48 First Dates (Seeking Romance #1)

The Ten Speed Date Princes

30

A quick night of meets.

Six minutes—time to move on.

One, two, ten speed dates.

I searched for the table with the number seven on it and slipped across the burgundy leather seat. Moments later, a guy with greasy black hair and glasses sat down in the dark wood chair across from me.

“Hi, I’m Adelaide,” I offered when he didn’t immediately say anything.

He mumbled something that sounded like “landline,” so I looked at my sheet. Finding his name, I said, “Hey, Landon. What do you like to do?”

Again he mumbled—this time, I couldn’t decipher a meaning.

“What?” I glanced down at the sheet for another clue. Likes: family, computers. Dislikes: interruptions.

“Gam hmm ermm.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.” I had absolutely no idea what he said, but I smiled. I racked my brain for a question that might get him to liven up.

Nothing, I got nothing.

At the other end of the table, Landon stared intently at my water glass.

Please let the buzzer sound.

Please let the buzzer sound.

Bzzzzz.

Finally!

I checked “no” on my sheet and prayed that the rest of the night would be much better.

“Hi, I’m Teddy,” the next guy said as he sat down.

“Adelaide,” I offered as I checked him out. Medium build, brown eyes, short brown hair with a manscaped beard. There was something familiar about him. “Have we met before? I feel like I know you from somewhere?”

He chuckled. “I bet you do. I know we’re not supposed to discuss what we do, but since you recognized me. I’m Teddy, the inventor of the Toilet Target. The world’s leading toilet training tool for males of all ages. You recognize me from TV.”

That is definitely not it.

He took one look at the confusion on my face and started singing the jingle from his infomercial.

“When you get sick of cleaning up all those yellow splatters—The Toilet Target trains them to aim it where it matters!”

“Oh, yeah, now I see it,” I said. He did sort of resemble the Toilet King. Of course, in the infomercial, he had on a robe and crown. He carried a scepter that he used to transform a dirty bathroom into a clean one, complete with a Toilet Target installed. I smiled as the commercial played in my head.

“You also look a bit like this guy we see at the grocery store who really likes radishes. He gets like six different kinds every time we see him. I never knew anyone could like radishes that much.” I laughed as I shook my head.

Teddy’s face dropped, suddenly quite serious.

Uh-oh, I just put my foot in my mouth.

“That is me! And you’re one-half of the giggling grocery girls! You two shouldn’t knock radishes until you try them. There is a lot of variety in the different kinds. Plus, radishes are packed with antioxidants and excellent tools for weight loss. You might want to try a few,” he quipped.

Umm... excuse me?

My eyebrows arched. I gave him a curt nod, and then I stared at the candle in the center of the table, willing the buzzer to sound.

Bzzzzz.

Teddy, the Toilet King, the Prince of Targets, and lover of radishes, got a check in the “no” box.

“Hi, I’m Adelaide,” I said to the sullen-looking man who sat down across from me.

He didn’t respond.

I checked the sheet. His name was Xavier. Under his likes, there was nothing. Under his dislikes, it listed—my mother forcing me to do things.

I shook my head and looked up. Xavier’s shoulders slumped as he stared at me with vacant eyes.

Umm...

“So, I’m guessing that your mom forced you to come tonight?” I asked, turning the corners of my mouth up, hoping he wouldn’t think I was judging him.

No response. Not even a blink. He kept staring.

What the fluffernutter sandwiches do I do?

The prince in the Turkish fairy tale “ The Silent Princess ,” came to mind.

Do I point to the candle in the middle of the table, hoping he will speak?

Will he make hand gestures so I know what to do next?

Where is the talking raven?

Am I going to die before that buzzer sounds?

This whole thing was a huge mistake...

Bzzzzz.

A third “no” check found its way to my sheet.

“Julian.” A man with olive skin and rugged good looks offered his hand. I shook his hand firmly. Then he flipped the chair around and straddled the seat.

“Nice to meet you, number seven, Adelaide. You like hiking, wildlife, and fairy tales. You dislike fake people and spiders. I found that interesting, considering spiders are wildlife and fairy tales are embellished versions of a fake life.”

“You’ve done your homework, Julian. What can I say? I’m a conundrum.”

“I like a puzzle I can figure out, Adelaide.”

The way he said my name hit all the right notes. I felt a slight blush on my cheeks as I leaned in. “Tell me, Julian, what do you like that’s not on this paper?”

“I like all kinds of activities.” He paused and looked at me, eyes smoldering like a cover model in Outdoor magazine. “I convinced my boss to let me come in late every Wednesday just so I could run the Cades Cove loop without any cars.”

My face broke into a grin. “I do the same thing! Well, not exactly. I take a half day and walk the loop in the afternoon. I don’t run unless something is chasing me.”

His face fell, but the adventurous gleam in his eye quickly returned. “We could change that.”

A snort of a laugh escaped without my permission. “I have a feeling that would be a bit like the tortoise and the hare.” I gestured at the muscles pulling at his T-shirt as he propped his elbows on the table. “I tried running once, and let’s say I’m not breaking any records.”

