Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kiara is knee-deep in water swatting crabs away from her ankles when John B says, “Can I ask you something?”

He is also knee-deep in water, a few feet away, but unlike hers, his crabs are being cooperative. It’s enough to make Kiara even less amenable to his attempts at bonding than she normally is. (Which is to say, not very.) “No,” she says, and kicks another crab away.

There is a short pause. “Can I ask it anyway?”

She looks up. He’s watching her with wide baleful eyes, and it sort of makes her feel like she’s just kicked him. She sighs. It’s not his fault that she’s a shitty conservationist. (Or that the crabs are probably racist.) “What?”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

She frowns. “Why do you care?”

John B looks a little wounded. “I was just wondering.”

She wonders what brought that on. They’ve been stood collecting seaweed for almost an hour in virtual silence. She kicks another crab away and then has a terrible feeling that maybe the crabs reminded him of her, and then has an even worse feeling that her immediately snappishness probably didn’t help matters.

She can see him pouting somewhere in her peripheral, and sighs. “I’m not,” she admits, finally. “Seeing anyone, I mean.”

She keeps her gaze deliberately down-turned, concentrating on finding seaweed, but out of the corner of her eye she sees John B perk up a little at her admission. “Oh. Cool.”

She just has to check. “This… isn’t you asking me out, is it?”

“What?” And then he has the audacity to laugh. “No, no, definitely not!”

She straightens, a little incensed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, sorry, Kiara. I just… no, no. You’re like a sister.”

Which is sweet of him to say, but also kind of weird, considering they’re not all that close. They’ve been working together for almost four months now, but most of the time they spend together is in silence, and when it’s not it’s usually John B volunteering up rounds of I Spy or story circles to pass the time that Kiara only sometimes accepts. It makes her feel a little touched, to know that despite how unfriendly she’s been – she supposes that hostile wouldn’t be a far-off word – he still thinks they’re close. Then she also feels kind of bad for all the times she’s turned down his games. He’d probably be quite good at story circles.

“Oh,” she says, uncomfortably flattered. She looks down at the seaweed in her bucket. “Gee. Well. Thanks, John B.”

“No problem!” John B then gently deposits a crab that was crawling up the side of his own bucket back into the water. “There you go, buddy.”

He’s like the Snow White of crabs. She sort of wants to throw a crab at him, only it would probably fall harmlessly from his face. Maybe even moisturise it too. She also recognises that the last thing she should be doing is fanning the conversational flames with him when in this particular metaphor John B is akin to dry kindling, but she also can’t but be curious. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, we’re friends. And you don’t talk that much about your life and I wanted to just check if you were okay, and stuff.”

“Oh.” Now she feels bad for wanting to throw a crab at him, even if the last thing she’d call him is a friend. “Um, well. Yeah, I am.”

“But are you happy?”

And, huh? She gives him a weird look. “Look, did you need something, or…?”

Their working dynamic has never been about divulging personal information. In fact, the less they know about each other the better – makes their professional relationship more successful, Kiara believes. John B unfortunately thinks the opposite, and as a result she knows far too much about him, including but not limited to his dad, his best friend, his girlfriend Maddie, and what he’s thinking about for dinner that night.

In fact, one of the only reasons she hasn’t requested a transfer other than the fact he’s actually a pretty adept partner is because he at least seems to understand that their relationship is mostly one-sided, and that Kiara doesn’t come in every day to make friends. Him asking about her emotional wellbeing is wholly out of the ordinary, and Kiara doesn’t trust it one bit.

Still, John B has the nerve to look hurt. “Can’t I just ask questions?”

“Not about my personal life.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“We could just work in silence,” she says. “That’s never bothered me before.”

She expects that to be the end of it, the way it normally is whenever she’s maybe a little too curt with him, but this time John B just deflates, dropping his gaze sadly to another crab that is crawling up the side of his pail. Gently he plucks it off by the scalloped edges of its exoskeleton.

Finally, he admits, in a small voice, “Maddie broke up with me last night.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Kiara’s hand sort of pauses mid-air, and she stares at the clump of seaweed in it, silently panicking.

Oblivious, John B looks down at the crab in his hand. It blinks up at him crabbily. “As it turns out she wasn’t looking for something long-term,” he says. His tone has turned all sad and fuck, Kiara doesn’t know how to deal with this at all. “I mean, we’d only been seeing each other for three months but I really liked her, and I thought…” He breaks off. “Well. I thought she might have been it. But I guess not.”

His whole body is sloped forward, like a wilting plant. Kiara is so out of her limit here. “I’m sorry,” she inanely decides on, finally. John B may not be her best friend, but in her entire time of knowing him she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him look this downtrodden. “I know you… really cared about her.”

She cringes as soon as it comes out; could she be any more awkward? But John B nods, understanding, like he appreciates the words. “Thanks, Kiara,” he says, and gently puts the crab back down. It immediately skitters like a spider through the water to where its brethren are nibbling at Kiara’s ankle, and she swats at it irritably. “I guess I’m just feeling a little down in the dumps about love and I wanted a reason to believe in it again.”

“Well, you’re probably barking up the wrong tree with me,” she says. “I’m no luckier in love than you are.”

John B glances at her. “Really?”

Any other day she would have just dismissed him, but he did just call her a sister and now he’s sad and mopey, which she didn’t realise could possibly be worse than his usual unnecessary enthusiasm but somehow is. She never thought she’d miss the relentless optimism. She shrugs and turns back to her pail, flicking another crab away, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I don’t know,” she says, after a pause. “I’ve been going on a few dates here and there, but… just dead ends.”

“Are you looking for a relationship?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I’m twenty-five and I’ve never… really seriously dated anyone before.” She shrugs again, profusely uncomfortable. “I mean, it’s whatever. It’s just not on the cards for me right now.”

There is a silence, and when she risks looking over her shoulder at him, he is staring back at her with a sort of increasingly revelatory look in his eyes. Kiara has never trusted when John B looks that deep in thought, but especially now, when he starts to grin.

She is immediately afraid.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking—” she starts.

“Kiara.”

“No.”

“I can help!”

Her finger is up in the air before he can even finish saying the words. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

She stares at him. “Why not? John B, no offence, but you don’t know me well enough to hook me up with people.”

“Fine, dating profile!” Kiara opens her mouth to protest, but before she can he adds, “I’m good at those!”

“How?”

“I’ve set up a bunch of couples before.”

“Are they still together?”

“Yes!”

“…Are they human?”

His face goes a little sheepish. “Does it matter?”

The urge to throw a crab at him returns. She would feel less bad about it this time, and his Snow White powers won’t be any use if she launches it like a missile at his eye socket. “I’m not a turtle who needs a mate, John B.”

“Oh, come on, Kiara,” he wheedles. “I’m heartbroken! I need a reason to believe in love! All I have now is just…” He gestures around him. “Seaweed and crabs. And not even the sexy kind.”

“Crabs the STI is really not all that sexy,” Kiara says. “And if you need a reason to believe in love then make your own dating profile.”

“It’s still too raw.” They’re not close enough for him to nudge her, but his arm still instinctively moves out like he’s about to do so. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“Not for me!”

But he is already nodding like that is that and their collective mind has been made up. “Yes,” he says decidedly, half to himself. “Mission Set Kiara Up is officially a-go.” He plucks a crab off his shoulder and then starts wading back towards the shore. To her dismay Kiara sees that his bucket is already filled with seaweed. “After work then, yeah?”

“No!” Kiara calls after him, but it falls on deaf ears as he happily tromps away, humming to himself. She’s left standing by herself, with only a half-filled bucket and half a dozen crabs mindlessly snapping at her toes. She stares down at them despairingly.

“Fuck me,” she says.

*

Kiara has no intention of ever actually utilising the dating profile.

She’d let John B make it for her mostly to humour him, and also because he’d foiled her escape route after work. (Which, in retrospect, was probably for the best, considering her plan accounted her being able to pole-vault from the roof with a pool net.) They’d sat in the now-empty cafeteria surrounded by those dumb zoo posters (John B hilariously features in most of them, because he’s a draw for the moms and the only photogenic one who can touch the snakes without getting bitten), painstakingly putting together a profile that Kiara had internally sworn to delete as soon as she got home.

It was simple and concise; coy enough to draw in visitors, but with enough information to paint a good picture. Kiara Carerra. 25. Marine conservationist at the North Carolina Zoo. Likes: animals, the ocean, recycling and feminist writers. Dislikes: the patriarchy, microplastics, and crabs. (Okay, so the crabs left a mark. Sue her.)

But then she starts getting matches. By the time she arrives home, she’s gotten four messages. One is a dick pic, but the other three are somewhat intelligent openings, by people who share similar interests, and who have an interest in her.

Maybe it’s a little humiliating to admit, but… she has been lonely. As much as she likes her work, it can be a little isolating, to spend her time holed up somewhere either by herself or in stout silence with John B, with no one to come home to at the end of the day. And it’s not like it can hurt.

Resolutely, she swallows her pride, and responds to one of the messages.

*

#1.

The first is Sarah.

Kiara matches with her two days after she first makes the account. She is beachy blonde with dark eyes, cheekbones to die for and a mouth that in every picture is pulled into a knowing smirk like she’s in on a joke that Kiara isn’t. Her profile lists her as a fashion agency scout whose likes include raspberry mojitos and The Bachelorette, and Kiara, whose standards are low enough that she appreciates her preference for at least the more feminist of The Bachelor franchise, and also those dark narrowed eyes, swipes right.

