The Blind Date Surprise

‘Just up the road,’ Mel shouted above a blast of loud background music. ‘At The Cactus Flower. It’s in the next block from where you are—on the left.’

‘Stay there, please. I’m coming.’

‘Honey, we won’t move.’

Theo Grainger waited in the foyer of the Pinnacle Hotel and watched the blinking lights in the panel beside the lift indicating its journey downward from the twenty-seventh floor. All too soon, those shiny lift doors would slide open and Annie McKinnon would burst out.

A kind of dread tightened his throat muscles as he anticipated the tears streaming down her face. The kid would be a mess. A heartbroken, disillusioned mess.

He cursed himself for handling the whole situation so badly. His cowardly, fickle nephew had caused enough trouble, but Theo had bungled his part in the evening too.

He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to make such a hash of things. He’d come to the hotel this evening with the best of intentions. He’d planned to meet the young Internet hopeful and to apologise to her on his nephew’s behalf and to explain that the date had been cancelled. To apologise in person—before she headed up to La Piastra.

Theo could pile on the charm when necessary and he’d been confident he could appease Damien’s date and send her on her way with her dignity intact, even if her tender young heart was broken. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to move into damage control after one of his nephew’s pranks.

But somehow Theo hadn’t been prepared for Annie McKinnon.

He hadn’t anticipated the blinding excitement shining in her face. She’d arrived at the Pinnacle looking so incredibly young and innocent, so unspeakably hopeful. So thrilled!

And he certainly hadn’t anticipated her cheer squad of friends.

The girlfriends had been his final stumbling block. One mere male couldn’t be expected to confront three overexcited, chattering females with the bad news that the big deal date was off.

In future, he would make sure that Damien was forced to face up to the consequences of his thoughtless pranks, even if he had to drag the wretch to the scene of his crime by the scruff of his neck.

But tonight the result of Theo’s bungling was that he’d felt a compunction to hang around for the aftermath—to make sure Annie McKinnon wasn’t too terribly heartbroken.

The light beside the lift indicated that it had reached the ground floor and he stood to one side of the foyer with his hands plunged deep in his trouser pockets. There was a clean handkerchief in his right pocket and it would come in handy if he needed to mop her tears before he called a taxi to send her safely homewards.

The doors opened and he held his breath and steeled himself for the sight of Annie’s flushed, tear-ravaged face.

But no.

Annie swept out of the lift with her golden head high, looking pale but dignified, almost haughty. No sign of tears. Her pretty blue eyes were dry and glass-clear and her mouth was composed, almost smiling.

Almost. If Theo hadn’t been watching her very closely, he might have missed the tremor of her chin and the exceedingly careful way she walked, as if she needed all her strength to hold herself together.

Her unexpected courage shook him. He felt a sudden lump in his throat and an absurd urge to applaud her.

And he remained stock-still as she sailed across the foyer. Even as the huge glass doors at the hotel’s entrance parted, he didn’t move. It made absolutely no sense but this devastated young woman seemed more composed than he felt.

She disappeared into the night before he came to his senses. By the time he dashed outside she was already hurrying along the footpath, ducking her way past pedestrians with athletic grace.

He called, ‘Annie!’

But she didn’t hear him and when people turned and stared at him he felt several versions of foolish. What on earth had he thought he was going to do if she’d heard him? Offer her coffee and consolation?

Clearly she needed neither.

He came to a halt in the middle of the footpath. Ahead of him, he saw a flash of pink jeans and white top as Annie turned to her left. Then she hurried up a short flight of steps and vanished inside a bar.

Theo Grainger couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so inadequate.

‘The guy’s a jerk!’

‘An A-grade jerk.’

Mel and Victoria were vehement in their anger.

And never had Annie been happier to see friends.

As the three girls drowned their sorrows in strawberry daiquiris, she found it comforting to listen to their united rant.

‘Annie, your Damien has reached an entirely new, utterly despicable level of jerkdom.’

‘How dare he behave so jerkily to such a lovely, trusting country mouse?’

But the horrible part was that in between moments of righteous anger Annie still wanted to love Damien. She couldn’t let go of her fantasy man in the blink of an eye. She needed to believe he was helpless and guiltless.

Perhaps he really couldn’t have helped missing the date. There was still a chance that he was sick, in pain and feeling as bitterly disappointed as she was.

‘He might be sick,’ she said wistfully.

Victoria sniffed. ‘Yeah, that’s about as likely as he’s fallen under a bus.’

‘Or he’s found an urgent need to flee the country,’ added Mel, rolling her eyes. ‘Face it, Annie. If Damien was halfway decent and he had a genuine excuse, he would have gone out of his way to make sure you understood what had kept him.’

Annie sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right…I guess I just don’t want to believe it.’

It was so hard to let go of her happy dreams. She wanted to crawl away and cry for a month.

‘The thing is,’ said Mel, stirring her icy daiquiri with a slim black straw. ‘He’s not just a base-level jerk, he’s a cowardly jerk. He had to pretend to be someone else.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I bet you any cocktail on this menu that the so-called uncle who relayed the message doesn’t exist.’

The thought that it might have actually been Damien on the phone, pretending to be someone else, made Annie feel ten times worse.

Victoria patted her shoulder. ‘I reckon you should forget about blind dates and concentrate on raising the cocktail drinking statistics for the Greater Brisbane Area.’

Annie nodded miserably. It wasn’t her style, but losing herself in an alcoholic fuzz had definite appeal. The problem was that it would only take the edge off her pain momentarily. There would still be tomorrow. And the rest of the week in Brisbane. A whole week in the city. Without Damien.

‘I’d rather go back to your place and borrow your computer to send The Jerk a blistering email,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ agreed Mel. ‘Great idea. Besides, Victoria and I still have to go to work tomorrow morning. Let’s go home and send Damien a message he won’t forget. Let’s make sure he absolutely understands just how totally bottom-of-the-pits he’s been.’

‘If he’s a true jerk, it’ll be like water off a duck’s back,’ suggested Victoria gloomily.