“No worries, we can take it slow, or we can find other things to do.”

“Like hike to Mount LeConte?” I suggested, feeling guilty about the flutter in my stomach.

“Yeah, I’ve done that trail. I stayed up there last year with a few friends of mine. The view is amazing—it’s an experience. One that I’d be willing to repeat with the right people or person.”

I nodded, opening my mouth to ask another question when

Bzzzzz.

“It’s been real, Adelaide.”

This time, I checked “yes.” I wanted the chance to get to know Julian more.

With the smile still on my face from number ten, I stared down at the sheet, reading the basic info on number one. As I read, the corners of my lips turned downward.

His name. It’s too…

“Hi, I’m Brendon.”

I looked up and gasped.

His face was a bit rounder. He had more of a dad bod than a soccer player bod. But the hair and the eyes.

Brenn.

“I’m Adelaide.” I hoped he hadn’t noticed the pause.

“Adelaide, you’re the one who likes wildlife and hiking, right?”

I nodded.

“I was really looking forward to meeting you. I figured we would have a lot in common. I’m a big fan of owls, and I enjoy hitting the trails on the weekends.”

He launched into a whole discussion on owls and sounds in the forest.

As I half-listened, my mind wandered to the memory of the morning on the couch in my college apartment.

The pressure of his soft lips on mine.

The feel of his strong arms around me.

The soft sandpaper of his hair as my fingers caressed the back of his neck.

My heart rate sped up, and my breath hitched. Poor Brendon—he couldn’t hold a candle to the recollection of that morning with Brenn.

But Brenn isn’t here.

Brendon is.

I tried hard to shake off the strings of the memory. But the entanglement held firm.

Bzzzzz.

Brendon didn’t say a word as he got up and moved on. I checked “yes” because he deserved better.

“Hi, I’m Jeremiah.” A goofy guy greeted me with a bit of an accent—one that I couldn’t completely place. As he stuck out his hand, an earthy aroma wafted my way.

“Adelaide,” I said as I shook his hand. This guy looked nothing like Brenn. He spoke nothing like Brenn. Smelled nothing like him. And acted nothing like him, either. I found it easy to push the last of the cobweb-images aside.

“I’m an eggplant farmer. I know we’re not supposed to share what we do, but I just love eggplants so much. They’re so purple and firm. I grow the long Asian ones. The ones with creamy white flesh that taste amazing. Every Asian restaurant in town buys them from me. If you have had a Chinese or Thai eggplant dish in this town, I bet you’ve licked my eggplant clean off the plate.”

My eyes went as wide as saucers. I took a sip of water, hoping to collect my thoughts before responding.

Before I could, he said, “I like the way you look. Do you want to come to my farm and see my eggplant castle?”

I spat out my sip of water and set the glass down hard.

Across the table, Jeremiah grimaced as he rubbed the water off his chin. “Did I say something wrong?“

“Sorry about that. I was... uh... surprised at your offer. You don’t text much, do you?”

“Nope. Got me a flip phone. On the farm, it’s more sturdy than those new smart ones,” Jeremiah answered.

Nope. That settles it. He has no clue what an eggplant represents.

I debated telling him. My decision reached the tip of my tongue— Bzzzzz.

“Nice to meet you, Jeremiah,” was all I said.

“You, too, Adelaide. I’ll be looking forward to getting that match from you.” He winked and grinned as he stood up, moving to the next table.

His closing gestures caused me to suspect that my former conclusion was wrong. That guy knew exactly what an eggplant stood for.

I have sooo many questions, but you, sir, get a no.

The chair scraped as the next guy sat down. “I’m Adelaide,” I said.

“Carter,” he answered.

I leaned forward, putting my elbows on the table. “Do you like hiking?”

“Nope. Don’t hike. Hate bears.” He sat spine-straight in his chair with his arms at his side.

“Do you like animals?”

“Nope. Cats suck. Dogs bite. Turtles foul. Birds gross. Fish boring.”

Well, his sentences were as dour and short as he was. At least there were more of them this time.

“Right, so no pied crow in your future. What is there?” I tried again, hoping to kickstart a conversation.

“Stuff.” He shrugged.

I nodded, keeping my placid exterior composure. Inside, I felt like a princess lying on a stack of mattresses. I was desperately trying to get comfortable with the conversation. If only it wasn’t for that darn short-sentence pea at the bottom.

I mentally stuck my tongue out and waited for him to ask me a question.

When he didn’t, I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. I stared at the lacquered black table like it was my new best friend.

Bzzzzz.

Carter walked away as I checked, “No.”

“Hello, my name is Bob.” A dark-haired Bollywood babe with a sexy Indian accent sat down at my table.

I tried to infuse my voice with appreciation. “Hi, Bob, I’m Adelaide.”

I wasn’t sure it came through until Bob said, “Lovely. I can tell by your voice that you are interested in me. Let me help convince you I am the only one in this room that you should check yes for.”

I nodded and leaned in, eager to hear his accent convince me.

And that’s when Bob launched into what I later found out was “his speech”—the one that all the girls in the room got.