She has no intention of letting John B know. Not only does he not need to know anything about her personal life, but he is certainly not finding out that his dumbass plan of setting her up has at least somewhat worked. In a terrible self-sabotaging way Kiara sort of hopes the date bombs, if only to be able to prove him wrong.

Then for the first time she discovers Sarah’s Instagram and sees what she looks like in a swimsuit, and very quickly changes her mind.

In fact, the only reason John B even finds out is by accident. Kiara accidentally leaves her phone face-up on the table during their lunch break, and of course Sarah’s latest message appears as a notification on her homescreen. She switches her phone off as quickly as she can but it’s too late.

“Who was that?” John B says. “Was that from Tinder?”

She brings the phone closer to her chest, like that will change what he saw. “No,” she says, probably too quickly.

Though a dumbass he may be, John B is unfortunately not stupid. His eyes go wide. “No way! Tell me everything!”

He looks close to lunging across the table and hugging her. She points her fork at him before he gets anymore ideas. “No. You are not getting involved in this.”

“But I helped!” he protests. “And I still need my faith in love restored!”

“Are you seriously still milking that?”

“Oh, sorry I’m still milking my heartbreak, Kiara. Come on, tell me! Who is it? What are they like?” He casts her a significant look after this, like he’s making sure she understands the unintentional gender ambiguity. She resists the urge to roll her eyes. He’d showed up in a pan pride pin the day after they’d made the profile and she’d told him her preferences.

Still, she also knows that prying John B away from something like this would require plyers the size of the Empire State. A little information won’t hurt, will it? “She. And she seems nice.”

“Nice!” John B makes a discontented sound. “That doesn’t tell me anything! Give me the juicy details – what does she look like? What are her interests? Are you meeting up?”

“Okay, no to everything you just said,” Kiara says, and then with a sinking feeling realises that she could probably use his help. Fuck. She hesitates, and then admits, “We’re meeting up next week.”

John B beams, and holds out his hand for a high-five. “Fuck yeah!”

Kiara raises an eyebrow at him, but his sunny expression doesn’t fade. Finally, she rolls her eyes and high-fives him back. “Thing is, I don’t… really know what we should do, or where we should go.”

John B sucks on his yoghurt spoon thoughtfully. “You can bring her here?”

“Isn’t that kind of tacky? Bringing someone to your workplace on the first date?”

“Yeah, but it’s a zoo. Cute animals.”

Her mouth twists doubtfully. “I don’t know. Maybe somewhere a little more… formal.”

John B nods and helps himself to another spoonful of yoghurt, processing this information. Then he snaps his fingers, pulling his spoon out of his mouth with a pop. “Dude, my friend JJ works at a restaurant that apparently is meant to be really nice! It’s called, like, a pun or something.” He makes a swirling motion with the hand holding the spoon, like he’s trying to beckon the name into his head. “The Dive? No, the… the…”

Even though he’s virtually given her no information to go off, something about it rings a bell. “Wait, The Wreck?”

He snaps his fingers again. “That’s it!”

Kiara mulls this over. The Wreck is a restaurant on the boardwalk that she’s visited a few times; it’s usually her primary hotspot whenever her parents come to visit or she’s showing a friend around the Outer Banks. From what she remembers, it’s a pretty nice place: not divey in the way beachfront food places usually, but also not upscale enough for the menu to be all in French, over thirty dollars apiece and comprised of sea animals listed under innocuous names so that she doesn’t know what she’s ordering until it arrives on her plate.

This… this could actually work.

“Wow, John B,” she says, trying to conceal her surprise. “That’s… not a bad idea.”

John B scoffs, which she only allows because so far he is kind of the reason she has this date at all, though she’s going to start getting twitchy if he keeps having this much leverage over her. “It’s more than that! Good, yeah?”

His grin is becoming a little too self-satisfied for her liking. “Just because you did this for me doesn’t mean that we’re friends,” she says. “Because we’re not.”

“Okay,” John B says jovially, and steals one of her carrot sticks before she can stop him.

“We’re not.”

“I get it.” He dips the carrot into his yoghurt seemingly on instinct, like he momentarily forgets that it’s not a condiment, and Kiara decides not to tell him. “But I can tell JJ that you’ll be stopping by The Wreck soon, yeah?”

He waggles his eyebrows at her. Begrudgingly, Kiara concedes, “I guess if nothing better comes up.”

“Awesome,” he says sagely, and then bites his carrot without so much as flinching. Kiara realises a little disgustedly that he dipped it in his yoghurt on purpose. “Okay, we’ve got five minutes left of our break. Want to see how many TV shows we can name beginning with W?”

*

Though it pains her a little to do, Kiara ends up deciding on The Wreck.

It’s not like she particularly wants to give John B another reason to be involved in her life in any capacity, but even she’ll admit that it seems like a good, easy place to have a first date, just a step below a fancy dinner but above a coffee date. When she suggests it to Sarah, she is met with enthusiastic agreement and a citation of their garlic potatoes as one of the best things she’s ever had.

From there, a day is set, a time decided upon, and: they have a date.

Fifteen minutes before she’s due to leave, Kiara flat-irons her hair in the mirror and tries not to focus on the seed of insecurity that sprouts in her gut. It’s not the first date she’s been on recently, but it still feels significant, in the way that it’s not just drinks with a cute guy who had slipped her his number through the bars of the otter enclosure. (Which has happened surprisingly often. Maybe it’s a little worrying considering in the wetsuit she’s also been mistaken for one of the otters a few times. She probably shouldn’t read too much into it.) This is a date with someone she’s been talking to all week, someone she likes who seems to like her too.

You’re overthinking things, Carerra, she tells herself sternly. It’s just one date. It doesn’t need to hold as much weight as she’s putting on it.

She’s going to go, have fun, eat a nice meal and maybe if she’s lucky get a kiss at the end of it.

That’s all.

She nods at herself firmly in the mirror. “Game face,” she says out loud, and then picks up her bag and heads out the front door.

*

Sarah is already waiting outside the restaurant when Kiara arrives.

She’s wearing a blue dress that shows a lot of her tanned legs and sneakers so white that Kiara feels a little insecure about her own shoes, which are looking a little more grey than white these days. Still, it’s hard to stay self-conscious for long, especially when Sarah’s gaze lands on her a few feet away as she approaches, and a smile spreads across her face.

“Kiara,” she says, when Kiara comes to a stop in front of her. Her tone twists it like a guess but her eyes are narrowed in the way she’s become familiar with from her picture, like for the first time Kiara’s in on the joke as well.

“That’s me,” she says, “I’m guessing you’re Sarah?” and Sarah grins in triumph. “It’s good to finally meet you. You look lovely.”

Sarah’s expression softens a little at that, her smile coming a little more genuinely. “Hey, you, too.”

“Shall we?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Sarah says. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been looking forward to this date, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been fantasising about these potatoes all week.”

Kiara laughs. “Good to know where I stand.”

“You’ve got a whole evening to win me over,” Sarah says with a wink as she holds open the door, and Kiara feels herself smile in response as she passes through. Anticipation fills her stomach with butterflies, but the good kind this time.

Sarah, as she finds out quickly, is incredibly easy to talk to. It feels like they’ve known each other for years with how naturally conversation flows between them, which for Kiara at least is a big deal. She never had a lot of female friends growing up, always a little too loud and opinionated and intense to get along with the girls in her school, so finding a woman, or even just a person, who she’s able to talk to so effortlessly makes the tightly wound-up iron ball of stress in the very pit of her stomach unfurl a little. The conversation never even has that awkward beginning stage that Kiara has grown so used to on first dates: the uncomfortable back-and-forth of how are you, what do you do, nice weather, huh, until somewhere during stories of first pets and where they went to school they find their footing and it can flow easier. Those had been the first bases to be covered when they were messaging, so now Sarah asks her more about her job as a conservationist and what it’s like working at the zoo, and Kiara asks Sarah about her dog and her roommate who never washes the dishes.

It’s easy, is what it is, and someone who’s always struggled with friendship, Kiara really, really appreciates it.

The only problem is that there’s no real… spark. Of course, Sarah’s gorgeous, and her dress is doing all sorts of great things to her cleavage, but as the night progresses and they’re both halfway through a glass of wine and Kiara starts thinking about what’s going to happen after they finish dinner, she can’t really picture kissing her. Being attracted to women as a woman herself, she’s thinks she’s gotten pretty good at being able to tell when the energy exchanges between herself and another girl are romantic or platonic, and, well…

She immediately jerks herself out of that line of thinking. None of that. This evening is going well, and she’s not about to look that gift horse in the mouth. Why must she always have such a propensity for self-sabotage?

She refocuses on the story Sarah is telling her, something about an entitled customer from her time spent working as a secretary; tells herself that she is not going to let her own worries be the reason she screws this up. However, it’s only maybe five seconds later that her phone starts to ring.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, and digs around in her purse for it. She’s intending to just switch it off, because whoever is calling her now can certainly wait, but then to her surprise she sees none other than John B’s name flash across the screen.

Her face must do something peculiar, because Sarah says, “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” Kiara says. Apologetically, she adds, “Actually, sorry, do you mind if I just take this real quick? It’s my coworker – he never calls, I didn’t even realise he had my number—”

Sarah waves her off. “Yeah, of course.”

Gratefully, Kiara flashes her a quick smile, and then presses answer, bringing her phone up to her ear. “What do you want?”

“Oh, Kiara, thank goodness you picked up!”

