Dinner with a friend? She gaped at him. “Well, I—”
But she was talking to herself because he’d gone.
Chapter Seven
One person’s danger is another person’s good time.
—Eva
“So you’re having dinner,” Eva said carefully, “but it’s not a date.”
“That’s right. I tried to put him off but it didn’t work and now I’m stuck. I should have just kissed him! That would have sent him running.” Frankie threw all her clothes on the bed. She was shivery with nerves. She hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. Which was ridiculous, because this was Matt. Matt, whom she’d known forever. Except the version of Matt she’d known forever wasn’t the one who had been looking down at her with those lazy blue eyes and that sexy smile. “What do I wear? You know about this stuff. It’s your superpower.”
“I need more information. If it’s not a date, what is it?”
“I don’t know! We both need to eat, that’s all.” Except that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat anything at all. Her stomach was so full of butterflies there was no room for anything else. “Can’t two people have dinner without dissecting meaning and motivation?”
“Of course they can,” Eva soothed. “We’ll call it a—nondate.”
A nondate.
Frankie stared at the clothes on her bed in despair. “I want to look good. I don’t want to embarrass him. But it’s important that I send out the right message.”
“What message is that? I’m confused.”
She was confused, too. “That we’re just friends. This isn’t a relationship or anything.”
“You and Matt already have a relationship. A lovely relationship.”
“We do.” Frankie’s knees were shaking and she gave up and sat down on the bed. She was terrified, but underneath the panic was a ripple of something else. Something more dangerous. Excitement. Anticipation. Matt. “We do have a good relationship, so why are we messing with that? What are we doing?” She gave a moan and sank back into the pile of clothes. “You have to tell him I’m sick.”
“I’m not telling him that. Get up. I can’t see your clothes if you’re lying on them.” Eva dragged her up again.
“I don’t own anything suitable. I spend my days wrestling with rosebushes. When I see clients I wear my white shirt and my black pants. I spend my evenings in sweats and a T-shirt.”
“We already know he likes you in those. He likes you whatever you’re wearing.”
She knew that was true. She’d seen the way he looked at her. And the way he looked at her made her feel … feel …
“I can’t wear sweats and a T-shirt to dinner.”
“Where is he taking you?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.” Or maybe he had and she’d blocked it out. She’d heard nothing after the words I’ll see you at seven. She’d tried to tell him that no, that wasn’t going to happen, but by the time she’d found her voice he’d already walked away, and then James had arrived to pick up another load of materials and after that there was no opportunity.
“It’s not helpful that he didn’t tell you,” Eva said. “If you’ve been asked on a date then it’s only fair to know what to expect.” She caught Frankie’s eye and gave a weak smile. “Except that this isn’t a date, so those rules don’t apply. Wear anything.”
“What does anything look like? This is why I hate dating. If it was just a couple of hours I could stand it, but the stress starts hours before the actual date.”
“Calm down. This is Matt. You don’t need to be scared—”
“I am scared! Everyone is scared of something, right? Heights? No problem. Dangle me off the edge of the Empire State Building and I wouldn’t break off the conversation. Rats? Cute, especially their tails. Spiders? Hand me a large hairy one and I’d be totally cool.”
Eva paled. “Do you honestly think I’d hand you a spider of any sort?”
“Figure of speech. I was talking about me. My phobias. It’s dating, by the way. That’s my phobia.”
“That’s because you’ve only dated losers, but Matt is different. You need to calm down or you’ll be in a state by the time you leave.”