“I would like to marry you. As you can see, I am easy on the eyes, and your face pleases me as well. I would not mind looking at you for the next fifty years. I believe our babies will look good, and that is very important to me. My religion requires lifelong fidelity. You can be assured that once we are married, I will never look elsewhere. You will be my person forever, and I will treat you like a princess. I can promise you that.

“Normally, my parents would arrange a wife for me, but they are dead, so I have had to be creative. Speed dating gives me the chance to get this done quicker. I have a very profitable job, though the rules dictate I cannot tell you what it is. I make quite a lot of money and can support the lifestyle that is expected of a woman of means.

“You will stay home and raise our babies in comfort. When you match me, I will show you my financials to prove my worthiness. Then, if you agree, we will visit your parents, get their blessings, and marry within the month. I don’t want to wait to start with the babies. After all, you are not getting any younger, and we will need lots of babies to take care of us in our old age. Have I convinced you to accept my proposal?”

My mouth dropped open. There were no words.

What the… I only closed my mouth as the buzzer went off.

Saved by the bell.

“Okay, I will await your answer with a match. It was a pleasure to meet you, Adelaide.” He stretched out his hand. I shook it, and he stood and walked away.

I checked “no” for Bob, the Bollywood babe who wanted to get hitched after only a few minutes together.

“I’m Blake.” The next date flopped in the chair across from me with a sigh.

His slouching body was topped with jet-black hair and a pale face. His blank stare and lack of eye contact suggested that I needed to ask the first question. “Hi, I’m Adelaide. What do you like to do?”

“I like to watch paint dry.”

I laughed until his glare told me humor wasn’t his intent.

“Oh, do you like to paint?”

He rolled his eyes. “I said I like to watch paint dry, not that I like to paint. There is a difference, you know. Painting is putting color or the lack of color onto a surface. But for me, the real fun begins as the solvents evaporate. The paint feels dry, but it’s not one hundred percent desiccated yet. The period between when it feels dry and when it’s actually dry is called curing. This is when the coating of paint completely hardens and fuses to the wall. It’s absolutely fascinating, much more so than the act of painting.”

“Oh.”

“I have a wall in my house that I paint every Saturday just so I can watch this process over and over again. I have moisture meters and putty knives I use to test the process. Some paints take longer than others to cure. People don’t know this. They paint and move in without thinking. They ding their walls when the paint is not fully dry. I hate dings on the wall. You’re not one of those wall-dingers, are you?”

“I don’t think so...”

“Well, that’s good, but you should know for sure. I know all the workers at all the paint stores in—”

That’s when I stopped listening. Blake didn’t notice. He kept sharing about paint and how it dries for the rest of the six minutes.

Meanwhile, my mind wandered. I overheard Bob giving his speech at the table next to me. I forced my gaze back to Blake, feigning interest. I took in the details of his suit—black jacket and pants, white shirt, solid green tie.

Brenn would fill out that suit so much better.

The thought startled me, but it was true. His tanned skin, emerald eyes, and soccer-finished physique would do that suit justice. The monochrome-with-a-hint-of-green look was made for men like Brenn.

Man, I wish he was sitting across from me right now.

What are you doing now, Brenn? Do you miss me as much as I miss you?

Bzzzzz.

I smiled as Blake got up to leave. When he turned his back to me, I firmly pushed my pen on the sheet. A check made its way into the no-box. Hard pass on the Prince of Watching Paint Dry.

Let’s hope this guy is normal.

The next guy sat down, and he said, “Hello, I’m Hayden.”

“I’m Adelaide. Hayden is not a common name. How did your parents come up with it?”

“They’re musicians who met at a concert. The orchestra was playing one of Hayden’s symphonies—I can’t remember which one—but they met during an intermission. I showed up two years later, and they named me in honor of the composer who brought them together. I’m just glad they chose his last name, not his first.”

“That’s so sweet,” I said with a smile as I reached for my water glass.

He nodded. “How about you? Adelaide is not exactly on the top baby names list, either.”

“My parents loved fairy tales, you know, the whole prince, princess, and castle themes. All of us are named after different obscure royalty.” I took a sip of water and set my glass back down.

“I bet they were interesting people to grow up with.”

“It was fun. We would sit around the table and try to summarize fairy tales in seven words.”

“How do you do that?” He leaned in, sending a puff of candle smoke my way.

The acrid smell of burning candle wax caused me to lean back against the burgundy leather. “I’ll show you—give me the name of a fairy tale.”

“The Frog Prince.”

“Hmm... princess kisses frog...”

“That’s three.”

“... Poof... There’s a prince!”

He laughed and said, “That’s fantastic.”

“It’s easy when you know the stories forward and backward. What about you? Do you have any musical tricks?” I shifted back toward the table.

“I can whistle just about any of the classical music pieces that people know.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really, can you whistle ‘ Claire de Lune ’ ?”

“Easy.”

He serenaded me with the first few notes, one of my favorite classical pieces. The room fell quiet.

All too soon, the impromptu concert was broken by the bzzzzz .

And just like that, the hour of speed dates was over!