He sounds fine, and there’s no screaming or chainsaws buzzing in the background. She swears, if he decided to call just for a chat… “John B, now’s not really a good time.”

There’s a pause. “Oh, fuck – it’s your date!”

“Yeah,” Kiara says sardonically, “it’s my date.”

“Fuck, sorry! I didn’t realise. Don’t worry, go back to it, I’ll be fine.”

If Kiara were a worse person, she probably would have just hung up there, only unfortunately she doesn’t actually hate John B. She sighs, meets Sarah’s eye across the table, who looks deeply amused from behind the rim of her wine glass, and says, “No, what is it?”

“I don’t want to interrupt—”

“Just tell me.”

“Bertha bit me.”

It takes a second for Kiara to process, but when she does she nearly hits the ceiling. “The alligator?”

Sarah’s eyes go wide and she splutters on her wine.

“It wasn’t very hard!” John B is assuring her on the phone.

Kiara literally cannot compute. “John B, what the fuck?”

“I should probably be fine—”

“Probably?”

“—but I think I’m currently in shock and I can’t really remember any of my first aid training right now.”

“Oh my God,” Kiara says. Of all things – and on all nights, too. “Are you okay? Where did she bite you?”

“On my leg. You know, you don’t realise how many teeth they have until every single one of them is buried inside you.”

“You fucking idiot,” she proclaims, and John B makes a sound of agreement across the line. “Are you there alone?”

“Yeah, I’m meant to be locking up. But really, you don’t have to ditch your date—”

“Right, of course, I’ll just leave you there to bleed out,” she snaps. She presses a hand to her temple, and then brings her phone down quick enough to glance at the time. “Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Have you applied a tourniquet?”

There’s a sound like John B’s just hit his forehead with his hand. “Tourniquet! I knew there was something I needed to be doing.”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. Louder, she says, “Do you need me to talk you through how to apply one or can you remember?”

“No, I remember.”

She doesn’t trust that for a second, but she doesn’t want to waste any more time. “Okay, just… sit tight, and I’ll be there soon. Okay? Call me if the bleeding gets worse.”

“Thanks, Kie!”

“Fuck you too,” she says, and ends the call. She glances up at Sarah across the table, whose eyes are wide and deeply concerned. “Hey, I’m… genuinely really, really sorry to be having to do this—”

“Oh my God, dude, your co-worker literally just got bit by an alligator,” Sarah says. She looks a little disbelieving to even be saying those words, which Kiara supposes she can’t really blame her for. “I mean, I can’t say this was how I imagined the evening to be going, but you go, help out your friend. Seriously, it’s completely fine.”

Kiara pauses out of her chair, bag slung over her shoulder. It’s probably an insane idea – but the evening has been going well, and at this point it’s worth a try. “You… wouldn’t want to come with, would you?”

*

To his credit, John B is remarkably apologetic about the whole thing.

“Oh, Kiara, you really didn’t have to come,” is the first thing he says when Kiara bursts through the doors of the locker room. She’d followed the trail of blood from the gator enclosure, which was one of the more harrowing things she’s had to do so far and now makes her rethink every time she’s ever wanted to throw him to the hippos whenever he was being particularly annoying. Thankfully, whatever worst case scenario she’d been catastrophising – John B may have been dead in most of them – is mercifully proven wrong when she and Sarah come into the locker room to find him sat on one of the benches, leg elevated on a stack of towels, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. He spies Sarah emerge after her and his face brightens. “Oh, hello, I don’t believe we’ve met!”

Kiara rolls her eyes as she heads over to the cupboard for the first aid kit. Trust John B to be more concerned with socialising than his leg nearly being bitten off. “Sarah, this is my co-worker John B. John B, this is Sarah. She’s the girl I was seeing tonight.”

When she turns back around, first aid kit in hand, John B’s eyes are very wide. “Oh, of course!” he says. A little smugly, he adds, “See, didn’t I tell you that the zoo was a good first date option?”

“You didn’t have to go this far to prove that point,” Kiara reminds him as she comes and sits next to him on the bench. “I would have been good with just a verbal suggestion.”

John B shrugs. “Live on the edge, right?”

She doesn’t even dignify this with a response. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”

Cautiously, she unwraps the towel from around his leg, bracing herself for the worst. Thankfully, it’s not actually that bad – there’s a lot of blood, and worryingly not a lot of it is inside him – but the wounds are shallow, and it only looks like two or three of the teeth actually managed to puncture skin. Once she’s cleaned all the blood away it’ll probably only be a few scrapes left to clear up, nothing serious enough to even have him out of commission for a couple days.

As she carefully wipes the blood off his leg, she becomes aware of John B and Sarah conversing over her head. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Sarah!” John B is saying, and then there’s movement like he’s just offered her his hand to shake. “I’ve heard lots about you!”

“No he hasn’t,” Kiara says.

“It’s just our banter,” John B explains to Sarah. “We’re actually really good friends. I’m kind of the reason she even got Tinder in the first place.”

“No he’s not.”

They both ignore her. “So!” he continues. “What is it you do again? Kiara’s been very stingy with sharing information.”

Kiara glances at Sarah, a comment at the ready about how John B’s incessant friendliness is a bit of an acquired taste and what airwave to tune her brain to so it all just fades to white noise, but at the look on Sarah’s face she feels her smile die a little. Sarah doesn’t look like the way Kiara sometimes feels talking to John B, which is sort of the equivalent of accidentally getting roped into conversation with one of those people on the sidewalk who hand out flyers about the Arctic.

Sarah looks almost… enchanted.

Kiara’s stomach twists.

“Oh, I’m just a scout for a modelling agency,” Sarah says.

“Woah, that’s so cool! So you’re the one finding all the talent?”

“Pretty much. It’s my job to scour the streets looking for a pretty face. And not to be forward, but I have to say have you ever considered modelling? You have the bone structure for it, as well as remarkable facial symmetry and good interocular distance.”

“I’m assuming that’s a good thing?”

“Very good. Have you ever done Abercrombie and Fitch? You look familiar.”

“Not modelling, no, but I used to stand outside the store in board shorts to get customers in.”

Sarah makes a noise of understanding. “That may be where I know you from. I used to stalk the mall religiously for fresh meat.”

“That’s so cool,” John B, sounding kind of awed, and he glances down at Kiara as if to double check he’s heard right. “Did you hear that, Kie? She thinks I have the bone structure for modelling!”

If only he made it easier to hate him. “You’ll be sorely missed here,” she responds, probably a little shortly.

Neither of them seem to pick up on it. “Oh, I could never quit,” John B says to her, and then again to Sarah, as though she didn’t hear the first time. “I love it too much to ever quit, I think.”

Sarah makes a sound of assent. “And by here… you mean the zoo?”

“That’s a common misconception, actually! The zoo is just a small part of what we do. A lot of people think that we’re zookeepers, but actually we’re more focused on the conservation and preservation side of things! Kiara is much better at all the science stuff than I am and I’m sort of better with animals so that’s why we work so well together. She’s the brain and I’m the brawn.”

He smiles down at her. Despite herself, Kiara has to smile back.

“How’s it going, chief?” he says.

“Not bad,” she says. “It’s not actually all that serious.”

“Oh, don’t make me look pathetic in front of your date.”

Kiara snorts. “It’s not pathetic to go into shock after being bitten by a gator, John B. You were probably more shaken by the actual event than the physical wound, which is good. Still, you might want to go to the emergency room and get it properly checked out, just in case anything’s infected. I can give you a lift…” She puts her hand in her purse for her phone – and her eyes close in frustration. “Fuck.”

“Is everything okay?” John B says.

“I think I left my phone at the restaurant.” Fuck. Seriously, this night has just been one blow after the other. Hasn’t she earned enough good karma for the universe to throw her a bone? “Okay, JB, you just… hold on, I’ll be ten minutes—”

“I don’t mind driving him?”

Kiara glances up at Sarah, who is still stood in front of them, one shoulder raised. Her eyes are unreadable but her expression is almost a little nervous, like she’s ready to be turned down, keys already in one hand.

Dubiously, Kiara says, “Are you sure?”

“Of course, no problem at all,” Sarah says. When Kiara’s face remains doubtful, she adds, “I promise. It’s no skin off my back.”

Kiara hesitates, and then glances back at John B, who is watching Sarah with a look in his eyes that can only be described as wonderment. As though he feels her gaze on him, he looks back at her and shrugs, entirely unbothered. “I don’t mind either,” he says. To Sarah, he adds, “It’d be a chance for us to get to know each other better!”

Sarah smiles, a little shyly. Kiara resists the urge to sigh very deeply.

“Okay,” she says, finally. She stands from the bench, and then helps John B to his feet, Sarah coming around to take his other side. Their hands overlap on his back, his arms around their shoulders. “Let’s get you to the car, big guy.”

Together, the three of them hobble to Sarah’s car, which is parked haphazardly outside the zoo, one of the car doors still open from their haste scrambling out. Sarah keeps him upright as Kiara unrolls a towel across her back seat, and when she turns back around to them she catches the tail-end of something Sarah’s just said that has John B cracking up. It’s not until she clears her throat that they even realise she’s ready.

A wry smile tugs at her lips as she watches Sarah help manhandle John B into the backseat, careful not to jar his leg and making sure he hasn’t bled through the hasty bandage job Kiara had performed around the nastiest of the wounds. Once she’s made sure he’s comfortable, she steps back so Kiara can lean in, one knee braced on the seat by his ankle, to adjust the bandages around his leg.

