dining area. This way, Payton figured, she and Chase would start with drinks and, if things went well, could stay for dinner.
Now anyone who has ever been on a blind date is well familiar with “The Moment”—that moment where you first walk into the bar or restaurant or coffee shop and scan the crowd and suddenly your heart stops and you say to yourself: oh, please—let it be him .
And then you immediately think, wait—it can’t be him , why would anyone who looks like him be on a blind date? But you allow yourself to hope anyway, until—inevitably—some equally gorgeous woman comes back from the rest-room and sits down at his table, and you realize that—lucky you— your date is the schmoe at the bar with the lame blue button-down shirt and high-waisted khaki pants who obviously just finished his shift at Blockbuster.
Which explains why, when Payton first walked into the restaurant that evening, she immediately noticed the guy at the bar in the dark shirt and jeans, but then just as quickly turned her attention elsewhere, having written him off as far too delicious.
Seeing no other likely prospects, Payton figured the Perfect Chase was at the very least not so perfect by running even later than she, so she took a seat at the bar to wait. She hadn’t even had the chance to order before she felt someone tap her on the shoulder from behind. Payton turned around and had to stifle her gasp.
Sweet Jesus.
It was The Delicious in the dark shirt and jeans.
“Payton, right?” The Delicious asked with a friendly smile. “Laney asked Nate to call and tell me what you were wearing. That girl thinks of everything, doesn’t she?”
Wow.
Laney—that sneaky little Republican—had knocked it out of the ballpark with this one.
Payton grinned. “You must be Chase.” As she extended her hand in introduction, she took the opportunity to give him a more thorough once-over.
He had dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes. Very Pat-rick Dempsey/McDreamy-esque. Good build, not terribly tall, maybe only five-ten-ish, but since Payton measured in at exactly five-three and one-third inch, she could work with this.
Chase took her hand. His grip was firm. “It’s a pleasure, Payton,” he said, still with an utterly genuine, easy smile.
Uh-oh. Payton’s bullshit radar went on high alert. He was too nice. She eyed him cautiously as he took a seat next to her at the bar.
But as they talked and ordered drinks, Payton began to have a sneaking suspicion that Chase’s nice-guy routine wasn’t a routine at all. He seemed genuinely friendly and—even more shocking for a blind date—completely normal.
“So, Laney tells me you’re a lawyer as well,” Chase said as the bartender set their drinks down in front of them, a French martini for her, a Tom Collins for him. Payton made a mental note to ask what was in his drink they next time they ordered. (Oh, yes—she had already decided there would be a second round.)
Payton nodded. “I do labor and employment litigation.” She told him a little about her practice, then asked about his.
“I just moved here to be the new general counsel for the Chicago Legal Clinic,” Chase said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us? We’re a private not-for-profit firm that provides legal services to individuals who meet the federal poverty guidelines.”
Payton was impressed. How altruistic of him. Her mother would love this guy. “General counsel? Laney hadn’t mentioned that.”
Chase grinned. “It sounds like a much more important position than it really is.”
In her profession, it was rare for Payton to meet someone actually disinclined to brag. And as their conversation continued, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chase seemed just as modest about his other accomplishments. When they got around to the subject of law school (a subject two lawyers will always get around to), she liked that he referred to his education as “going to school in Boston” rather than
Now anyone who has ever been on a blind date is well familiar with “The Moment”—that moment where you first walk into the bar or restaurant or coffee shop and scan the crowd and suddenly your heart stops and you say to yourself: oh, please—let it be him .
And then you immediately think, wait—it can’t be him , why would anyone who looks like him be on a blind date? But you allow yourself to hope anyway, until—inevitably—some equally gorgeous woman comes back from the rest-room and sits down at his table, and you realize that—lucky you— your date is the schmoe at the bar with the lame blue button-down shirt and high-waisted khaki pants who obviously just finished his shift at Blockbuster.
Which explains why, when Payton first walked into the restaurant that evening, she immediately noticed the guy at the bar in the dark shirt and jeans, but then just as quickly turned her attention elsewhere, having written him off as far too delicious.
Seeing no other likely prospects, Payton figured the Perfect Chase was at the very least not so perfect by running even later than she, so she took a seat at the bar to wait. She hadn’t even had the chance to order before she felt someone tap her on the shoulder from behind. Payton turned around and had to stifle her gasp.
Sweet Jesus.
It was The Delicious in the dark shirt and jeans.
“Payton, right?” The Delicious asked with a friendly smile. “Laney asked Nate to call and tell me what you were wearing. That girl thinks of everything, doesn’t she?”
Wow.
Laney—that sneaky little Republican—had knocked it out of the ballpark with this one.
Payton grinned. “You must be Chase.” As she extended her hand in introduction, she took the opportunity to give him a more thorough once-over.
He had dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes. Very Pat-rick Dempsey/McDreamy-esque. Good build, not terribly tall, maybe only five-ten-ish, but since Payton measured in at exactly five-three and one-third inch, she could work with this.
Chase took her hand. His grip was firm. “It’s a pleasure, Payton,” he said, still with an utterly genuine, easy smile.
Uh-oh. Payton’s bullshit radar went on high alert. He was too nice. She eyed him cautiously as he took a seat next to her at the bar.
But as they talked and ordered drinks, Payton began to have a sneaking suspicion that Chase’s nice-guy routine wasn’t a routine at all. He seemed genuinely friendly and—even more shocking for a blind date—completely normal.
“So, Laney tells me you’re a lawyer as well,” Chase said as the bartender set their drinks down in front of them, a French martini for her, a Tom Collins for him. Payton made a mental note to ask what was in his drink they next time they ordered. (Oh, yes—she had already decided there would be a second round.)
Payton nodded. “I do labor and employment litigation.” She told him a little about her practice, then asked about his.
“I just moved here to be the new general counsel for the Chicago Legal Clinic,” Chase said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us? We’re a private not-for-profit firm that provides legal services to individuals who meet the federal poverty guidelines.”
Payton was impressed. How altruistic of him. Her mother would love this guy. “General counsel? Laney hadn’t mentioned that.”
Chase grinned. “It sounds like a much more important position than it really is.”
In her profession, it was rare for Payton to meet someone actually disinclined to brag. And as their conversation continued, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chase seemed just as modest about his other accomplishments. When they got around to the subject of law school (a subject two lawyers will always get around to), she liked that he referred to his education as “going to school in Boston” rather than
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