Danielle Steel - Dating Game

“The habits are ugly these days, remember that. No more Audrey Hepburn and Ingrid Bergman in flowing robes. They're short and polyester, and the hairdos suck.” She laughed, shook her head, and went back to her desk. And later that afternoon Chandler sent her flowers. Two dozen red roses, with a note. “Thanks for taking the time off from work. I had a great lunch. See you soon. CF.” Bixby looked at the flowers and read the note and shook his head.

“He's a pro. Nice roses though.” Bixby was tough on her behalf. She sent Chandler a thank-you note and forgot about him. For the rest of the week, in anticipation of Valentine's Day, they were swamped. Every client they had wanted to send someone something creative, even if it was their mother, or their sister in Des Moines. And the romantic ones were the worst. He had to come up with some stroke of genius for each one of them, but he always did. And they still had two parties to work on.

On Thursday Chandler called again. And asked her for dinner on Saturday night.

“I'm sorry, Chandler, I can't. I have to work.”

“Do you know what day that is?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes, I do. Valentine's Day. But I still have to work.” If she hadn't been in this business now, she would have been trying to forget. She was glad she'd be working. She and Peter always went out to dinner, and had the year before, although he'd been seeing Rachel, she knew now. She wondered how he'd handled that. However he had at the time, he had taken care of it permanently in May. This year he'd be with Rachel.

“What time will you finish work?”

“Late. Probably around eleven.” She was working a small dinner, and according to the house rule, could leave when the guests sat down. She was giving herself leeway when she said eleven. And trying to discourage him.

“I can wait until then. How about midnight supper with me?”

She hesitated a long beat, not sure what she was doing. She did not want to date. But she was talking about it to him as though she might. She didn't know what to do. He was backing her into it. And she was allowing it to happen. But there was something about him that was very appealing.

“I don't know, Chandler,” she said honestly. “I don't think I'm ready for that. Valentine's Day is a big deal.”

“We'll make it a small one. I understand. I've been there too.”

“Why me?” she asked plaintively, and he sounded very gentle when he answered.

“Because I think you're terrific. I haven't met anyone like you in fourteen years.” It was a heavy statement, and what's worse, he sounded as though he meant it. She had no idea what to say.

“You ought to go out with someone who doesn't have to work.”

“I'd rather go out with you. Why don't we say midnight? We'll do something simple and not scary. And if you finish earlier, you can call me. We'll do something easy like a hamburger. No pressure. No memories. Just good friends on a silly day.” He made it sound palatable, and she was tempted to accept. “Why don't you think about it, and I'll call you tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” she said weakly, somewhat under his spell. He was so reasonable and so easy and so convincing, he was hard to resist.

And although she thought about it that night, she had come to no decision. She half wanted to see him and half didn't. And when he called her on Friday morning, she was busy and distracted, and before she knew it, she'd agreed. She said she'd call him after the party, when she finished, and they would go out for hamburgers in jeans. It was the perfect solution for Valentine's Day. She didn't have to be alone, but she wasn't going to have a romantic dinner either. And that suited her just fine.

As it turned out, they sat down to dinner at nine o'clock at the dinner she was working. She left at nine-thirty, and he picked her up at ten, in jeans, as promised. She was wearing jeans and a red cashmere sweater and an old white duffel coat she'd had for years.

“You look like a Valentine, Cinderella,” he said, smiling at her, as he kissed her on the cheek, and they were halfway through dinner at a quiet restaurant he'd chosen, when he pushed a small box toward her, and two cards. She didn't have anything for him.

“What's that?” she asked, looking embarrassed. From the pink and red envelopes, it was easy to see what they were. They were Valentines for her, and when she opened them, they were funny and very cute. And in the wrapped box there was a small heart-shaped silver box filled with candy conversation hearts. It was a very thoughtful gift. “Thank you, Chandler, that was very sweet. I don't have anything for you.”

“You don't have to. You came to dinner with me. That's enough.” He looked as though he meant it, and she was very touched. It was an easy evening. She was home at midnight, and when he walked her to her door, he kissed her chastely on the cheek.

“Thank you, it was perfect,” she said, and meant it. She hadn't felt uncomfortable or pressured. And he'd been very good company.

“That's how I wanted it to be. What are you doing tomorrow? Can I talk you into a walk on the beach?” She hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Great. I'll pick you up at two.”

And when he did, they were both wearing running shoes and jeans. They spent two hours walking on the beach and Crissy Field, all the way to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a glorious afternoon with a gentle breeze. She had worn her hair down, and he looked at her admiringly as her long blond hair flew in the wind. And when he brought her home, she invited him upstairs for a drink. She drank iced tea as usual, and he had a glass of white wine, as he admired the view.

“I love your place,” he said pleasantly.

“So do I,” she said, as she joined him on the couch. She was beginning to feel comfortable with him. “I can't wait for my furniture to arrive.” It was due in another week.

They sat there for an hour, talking about their children, and why their marriages had gone awry. He said he had probably taken his wife for granted and been too cavalier.

“I guess I trusted her too much,” he said calmly. “I just assumed I could.”

“You have to be able to trust someone, Chandler.”

“I don't think I have since. I guess that's why I'm not married.”

“You have to trust the right person.”

“Did you trust him?” he asked, looking hard at her, and she nodded. “What did you learn from that?”

“That even people you love make mistakes. People change their minds. They fall out of love. It happens, I guess. It's just bad luck that it happened to me.”

“You're very naïve. Luck doesn't make things like that happen, or it would have happened to you and me too. I didn't cheat on her. You didn't cheat on him. Did you?” Paris shook her head, that was true. “So maybe the correct conclusion is that he wasn't trustworthy. My guess is that he's not as decent as you think. That wasn't an accident. He let it happen, just like my wife did. Maybe he even pursued it, with total disregard for what it would do to you. That didn't matter to him.”

“I don't think it's as simple as that,” she said fairly. “I think things happen, and people get tangled up in relationships they can't get out of. They get confused. And people change. Peter did. He said he was bored with me.”

“Boredom is part of marriage. If you get married, you have to expect to be bored.”

“Not always,” she said, hearing Bix's words ring in her head. Professional daters think married people are boring and bourgeois . “I wasn't bored.”

“Maybe you didn't know you were. I'll bet your life is a lot more interesting now,” he said with a smile as he took a sip of his wine. He had very definite ideas.