“I’m really sorry about all this, Kiara,” John B says as he watches her.

Kiara snorts, knotting the ends of the bandage tighter. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I ruined your date.”

“Can I be honest, John B?” Kiara says. John B nods. “I think Sarah’s going home with the right person tonight.”

He opens his mouth as if to respond, but before he can Kiara leans back out the car and pats the roof. “See you tomorrow.”

John B gapes at her wordlessly for a few moments, before something like understanding and gratitude crosses his expression, and he nods at her. “See you tomorrow, Kie.”

Kiara flashes him one last small smile before she straightens completely, shutting the car door. Now it’s just her and Sarah standing alone outside the car.

“Well,” Sarah says, into the silence, “I can’t say this was how I imagined my evening going, but stranger things have happened.”

Kiara smiles, a little sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, about all of this…”

Sarah waves her hand dismissively before she can finish. “Hey, seriously, Kie, don’t worry about it. I had a really good time.”

“Even the part where I made us ditch our nice dinner to help out a co-worker who’d been bitten by an alligator?”

“Are you kidding?” Sarah grins at her. “Especially that part. Most memorable first date ever.”

Kiara has to smile at that. She really is very sweet. “It’s been really nice seeing you tonight. You know, despite everything.”

Sarah smiles back at her, softer. Kiara’s beginning to learn that maybe those arch narrowed eyes are just masking someone sweet and gentle underneath it; probably too sweet and gentle to ever say anything. “Yeah, me too.” She nods towards the car, where John B is sitting. “Your, um. Your friend is nice.”

“He’s an idiot,” Kiara says. “But he’s all right, I guess.” They share a small smile. “He likes you a lot, I can tell.”

Sarah’s ears go pink. “You think? I always worry I’m coming off kind of weird whenever I start out with model talk.”

“No, he was soaking it all up. Though you’ve probably done dangerous things to his ego. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Of course, all in a day’s work.” Sarah kicks the ground, a little bashfully. “Maybe I’ll see you guys around, the next time I come to visit the zoo.”

“What, this date didn’t scare you off the zoo forever?”

“No way. Best advertisement ever. Besides.” She shrugs a shoulder. “You’re here, so.”

Kiara watches her carefully. “Do you really think that?”

Sarah’s expression falters, almost imperceptibly. “What do you mean?”

“You’re so great,” Kiara says. “And I’d really love to be friends, but...”

Sarah’s smile becomes almost a little guilty – but a little relieved, too. “Friendzoned, huh?”

“You know it’s nothing to do with you,” Kiara says. “You’re so great, and I had a really good time, I did, but… I don’t think that there’s anything between us.” There’s a pause. “I’m… not interpreting this wrong here, am I?”

There’s a long moment before Sarah shakes her head. “No. You’re not.”

“I’m really sorry,” Kiara says.

Sarah expels a breath, her smile rueful. “No, it’s okay. You didn’t feel it either.”

“But I think there’s maybe someone here who does,” Kiara says, softly, and the guilty flash in Sarah’s eyes confirm all her suspicions.

“What—”

“It’s okay,” Kiara says. “I get it.”

Sarah’s eyes flick to John B in the car, who is obliviously nodding to whatever he’s singing in his head. She glances back at Kiara for a few moments, before she exhales. “Kie, I—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s really not, though.”

“It is,” Kiara says, firmly. “I promise. It’s okay.”

Sarah watches her anxiously for a few moments, before she lets out a shaky laugh. “Fuck, this is so shitty of me.”

Kiara shrugs. “Eh, I get it. And we both got garlic potatoes out of it, so…”

Sarah snorts in a way that sounds like it burst out of her against her own volition, something almost hysterical. “Fuck. You’re… really great, Kiara Carerra.”

“You too, Sarah Cameron. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Sarah promises, and she sounds like she means it. To Kiara’s surprise, she steps forward and gently kisses her cheek. “I meant it, you know. That I’d have come here for you.”

“And you still can,” Kiara says. “You can just visit the snake exhibit afterwards.”

Sarah’s exhales a laugh. “Fucking hate snakes.”

“Eh, they have their redeeming qualities. Otters are better though.”

“Definitely,” Sarah agrees. “Thank you, Kie. Seriously.”

Kiara smiles at her. “You should go before I start to resent you.”

Sarah smiles at her one last time, hand reaching out to give one of Kiara’s own a squeeze, before she steps back and climbs into her car. The door closes before she can say anything, but through the tinted window Kiara sees her crane her neck to say something to John B in the backseat, and the way he smiles brightly at her like just seeing her again has lit up his day.

It would be easy to hate them, she thinks, but she doesn’t say anything: just stands there and watches as Sarah pulls away until the car disappears around the corner.

Then she sighs, and heads back to the restaurant.

*

The evening crowd has thinned out a little by the time she arrives, enough so that upon entering the dining room she spies two waiters idling by the wall and talking to each other in low voices that she’s pretty sure she remembers being the ones serving her and Sarah. Swallowing her pride, she tightens her grip around the strap of her purse on her shoulder and strides towards them.

The girl, in box braids and a ring that looks like knuckle dusters, is the one who spots her coming first, and she slaps the guy on the shoulder. He turns just in time to see Kiara come to a pause a foot away from them, and she’s greeted by saltwater blue eyes and blonde hair that sticks up in every direction, like he had to army-crawl through several yards of undergrowth to get to work.

She decides to just cut right to the chase. “Did a phone get left behind here recently?”

The girl, Cleo, from her name-tag, glances at the guy, whose own name-tag is mostly obscured by a plastic serving platter he’s spinning absently between his palms. His blue eyes narrow in thought. “Alligator girl, right?”

Kiara frowns. “Excuse me?”

“Alligator girl? Left early because of an alligator-related incident?”

Well, great. It’s good to know that her generous tip did no favours for her legacy. “That’s me.”

He jerks his head. “Your phone’s in the back. Come with me.”

Still slightly stung, though not sure why, Kiara follows him through the restaurant towards the bar at the back of the room. “Wait here,” he tells her, before disappearing around the back of the bar and through a door labelled cloakroom.

Kiara blinks at the space where he used to be. “All right, then,” she says, half to herself, and slides onto one of the vinyl barstools, tapping her fingers against the tabletop. There’s a half-empty bowl of peanuts a few seats down; she pulls it closer towards her with a finger hooked around the rim, finds that it’s not ceramic like its marbled exterior suggests but actually just cheap plastic. All that’s really left are crumbs and grains of salt, and she listlessly flicks at them with the very tip of her fingernail and wonders if twenty-five is too early to commit to a convent.

“Okay, so we have some options,” says a voice, and Kiara glances up to see the waiter emerge from the cloakroom with what looks like half a dozen phones cradled in his arms. He dumps them all unceremoniously on the table. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess that the pink fluffy unicorn is not you.”

“If you think this is impressing me you’re wrong,” Kiara says, as she watches him arrange all the phones so they’re case-side up and then stare at them very intently.

He glances up at her, eyes glinting. “Aw, it’s not? Darn, this is usually the panty-dropper.”

“Hope you can workshop it. By phrasing the question so you’re choosing all the phones that aren’t mine you realise that you have a five in six chance of being right.”

“Strategy.”

“Cowardly.” (Her date just ditched her for her bumbling co-worker; she’s earned this.)

He whistles lowly. “Yikes,” he says, and then lifts his hands. “I can take the hint.”

Kiara rolls her eyes and takes her phone from the pile. He grins a little crookedly when he sees which one.

“Would you believe me if I said I was thinking that was yours?” he says.

“One in six is still not that impressive.”

“I guess, but also alligators, turtles, bears, oh my, right?”

A little betrayed, Kiara looks down at her phone case, which is indeed covered in turtles. She quickly flips it over so it’s screen side up. “Whatever,” she says, probably a little too scornfully.

She focuses her attention back on the bowl, drawing lines in the peanut dust with the end of her nail, but all the while she’s aware of the waiter’s eyes on her. After a long, stout silence, she glances up at him, but before she can call him out he says, “Can I get you a drink?”

All at once, her irritation dissipates in a rush, leaving her deflated and just really fucking tired. “Yes, please.”

He nods, his gaze almost uncannily knowing like he’d been expecting her to answer that way, and steps back towards the taps. “Tequila?”

“Probably not, I’m driving,” she says, on instinct: and then she thinks, you know what, fuck it. It’s not a long drive, and the one positive thing her excessive teen drinking taught her aside from finding out her drunk alter-ego could speak French when Kiara sober can barely exchange pleasantries is how to hold her liquor. “Actually, could I get a beer?”

The waiter grins at that, and turns to start making her drink. Kiara nods, half to herself, and flicks the peanut bowl away. She doesn’t need it, anyway.

Moments later a glass slides across the counter to her, as well as a new bowl of peanuts. When Kiara gives them a meaningful look, the waiter shrugs and says, “You looked like you were enjoying them.”

“Stop psycho-analysing me,” Kiara says, and takes a long gulp of her drink. 

Even though she didn’t invite him to, the waiter kicks a stool closer to him and perches on it, resting his elbows on the bar. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow, revealing slim golden forearms corded with muscle, tapering to wrists ringed with grubby-looking strings and braided bracelets. There is blood around the cuticles of one of his nails. “So,” he says, after she’s downed half her drink. “I’m guessing the date went well.”

Kiara takes another long sip, just for that bullshit. When she puts the glass down, the waiter’s eyes are amused. “Yeah, like a gunshot wound.”

