackled by the cost of gas and insurance.

In those days, I thought I was a proper adult. I had a car, a job, and friends—what else could a girl ask for? A boy who makes her laugh, that’s what else a girl could ask for. That’s exactly what I got when Dan walked into the hardware store and applied for the helper-dude job.

At first, I didn’t give him a second glance. With his brown hair and scrawny build, he wasn’t my type. That summer, I looked for the tanned, taut surfer or the well-built, weekly tourist.

I recognized Dan from school—we had freshman homeroom together—but we didn’t hang out. At the hardware store, I discovered Dan was the kind of guy who went out of his way each day to make someone laugh. My cheeks would hurt after a shift with him.

He told Dad jokes. He would say things like, “Why should Apple never make a car?” He would pause for effect and then deliver the punchline with a serious face. “Because it wouldn’t have windows.”

When he found out I loved fairy tales, he asked me, “Why was Cinderella such a bad baseball player?”

I shrugged.

“Because she had a pumpkin for a coach.” Without skipping a beat, he followed it up with, “Why is Peter Pan always flying?”

“Umm, the fairy dust?” I raised my palms and shrugged.

“No, he Neverlands.” He grinned, and I doubled over in a fit of giggles.

Dan would also do impressions. He’d deliver random, unrelated lines from Seinfeld, such as claiming he had no soup when a customer walked in and asked for something we didn’t have. Or something about being busy from Shrek in Donkey’s voice when I would ask him if he was free to mix a can of paint for a customer as he walked by the cash register.

With his jokes and impressions, Dan made the summer go by in a flash. The work was actually fun.

I was excited when he said he was going to stay on through the school year like me. I would look forward to my afternoon shifts twice a week because Dan was going to be there. I knew he would crack dad jokes and making us all laugh.

When he came up to me one day with a solemn look on his face, I gasped. “What’s wrong?”

“Remember that girl, Libby, who only made it one day in our homeroom class?

I involuntarily leaned back as I nodded.

“I just saw her in the parking lot. Her dad was screaming at her about not bringing the right can of paint.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Man, I hate to see stuff like that.”

I sat on my stool, still as a statue. I knew the right thing was to feel sorry for Libby. After the way she treated me over the years, empathy was not an effortless emotion.

“She’s not the nicest person,” I said as I rubbed the back of my neck.

Dan’s features softened as he glanced up at me. “Yeah, I know. I heard about the homecoming dance. But nobody deserves to have their parents treat them like that.”

I nodded, more out of a sense of duty than pity. I stood up and fidgeted with the gadgets on the counter.

Dan stared at me. “Want to hear something else?”

I let out a puff of air as I said. “Yeah.”

“My love life is like a fairy tale.” He paused, looking me straight in the face. “It’s grim.”

I bit my lip as a smile danced on my lips. “That is not funny. And I will not laugh.”

He continued. “Seriously, Adelaide, there’s no princess in sight. Rapunzel is a fairy tale, and my evil stepmother insists I need a date for the ball known as the Homecoming Dance. I told her a short fairy tale that I came up with in honor of you. Do you want to hear it?”

“Sure.” This was going to be interesting!

“Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl, ‘Will you go to the dance with me?’ The girl said, ‘NO!’ And the guy lived happily ever after, never dancing and always eating, fishing, and working. He left the toilet seat up and passed gas whenever he wanted. THE END!”

“What?” My mouth fell open.

That’s when Dan shot out a question from left field. “Come with me to the homecoming dance?”

I realized he had warmed me up with jokes and a mixed-up fairy tale because he was pretty sure I my answer would be no. Honestly, that was my first thought, but in the end, I surprised us both and agreed to go.

The night of the dance arrived, and it turned out to be a captivating evening. The next morning, my sides were sore from laughing, and my feet were sore from dancing. I had a wonderful time, but I wasn’t sure that Dan and I were a match made in hardware heaven.

We went out a few more times that fall. I kept hoping that the spark would appear because he was such a nice guy, and he made me laugh a lot. In the end, he was the one who put into words what I had been feeling all along.

We were walking on the beach together, holding hands, when he stopped and looked me in the eye. “You know, when we’re together, we fit together like a nut and bolt.” He held up our clasped hands.

I nodded.

“But we don’t burn like propane. Hardware is functional, but the real fun is the fire.” He let go of my hand and made an explosion with his fingers. I knew as we were walking back to the car that whatever had been between us was over now.

Dan and I didn’t have another shift together after that day. My schedule changed because of chorus. But when I saw the nut and bolt charm at a store several weeks later, I got it. Dan and his jokes deserved a spot on the bracelet.

After all, he was my Prince of Hardware.