Page 78 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

A couple of hours later, Monroe and I see Luna to the door and thank her for her time. “We appreciate you taking this on so quickly,” Monroe says.

“And I appreciate your business.” The realtor is a curvy woman with olive skin and a friendly smile. “This house will be so fun to list.”

She takes off, and when the door closes, Monroe looks at his watch. “If memory serves, you have one more date. We should do that tonight.”

He sounds businesslike, and I get it. We said three dates with three men at the start of this experiment. Monroe’s simply sticking to the plan.

But what if we could have more than three dates? What if we could have dates that go beyond this week? Nights together in San Francisco? Perhaps, I’ll use this last date to show my podcast co-host the sort of fun we can have together and then feel him out about all these pesky feelings. We’ve grown closer with each of our dates, stripping down our defenses, but we needed those costumes to get there. It’ll be easier for me to broach the big, scary topic while we’re still in experiment mode.

“Let’s do it.” We head to the back porch, where I open the Date Night app and thumb through prospects as if I’m simply hunting. But I quickly land on the guy I found during my walk back to the house. I take a quiet, steadying breath. With fingers metaphorically crossed, I swallow my nerves and ask, “How about this one?”

It’s my choice, of course. I don’t need his permission, but I do want this date tonight to go well, like the others have. Each date has brought us closer, and I want this one to do the same.

That’s why I pre-selected Adam. He’s a college professor who likes nineties tunes, tinkering on household projects, reading on cold days, and reading on hot days. Oh, he’s also divorced. His smile is warm, his eyes kind behind those glasses, and his word choices in his profile are unadorned. He’s thirty-eight. “No douche vibes here, right?”

Monroe studies his profile for flaws, then smiles like he’s impressed. “No douche vibes,” he echoes.

“Good.” Another deep breath. “Then why don’t we practice it as a third date?”

He gives me a quizzical stare. “A third date?” Like he’s not sure he heard.

“Yes, that means the professor and I have gone out twice already.”

“I know what third means.”

“Do you though?”

His smile takes time to spread, then it turns naughty. “I do.”

Fun and feelings. You can’t do that on the first date. I close my eyes and soak in the sun, keeping my mind focused on Monroe’s actions this week. This morning, especially. “Thanks for the coffee. And the ladybug drawing.”

“You’re welcome.”

When I open my eyes, he’s soaking in the rays, too, looking content, like he belongs here. “Do you like karaoke?”

He barks out a laugh. “That’s random.”

“Do you?”

He shoots me a challenging look. “What do you think?”

“No.”

“You’d be right.” He takes a beat, tilts his head. “But I’d go with you if you wanted to.”

Maybe his words are starting to match his actions. I’m feeling all sorts of possibilities.

That evening, as I’m getting ready in the main bathroom, my phone buzzes with a text from my mom.

Mom: Dating is so fun! I’m having the best time.

Juliet: I’m so happy for you, Mom.

Mom: And you? Are you having fun?

Juliet: Definitely!

Mom: I take it that means it’s going well with the guy you met? Aren’t the men better here?