“What happened? Alligator get her too?”

“I guess you could say that too.” When the waiter’s expectant look doesn’t shift, she sighs. “She ended up going back with my co-worker.”

“The guy who got bitten?” She nods, and he whistles again. “Ouch.”

“Literally and figuratively.” She touches her finger to the damp ring of condensation left on the counter where her glass was. “I don’t know why it’s getting to me.”

“I mean, she was your date.”

“Yeah, but… it’s not like the date was going well. I mean, it was, but even without that bullshit I don’t think it would have worked. We’re better as friends.”

He snorts. “That’s what they all say.”

“No, but I mean it this time. There was just no… spark. It was nice, sure, but in the way meeting up with an old friend is nice. Not successful first date nice.”

“Where did you even meet her?” Kiara opens her mouth to respond, but before she can he holds up his hand. “Wait, no, let me guess.”

She gives him a look. “Not this again.”

“I’m determined to impress you, alligator girl, and you should be impressed, because the chances are, like, one in several thousand.”

“Are you going to tell me where we didn’t meet first?”

He sneers at her, and she bites back a smile. “Ha ha. No. Let me think.” He presses his fingers to his temples, like he’s trying to reach into his head and access his memories that way. It’s such a John B thing to do that Kiara feels the edges of her lips quirk up just on instinct. Like this, she can see his fingers more clearly, which are also covered in rings. “Blonde-ish hair, blue dress, right?”

Kiara’s moderately impressed. “Yeah, good memory.”

“Well, it’s not every day you hear someone shout alligator bite and then run out,” he says, and Kiara opens her mouth to refute that claim because she definitely did not shout nor did she say anything about an alligator bite, but before she can he’s continuing. “Hm, I’m seeing… dog park.”

Kiara makes an error sound. “Wrong.”

“Am I close?”

“She has a dog, if that’s what you’re asking. But so do most millennial women, so.”

“Give me a hint.”

She shakes her head ruefully. “It’s really not all that crazy. Dating app.”

The waiter watches her for a long time, before he shakes his head. “No. Dog park.”

She can’t help the bubble of incredulous laughter that escapes her. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, you met at a dog park.”

“Okay, but we didn’t, though.”

“No, I think you did.” He is watching her evenly, though there’s a glimmer of mirth in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Kiara huffs out a small laugh of disbelief, shaking her head.

“Has anyone told you that you’re insufferable?” she says.

He shrugs. “Once or twice.”

He’s still watching her with those blue eyes, like he’s trying to suss her out, and Kiara feels weirdly scrutinised under them. She finishes the dregs of her drink and then slides the empty glass back to him. “Well, thanks for the drink. How much?”

He waves her off before she can dig around for her wallet. “Don’t worry about it. On the house.”

Kiara pauses, and gives him a look. “Really?”

“Think of it as the bad date discount.”

There has to be a catch in here somewhere, the way there always is with pretty bartenders who know they’re pretty and watch her with something like delight in their eyes, as though just her presence delights them, though she’d be a fool to think in any way that flatters her. But there’s a pleasant warmth in her stomach that is calling for another glass of wine on her kitchen floor boredly flicking through Netflix and her night has been sort of shit enough that she’s not about to look this gift horse in the mouth. So she cautiously slides her wallet back into her purse and pats the table. “Uh, thanks,” she says, and glances down at his name-tag. “…John.”

The waiter – or John’s, she supposes – smiles at that, crookedly in a way that softens his whole face. “See you around, Alligator Girl.”

God, I hope not, she thinks, slides off the barstool and leaves.

*

#2.

Unsurprisingly, John B and Sarah are adorable together.

Apparently nothing happened between them the night Sarah drove him to the emergency room, but she did stay the entire time for moral support as his leg was getting checked out, and then bought them both Cokes and a bag of Cheez-Its to share from the vending machine. The doctor commented that it was nice John B had such a good support system and they both blushed, but John B made sure everything stayed wholly platonic until Sarah admitted that she and Kiara agreed that they’d had a good time but were probably better as friends. He had taken that as permission to, once they’d checked out and were driving back to his apartment, ask for her phone number because he really liked hanging out with her and would like it if they could see each other again, at which point Sarah had written it on his arm and then put a heart afterwards.

All of which Kiara knows, because John B regales her with the story three times over in increasing detail over the course of their shift. She honestly wasn’t harbouring that many bad feelings about the whole thing, but with every word she comes closer and closer to kicking him.

Or, she’s not, really, because John B is being very considerate about it all. It’s obvious just from the way he talks about Sarah that he’s entirely smitten, which is admittedly pretty adorable, and also nice to see that he’s cheered up considerably for the first time since his break-up, but he also seems to be terrified that Kiara is secretly harbouring resentment towards the both of them. He assures her over and over that strictly nothing happened between them until it had been cleared up that Sarah and Kiara had agreed to be just friends, and even then that he wouldn’t ask her out without Kiara’s blessing.

It would probably all be very sweet if it wasn’t also very annoying.

It’s not until they lapse into silence for the first time all day (seriously, he is one iteration away from describing high-detail flavour profiles for each Cheez-It he ate) that Kiara realises this was her cue to give him her blessing. She glances up from her microscope to see John B watching her hopefully across the table. His lab coat is rakishly unbuttoned enough for her to see the ascot he’s tied around his neck.

Kiara kind of privately hopes that he already set a date with Sarah for today which is why he’s wearing the ascot, but she knows that unfortunately he just thinks they’re cool.

“John B,” she says, “you know that I really don’t mind, don’t you?”

“I know, but I also recognise that this might be an uncomfortable situation for you,” he says, like he’s reciting from memory. It’s enough to make her smile. “And I don’t want to do anything to compromise our friendship.”

Kiara raises an eyebrow, unable to help herself. “Are you saying that if I didn’t approve, you just wouldn’t date Sarah, who you have said three times and counting to be your future wife?”

She’s totally joking, because it’s only recently that she even stopped tuning out most of the time (now it’s like fifty percent of the time), but to her surprise John B nods, completely serious. “Of course! You’re one of my best friends.”

Kiara frowns. “Really?”

“And we work together, to boot. I wouldn’t want to do anything to ruin that.”

“Oh.” Now she feels kind of bad. She probably wouldn’t have done the same. “Well, thanks, John B, that’s… really sweet of you. But definitely not necessary, because I say you should for it.”

John B blinks at her, pleasant surprise spreading across his face. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

It was the wrong thing to say, because John B then comes around the bench and sweeps her up into a hug that she barely has time to protest before she’s being crushed against his chest. He smells of cedarwood and hand sanitiser, and up close she can see that his ascot is covered in tiny crabs in bow ties.

“You are the best,” he says sagely when he pulls back. “I am going to pay you back.”

“That’s… really not necessary,” Kiara says, still a little dizzied, but he waves her off like she’s being ridiculous.

“Be expectant, Kiara Carerra,” he promises, as he moves back around to his own microscope, and she thinks mournfully back to the days where they just sat in silence and never shared anything about their private lives. “I will get you back so well.”

“Hooray,” she says weakly.

She honestly forgets about it for a little while, because suddenly work is ramping up and she and John are spending lots of late nights at the lab, and she barely has time to even get herself home most days, let alone expend precious thinking capacity worrying about flash mobs or balloon animals or however the hell John B pays people back in favours. She does get to know Sarah better during this time, though, both through John B’s personal anecdotes, which have gotten more frequent and much more personal since they made it official, and also because of how she sometimes stops by the lab at night with dinner if they’re working late. It’s surprisingly not that awkward, though John B certainly doesn’t help with how hard he’s trying to keep things casual the first time, mostly because the same easy rapport they’d established at the restaurant is still there, and very quickly John B’s look of panic fades to one of adoration as he watches them converse. From thereon out, Sarah joins them for dinner.

As such, when Sarah texts her one morning and tells her to “wear something nice” for work, Kiara doesn’t suspect a thing, only that it might be one of Peterkin’s theme days and at least it’s not dressing up as favourite crustaceans this time. (So she still has a crab vendetta. So fucking what.) If the text was from John B, she might have thought something different, but she trusts Sarah, and so she flat-irons her hair and puts on a dress.

Or, at least, she trusted Sarah, until for dinner they pull up to The Wreck.

“What is going on,” Kiara says suspiciously.

John B turns around in the front seat to beam at her. “So, remember when I said I owed you one?”

Oh fuck. “What did you do?”

“I thought I’d set you up with my buddy Pope from high school!” He must misread the look of absolute betrayal on her face because he adds, “Isn’t it so cool?”

Kiara looks sharply at Sarah, who looks to be attempting to hide herself in the glove compartment. “Et tu, Brute?”

“I had no choice,” Sarah says meekly.

Kiara whirls on John B. “Do you remember when I said I didn’t want you setting me up?”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago.”

“That was a month ago!”

“And I know Pope, and I really think you guys will hit it off! Tell her, Sarah.”

Kiara stares accusingly at Sarah. Sarah reaches out for her hand, and Kiara nearly spits on it instead. “From what John B’s told me, you guys seem really compatible,” she says soothingly.

“It’s like online dating,” John B says, like he’s not aware with every word he utters Kiara comes closer to punching him, “only in real life.”

“So regular dating.”

“Well, I helped you write your profile, and I know Pope well enough to basically do the same thing for him, so it’s basically like you swiped right!”

“But I didn’t swipe right, you swiped right for me.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Sarah says. “We’ll be there.”

“That’s even worse. You’ve both already seen a date go badly for me.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it went badly,” John B says, and then looks at Sarah soppily. Sarah shoves his head away. “Okay, Kiara, I’m sorry. I just… wanted to do something nice for you, and I thought that since your date with Sarah you might have been more amenable to getting set up by external forces—”

“A dating app is not an external force,” Kiara interrupts.

“—but obviously that was wrong of me and afterwards I solemnly swear to never meddle in your love life again.” This looks like it pains him to say, which is as hilarious as it is unfortunately sort of endearing. “If you want, I can text Pope and say that you ate something funky for lunch and came down with food poisoning, no questions asked. But, for the record, he is a good guy, and I wouldn’t have hooked you up if I didn’t even have a little faith.”

He looks so earnest, is the thing, and Kiara sighs, feeling her irritation drain out of her rush. She knows that he’s just trying to help, misguided as he may be, and that it’s all coming from a place of genuine care for her. And… it can’t be that bad, right? It’s not like she’s checked her Tinder account recently, too busy and too cautious since her date with Sarah to even consider it. Maybe this will be good for her, going out with someone new.

Besides, it would be a shame if no one got to see her in this outfit.

“Fine,” she allows, finally, and both John B and Sarah light up. “But,” she adds, pointing one accusing finger at him, “you’re paying for all my drinks.”

“Gladly,” John B says, with the naivete of someone who has clearly never seen a woman on an alcohol-related mission.

Sarah hides her knowing smirk in her hand.

Pope Heyward is twenty-five, a teacher at the local high school and also filling out his shirt in all sorts of delicious ways. Kiara probably shouldn’t be surprised, considering who he’s friends with, but he’s also a total gentleman, constantly asking her questions about herself and sounding genuinely interested in all the answers. John B was clearly prepared to be a social buffer should any awkward silences befall the table (Kiara honest-to-God thinks she spies a list of conversation topics in his hand), but only a few minutes into sitting down do Pope and Kiara stumble across common ground, which is an interest in sustainability and the plastic crisis.

John B is dismayed, probably both at the fact he didn’t get to use his list and that Kiara now has a reason to talk about plastic for half an hour. Kiara, meanwhile, is delighted.

In fact, twenty minutes into the date, and she is actually feeling cautiously optimistic. Pope is smart, well-mannered and kind, with a sort of self-possessed, razor-sharp dry wit that she immediately appreciates: it’s her kind of humour, but she never gets to use it herself because John B is usually so good-natured that a lot of sarcasm flies straight over his head.

This… actually might be going well.

When the waitress first comes around for their orders, they’re all in the middle of a heated debate on Nicholas Cage about whether he’s actually a good actor or just batshit, so Kiara barely registers her face, just places her order in between breaths defending National Treasure. Pope is clearly the same, because when Sarah settles the debate with Left Behind and they all sit there panting, he admits, “You know, I don’t even know what I ordered.”

“Me either,” John B says. “I’m kind of afraid I asked for the squid.”

But Kiara should have expected that something was bound to go wrong: for fuck’s sake, it was a double date not only with but set up by John B, who only days before had tried to backflip off the boat they were navigating the marsh with and hit his head on the engine. Fifteen minutes after they had distractedly placed their orders, the waitress returns, this time laden with plates, and for the first time Kiara gets a good look at her.

“It’s you!” she blurts, accidentally, and immediately wants to suck the words back in when the waitress glances at her. It’s the same girl from the other night, Cleo, with the braids and the rings that may or may not also be brass knuckles, which if anything have grown brassier and more knuckled. Kiara wants to swallow the words as soon as she says them – how many customers has this woman probably seen? – but to her surprise Cleo’s eyes light with recognition.

“Alligator girl,” she says, like a guess, and then for the first time notices Sarah on the other side of the table under John B’s arm. “And other alligator girl. With the alligator boy.”

She has a way of speaking like everything is terribly amusing and also terribly beneath her. Kiara feels herself flush as Sarah and John B both glance at her, like who is this and how does she know about the alligator? But at the sound of her voice, Pope looks up, and blanches when he sees who it is. “Cleo?”

Kiara frowns at him incredulously; she hadn’t realised that he knew her. By the way Cleo’s whole body goes tense, and how she deliberately glances down at him like it’s the last thing she wants to do, Kiara is guessing it’s not a very happy story. “Pope,” she says, stiffly.

“You guys know each other?” Kiara says.

“How does she know about the alligator?” John B asks. To Cleo, he asks, “Did JJ tell you? Do you know my friend JJ?”

“I see alligator girl has quickly moved on,” Cleo says. Sarah goes pink up to her hair, and John B frowns like he can’t tell if she’s being rude or not. “That appears to be catching on this table.”

Her voice is curt, blunt. Kiara glances at Pope, who is staring down intently at the table like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“You two… went out?” she says.

“Uh, yeah,” Pope says. He picks up his napkin; puts it back down again. Adjusts the collar of his shirt. He looks extremely awkward. “We… broke up.”

“I’d hope so,” Kiara says, trying for light, but neither Cleo or Pope seem to be smiling. “Um. When… How long ago, was this, exactly?”

“Three days ago,” Cleo says, clipped.

Horrified, Kiara glances at John B. His eyes are the size of saucers.

“I thought it was just a break,” Cleo says. This is mostly to Pope. Kiara literally wants to die. “Clearly I was wrong.”

Pope’s forehead is getting damp. “No, Cleo, you’re not—”

“What?” Kiara squeaks.

For the first time Pope seems to remember she’s there too, and if possible he goes even clammier. He makes a half-aborted move as if to stand; undoes the top button of his shirt, then does it up again. “Um.”

“You said you were single!” John B hisses.

“Technically I was!” Pope hisses back. “I didn’t know this was a date!” The collar of his shirt around his throat is getting damp. When he picks up his water his hand is shaking. “Um. This is. Rather unfortunate.”

“You’re telling me,” Sarah says, faintly.

Cleo has been watching him silently for a long time, but now she scoffs and rolls her eyes, roughly sliding their plates onto the table. “You know what?” she says. “Forget it.” She tucks the tray under one arm and strides away from the table across the restaurant floor. Pope immediately makes a move to stand again, as if on instinct, and then freezes, half-stood, his body uncomfortably hunched over the table and knees bent. He looks like a deer in headlights. He glances at Kiara, panic in his eyes.

She sighs. “You can go.”

“Oh my God thank you,” he says all in one breath, and clambers out of their booth to hurry after her. For a few moments, the table is in complete silence, John B and Sarah both clearly caught between staring at each other, Kiara, or the direction in which Cleo and Pope disappeared. Kiara just stares down at her pasta and slowly, slowly, counts to ten in her head.

“Well,” Sarah says, into the silence. “That couldn’t possibly have gone any worse.”

“I think you guys should probably go,” Kiara says.

“Absolutely,” John B agrees immediately, and stands. However, just as he’s reaching for his bag, Kiara reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, stopping in.

“You should probably leave your card, too,” she adds.

John B’s mouth opens in protest. He glances at Sarah, but she simply nods reassuringly, like just listen to her. There is a moment of silence in which it looks like he might just argue, in which case Kiara is not going to be held accountable for the fork she throws at his face, but then finally he sighs, and throws his card on the table.

“Don’t order any mojitos,” he says. “Legally my bank can’t allow me to purchase those.”

Kiara thinks about asking, and then decides it’s not worth it. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you, babe,” Sarah says, with a sympathetic smile, and then she tugs John B by the hand out of the restaurant. Kiara looks down at the card in her hands, taps the flat edge of it once against the table and pushes herself to her feet.

She knows where she’s headed.

*

John is already there when she slides onto one of the barstools.

He grins when he sees her coming, in that way where one side of his mouth quirks up and his eyes crinkle into half-moons. “Well, well, well,” he says. “Look who’s back.”

“Vodka neat, thanks,” Kiara says. “And maybe something to kill myself with.”

His eyebrows raise, but he pours her drink anyway, sliding it across the counter to her. Immediately she downs half of it in one go, and when she slams the half-empty glass down he looks mildly impressed.

“Jesus, how bad was the date this time?” he says. “Did they run off with a coworker again?”

Kiara doesn’t respond. John’s eyes go a little wide.

“Shit, really?”

“One of your coworkers, this time,” she says darkly, swirling her drink. “The universe seems to have a funny sense of humour.”

“Seriously? Which one?”

“Cleo? Looks like she could probably kill me with a serving tray?”

John’s face clears in understanding. “Oh, shit, she and Popey made up? Thank fuck, I was getting sick of all the brooding—” He pauses. “Wait. You were on a date with Pope?”

“How do you know Pope?” she says, slightly aghast. Now she can’t even rant in peace.

“High school friends.”

“Ugh,” she grumbles, and throws back the rest of her drink. “Fuck. I can’t even complain to you about him now because you’re apparently all best buds.”

“No, complain away. Making fun of Pope is one of my favourite pastimes.” He makes a move like he’s going to take her glass. “Can I?”

She waves her hand dismissively, not particularly caring. “There’s not even that much to make fun of. He was really nice. But practically still in a relationship, so.” Groaning, she drops her forehead against the counter and screws her eyes shut. “Fuck. When will I get a break?”

There’s the sound of glass against polished wood, and she squints open an eye to see that John has refilled her glass and slid it back over to her. She peers up at him, and in answer to a question she didn’t ask he shrugs and says, “You look like you needed it.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Kiara says, and takes a cursory whiff. Vodka again. She thinks, why the hell not and throws the entire thing back in one go, wincing as it burns all the way down her throat. “Ugh. That was good.”

Like before, John crosses his arms on the counter, leaning forward. “Where did you meet him this time?”

Kiara squints at him blearily. “Isn’t that meant to be your job, guesser extraordinaire?”

A half-grin tugs at his lips, and he nods sagely. “Right, of course. Let me think. Popey.” He absently spins a cocktail stick between his fingers with the ease of a drummer. “Women’s march?”

Kiara’s eyes track the cocktail stick lazily, and it’s not until he puts it in his mouth and her eyes linger on his lips a little too long before flying, betrayed, up to meet his gaze, glinting with mischief, that she realises she’s just been played. She sits up, a little flustered and then irritated for being flustered. “No, actually,” she says, maybe a little too sharply.

He grins, tonguing at the end of the stick in thought. “Library?”

“Nope.”

“TED talk? Book talk? Screening of the latest season of Planet Earth?”

“Mutual friends, actually.”

“Mm, no,” he says, “library,” and she rolls her eyes. “Double date, was it?”

“Whoever invented them deserves the lowest circle of hell,” she says.

“Jeez, that bad? Who was the other couple?”

“Would you believe alligator girl and her loving boyfriend alligator boy?” John looks appropriately nauseated by that prospect. “I know, right?”

“Jesus,” he says. “That’s not awkward at all.”

“It actually wasn’t,” Kiara says. She amends, “Well, until it was revealed Pope was still basically dating our waitress, but…”

“Small potatoes?” John suggests, and Kiara smiles a little tiredly at him.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Can I be honest with you?” he says. When Kiara nods, he leans forward furtively, bracing himself on his forearms against the counter. She tries not to look at the way his arms flex under his thin white dress shirt. “You probably did them a favour. Cleo and Pope, I mean. They weren’t gonna get their shit together without some pushing, because Pope’s kinda a wuss and Cleo’s too proud.”

Kiara feels the edge of her mouth uptick, wanly. At least there’s one good ending to this shit evening, then. “Well, happy to have played a small part, humiliating as it was.”

John waves her off. “Ah, don’t worry. Pope is the most chill guy I know, and so is Cleo.” Pope’s shirt had been buttoned all the way to the top and Cleo looked like she could feasibly break her in half so Kiara reckons they have varying definitions of chill. “No hard feelings.”

“Easy for you to say.” She sighs. She can feel the alcohol lowering her inhibitions enough to share so much with a virtual stranger, but she can’t find it in herself to care. “I just… when am I going to be given a favour, you know? I’m happy that I got John B a girlfriend and brought Pope and Cleo back together but there’s just something selfish in me that’s like… what about me, you know?”

When she glances up, John is watching her with something sympathetic in his eyes. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

She snorts, wetly, and rests her head back against the counter. “It’s generally considered bad taste to promote your workplace when a customer is having a breakdown.”

“Is this a breakdown?”

“Not if you get me another vodka.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Alligator Girl,” John says, but he pours her one anyway. Kiara throws it back greedily. “Also I actually wasn’t promoting, but I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you ended up having a third date here as well.”

“Oh, no,” she says, “definitely not.”

John blinks. “Why not?”

“I have humiliated myself too many times in front of your staff for me to risk having another date here. This place is cursed.”

“We only gossip about you behind your back,” John reassures her.

“Considerate of you.”

“When you give us this much juicy material? It really is.” Her answering smile must come out a little tired, because something softens his face, and when he next speaks, his voice is a little more serious. “Will you be okay?”

She waves him off. “Yeah, I’ll just call a cab.”

“No, not— I meant, in general.”

“That’s sweet of you to ask,” she says, “but you’re not my therapist.”

He smiles, crookedly. “Many of our patrons would disagree.”

And she has to smile back, because he really is very sweet. “Thank you for asking. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She blindly feels around for her bag. “How much?”

He’s waving her off before she can even produce her wallet. “On the house. Bad date discount, remember?”

“Okay, but alligator boy is also paying, and I kind of want to make him hurt, just a little.”

John’s eyes glint, and his lips stretch up. “In that case,” he says, “I guess he won’t mind if I order one last round for the two of us? Just while you’re waiting for your cab.”

A declination is right on the very tip of her tongue: the instinct to say no, just go home and curl up in her bed, delete Tinder from her fucking phone and start googling local nunneries in the area. But there’s something about the lilt of his smile, the way his eyes have gone dark and depthless in the darkening evening, that gives her pause; makes her say, finally, “Sure.”

His smile is nothing short of devilish as he reaches for the vodka again.

*

Kiara has every intention of deleting Tinder from her phone as soon as she gets home.

Drunk enough that her world spins the entire flight of stairs up to her apartment, she collapses onto the couch before she’s even taken off her shoes, pulling her phone out of her purse and holding it aloft over her face. There are a few texts on her home-screen, a couple from Sarah asking if she got home okay and that John B has already started rehearsing his apology speech, and then one from an unsaved number beginning with Hi Kiara it’s Pope that she does not have the mental energy to read right now. Instead she unlocks her phone without opening any of them and goes straight to Tinder.

She knows that simply deleting the app won’t get rid of her account – she’ll have to deactivate it, which means going into the app for the first time in weeks. It’s probably not the smartest idea, especially when she’s this drunk, but she thinks fuck it anyway. Drunk Kiara knows that Tinder has only caused her problems; drunk Kiara won’t be swayed by a pretty face.

And then drunk Kiara sees the latest message.

(Drunk Kiara has never been renowned for her critical thinking.)

*

#3.

Very Much Sober Kiara regrets her decision for about three minutes until she looks at the profile again in the cold light of day.

Topper Thornton, it reads. Twenty-three; entrepreneur; lover of good wine and good women. It’s cringey in the way that all male Tinder bios typically are, though at least there’s no proclamation of interested in anal but NOT IN THE GAY WAY or a favourite song of the Coldplay variety. His pictures are nice, if a little bland: all of them featuring the same blond man, who’s classically handsome in the way that J Crew models are (his outfits don’t disprove the theory, either), standing on boats or docks or next to men in different shades of salmon-pink holding flutes of champagne. Probably new money, probably Republican, but he did swipe right on her profile which has a pan pride flag in it, and he seems inoffensive enough.

Most damningly, however, is that upon further inspection, it turns out drunk Kiara had apparently managed to hold an entire conversation with him that had ended with the promise of a date.

She thinks about throwing something, or in the very least abstaining from alcohol for the next several hundred years, before she tells herself to calm down and sits at the very edge of her bed staring down at her phone, chewing on her thumbnail.

It’s definitely not the worst thing Drunk Kiara could have done. She’s probably lucky she emerged from such an evening with only this much collateral damage. And it’s not like he’s bad-looking, either, or even entirely not her type. Scrolling through the messages feels like paging through a crime-scene looking for answers as to what heinous crimes she committed the night before, but all it turns up is an actually polite conversation between the two of them in which Kiara had used too many emojis and also some of her mysterious French. She cringes a little just reading her replies, but whatever she did seemed to work because Topper seemed very taken with her, enough so that at ten forty-three in the evening he had messaged her, I’m sorry if this is very forward and a little too soon, but you are very bewitching, and I’d love to meet up in real life!

Kiara had messaged back a peach emoji and time and placeee.

“Jesus,” she mutters. Clearly there was a screw loose in Topper’s head because he’d actually responded to that, this Thursday, 6pm? You chose where ;)

And, like a fucking idiot, Kiara had said, Have you heard of The Wreck?

She throws her phone at that. She thinks she’s earned it.

*

Kiara doesn’t tell John B or Sarah about it.

She tells with herself that it’s because historically every time they’ve gotten involved in her love life it’s not ended up well, but deep down she knows why: because she doesn’t want to be talked out of it. Maybe she’s a masochist, or just loves the drama of it all, but deep down, for some reason, there’s a part of her that wants to go on this date, that wants to stick it to the universe and karma and the Wreck waitstaff and prove that she can do it, she can go on one good successful date that doesn’t end halfway through.

So she keeps quiet at work; lets John B deliver his apology speech, which involves cupcakes that taste a little like dish soap and a big hug, texts Pope back no hard feelings and follows Cleo on Instagram, and then, on Tuesday night, feigns a headache to get out of dinner with Sarah and John B and goes home to get ready.

Topper messages her halfway through applying her mascara, just a simple can’t wait to see you! Maybe if she wasn’t desperate she’d feel kind of bad for him, but she is, so she doesn’t, just texts back you too and finishes her makeup.

“Okay, Carerra,” she says to her reflection. “Let’s not fuck this one up this time.”

*

Twenty minutes into the date and Kiara’s beginning to see why Topper is still single.

“I love women, I really do,” he’s explaining. “You know, I try and keep myself educated on current events, so I follow a lot of journalists for different opinions, from all around the country. One of them is even from Africa.” He gives Kiara a significant look at this, like that’s supposed to mean anything to her. “Anyway, three of them are women. I just feel they bring a different perspective to the journalism game.”

The one good thing about the non-stop monologue he’s been keeping up about, consecutively, the boating industry, his thoughts on fabric softener, how moccasins are a summer-only clothing, and now feminism, is that she is nearly done with her pasta. At this rate she might be home before seven. “Right,” she says.

Topper, meanwhile, has not even touched his plate. “I think it’s just so deplorable that they have been discriminated against in the past, you know? Like, what’s there to discriminate? They’re great! I think there was something Simone de Beauvoir said about women, about how they’re shut up in kitchens and yet still make good food.”

Kiara frowns. Her theory is not great but she’s pretty sure that’s not right. “Uh, I don’t think…”

“It’s good to stay informed about social issues which is why I read so much theory. I just need to be a good ally, you know, so that the women in my life know that they are looked after with me. You know, I come from a long line of women.”

There’s a beat, and then Kiara realises he’s serious. “Oh, really?”

Topper nods, completely genuine. “I just want to keep myself educated so I can play my part, you know? Because it is my belief that women are the cornerstones of society, and men are the architects. I think it was Gloria Steinem who once said a woman without a man is like a fish without um… water.”

Okay, now that’s definitely not right. “Famous, venerated feminist Gloria Steinem said that?”

“I’m paraphrasing,” Topper dismisses. “But feminism is not just about the uplifting of women, Kiara; it’s also about the uplifting of men. In fact, hating men goes against the principles of feminism.”

If she times it right, she reckons she could finish her meal in the next five minutes and get out of here in the next ten. It’s not even been an hour she’s sat here listening to him recite thinly-veiled misogyny under the guise of botched feminist theory and she’s already ready to leave. Topper takes a breath for the first time seemingly all night and starts cutting into his steak, and as his attention is diverted Kiara searches frantically over his head for a waiter to catch the eye of.

“Feminist theory is just a fraction of what I consume,” he continues, once he’s swallowed, and Kiara’s eyes immediately snap back to his, guiltily. “You know, the other day, I read To Kill A Mockingbird. So enlightening. I just didn’t know that people of colour were so discriminated against by the justice system.”

Kiara blinks at him. “You… didn’t?”

“Well, it was probably a little exaggerated for the purposes of the novel,” Topper says, and Kiara’s frown lines could probably form a national landmark at this rate. “But it was certainly a fascinating read.”

“Right,” she says. Screw common decency: she doesn’t think she can sit here a moment longer. She’s just formulating the most polite way of saying I find you unbearable and I want to leave when a waiter side-steps a passing rolling server’s trolley and accidentally collides with Topper’s shoulder, spilling what looks like red wine all the way down his front.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the waiter begins as Topper’s eyes grow huge and frenzied. “I didn’t even see you--”

“I was sitting down!” Topper says, his voice growing shrilly. He drops his knife and fork, hands hovering in front of his chest like he’s unsure whether to curl them into fists to punch him or rip the shirt off. “You idiot, this is Egyptian cotton!”

“I’m so very sorry, sir,” the waiter says again, and for the first time Kiara gets a proper look at him and realises that it’s John the bartender, now out from behind the bar and apparently patrolling the restaurant floor. As though he can sense her eyes on him, John glances down at her -- and winks.

Kiara’s eyes narrow in realisation, but before she can dwell on it Topper’s speaking again. “I am so sorry to cut this short, Kiara,” he says, “but I’m going to have to run or else this will stain.”

It isn’t until he fixes her with a look that she realises this is meant to be sad news. “Oh, that’s... too bad,” she says. 

She sees John smirk a little in her peripheral, but Topper doesn’t seem to notice the insincerity in her voice. “It really is,” he says, and shoots John a disapproving look as he rises from his chair, feeling around for his wallet. “What’s your name? I’ll report you to your manager.”

Kiara frowns. “Oh, Topper, you don’t--”

“I’d be speedy with that, if I were you,” John says mildly. “I think that might have been a douro red.”

Topper stares at him in horror. His cheeks go splotchy. “What?” he says. Any intentions to go to the manager seem to completely disappear as he looks down at the stain on his shirt in dismay. “You idiot, why didn’t you tell me that earlier? This shirt is probably already ruined!” He blindly reaches into his wallet and throws a hundred dollar bill onto the table, grabbing his jacket. “That should cover the bill. I’ll text you later?”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” she says, but it falls on deaf ears as Topper gathers his belongings with a speed that can only be described as ferocious and all but runs out of the restaurant. She stares down at the hundred dollar bill still on the table, which could have probably bought them dinner three times over, and then some, and for the first time sends one up for antiquated gender roles.

“Well,” John says, in the silence, and she glances up to see him watching the door Topper disappeared through amusedly. “He sounds like a keeper.”

“At least he tips?” she says.

John looks down at the money, and something like complete surprise crosses his face. “So he does,” he says. “You think this was meant to be a fifty?”

“I think this is probably the first place he’s eaten where they didn’t serve bowls of caviar as starters,” Kiara says, and John snorts. “I’m sorry about him, by the way. I know it was an accident.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry,” he says, “it wasn’t,” and he says it so nonchalantly that Kiara only properly comprehends it a few moments later. Surprised, she glances down at his hands, and finds that he’s only holding the one glass of wine, now partially-filled, no tray or other drinks to be found. “You looked like you needed an out.”

She bites down on a smile, and raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I was having a great time.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were,” he says. “Remind me again, what really insightful point did he make about racial discrimination in the justice system?”

And, okay, point. “Okay, so, what?” she says. “Did you want me to thank you?”

“No, but maybe I could get you a drink?”

She stares at him. “Don’t you have a job? How do you have so much free time to just sit with me?”

“Sitting with people is sort of most of what I do as a bartender,” he says, which she supposes makes sense. “But if you just want to leave and not talk about how much hair gel he was wearing then that’s fine, too.”

“It was just so crunchy,” she bursts, and when John grins at her she knows she’s lost. “Oh, you fucker, you did that on purpose. Fine. One drink.”

He leads her to the bar, handing the half-glass of wine to another waiter as he passes, who disappears into the kitchen with it. Kiara slides onto one of the now ever-familiar barstools, and without even asking John pours her the rest of the bottle of the same wine he’d spilled on Topper and slides her a glass.

“Thanks,” she says, a little begrudgingly, and sips it. 

Like the first time, he kicks over a stool and sits on it across from her, leaning his forearms against the counter. “So,” he says, clearly not picking up on how much she wants to be left alone. “What’s your deal?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“What’s the catch with you? You’re young, you’re pretty, you don’t look particularly crazy -- what’s with all these bum dates? Are you doing it for a free meal once a week?”

“So what if I was?” she says. “Would you call the cops?”

He smiles at her, like he can tell she’s being purposely obstinate. “Just consider me intrigued.”

Carefully, Kiara holds his gaze for a few moments longer, trying to suss out an ulterior motive, but all she sees in his open earnest expression is just pure curiosity. Finally, she sighs and puts the wine glass down. “There’s no catch,” she says. “I’m just… trying to find someone, and the universe clearly isn’t on my side.”

“I thought you had sworn this place off?”

“Don't sound so happy I’m back,” she says darkly, and he pulls a look of faux-surprise, like who, me? “It was a drunken mistake. And probably a blessing in disguise -- he would have probably flown us to Rome where I couldn’t easily escape.”

“Good pasta, though.”

“Yeah, I guess.” She pillows her cheek in her hand with a sigh. “I don’t know. It’s just getting a little humiliating.”

“Why?”

She gives him a look. “You’re asking me why it’s humiliating that I've had three dates fail at the same restaurant in the span of, like, two months?”

“Yeah, but none were your fault.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s how the waitstaff here see it when they giggle about me in their staff meetings.”

“Can confirm, no giggling. We’re all interested in the fate of alligator man, though.”

“Well, he’s still happily together with my first date, so if that’s not an accurate depiction of my love life, I don’t know what is.”

When she glances up at him, he’s watching with an almost sympathetic look in his eyes. “Why are you taking this all so personally?”

“Because three dates have gone wrong for me, John. It’s hard not to see that as personal.”

“Yeah, but none were your fault.” She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off before she can speak. “No, seriously. The first one, your friend gotten bitten by a fucking alligator; the second, you went out with Pope, who was basically still with Cleo, and now this time he was wearing Egyptian cotton.” She can’t help but exhale a small laugh at that. “I mean, we all know anyone worth his salt wears Californian linen.”

“Of course,” she agrees.

“Can I give you some advice?”

“Does my answer really matter?”

“You need to learn to not take this all so seriously. No, I mean it,” he adds, when Kiara rolls her eyes. “You’re doing this to try and find the one, right?”

“I don’t believe in the concept of the one.”

It’s John’s turn to roll his eyes now. “Okay, fine, someone to date. You’re gonna encounter some freaks along the way. Just have fun with it. Dating is weird and embarrassing, so embrace it. Loosen up. Laugh. I mean, what was his name? Tanner?”

She knows he’s only doing this to make her smile, but she can’t help indulge him. “Topper.”

“I mean, what the fuck sort of name is that, right? Don’t even get me started on the hair. Was it even real, or is he like a Lego figure with a bunch of clip-on options?”

“I got nervous any time he leaned too close to the candle,” Kiara admits. “He used so much oil he was probably a walking fire hazard.”

“He was wearing boat shoes.”

“He has them in at least four different colours. He was wearing a different pair in every picture.”

John grins at her. “See? It’s fun when you’re not taking it too seriously.”

And though she’s sort of loathe to admit it, he’s kind of right. Still, like he needs to know that. “You wanna see his dating profile? He has a running total of how many fish he’s caught.”

John raises an eyebrow. “Is that even a question?”

“You should probably pour me another drink,” Kiara says. Her own bravery surprises her, but it’s worth it for the way John’s eyes light up with delight. “We’ll be here a while.”

And he’s only too happy to oblige.