The Favour

“So who’s the ‘sort of’ date with?”

“I don’t know.” After stepping into the hallway, she set the canvas bag and umbrella down so she could lock her door. “It’s sort of a blind date.”

“Why in hell does a woman who looks like you have to go on a blind date?”

There was such astonishment in his voice that Sierra stopped at the head of the stairs. “Thank you. I think that’s a compliment.”

“You don’t have to thank me for speaking the truth. But blind dates can be dangerous. What do you know about this guy?”

Sierra smiled as she reached the first landing. “You sound like my sister Natalie. She’s a cop. And it isn’t just one guy I’m going to meet tonight. I’m going on a sort of group blind date. Have you ever heard of speed dating?”

“No.”

Sierra stepped out of the Whitman Building and cut across the quad in the direction of P Street. “It’s kind of like musical chairs. I’m going to meet and talk with a series of men. I get ten minutes with each one. Then someone blows a whistle and we each move on.”

“So you’ve got ten minutes to make your impression?”

“Yes.” Sierra gave the sky a wary glance.

“Sounds like you gotta judge a lot of books by their covers.”

“True. But this process eliminates much of the pressure of a regular blind date.”

“And you haven’t had to spend a whole evening with a dud as you might on a blind date.”

“Something like that.”

“Do you do this a lot?”

“This is my first time. I’ve observed the ritual as part of my research on a book I’m writing, and I’ve come up with a few questions to utilize the time efficiently. But I’m a little nervous.”

“Why don’t you practice on me?”

“What?” Sierra nearly stumbled as she turned onto P Street.

“You know. Give the questions a dry run. I’m stuck in a traffic jam that shows no sign of clearing, and I’ve got an alarm on my watch. Let me just set the time for ten minutes. There. No, wait. What kind of music do you like?”

Sierra couldn’t prevent a laugh. “What does that have to do with—?”

“I’m not there in person, so I want to set the mood. Just name your favorite kind of music.”

“You’re serious.”

“The seconds are ticking away. We only have nine and a half minutes left.”

“Okay. Okay. I like Bach.” This was ridiculous. When an oncoming pedestrian bumped her elbow, Sierra moved to the edge of the sidewalk, out of the stream of traffic.

“That’s it? Bach? I have to come up with Bach on a car radio?”

“No.” She grinned. “I also like Sinatra, Count Basie, the Beatles, the Beach—”

“Stop right there. The Beatles I can handle. They were having a retrospective on one of these stations. Hold on.”

Thunder rumbled overhead again, and Sierra edged closer to the wall of a building. It occurred to her that she was having a ridiculous conversation with a stranger she’d kissed in a bar, and she was enjoying it. The sound of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” thrummed in her ear.

“Can you hear it?”

Sierra very nearly giggled. “Yes.”

“Okay. I’m resetting my watch for the full ten minutes.”

Sierra glanced at her own watch. If she gave him the full amount of time, she ran the risk of being late.

“What do we do first?” he asked.

Sierra drew in a deep breath as she pulled out the blue card she’d written her notes on. “We introduce ourselves and shake hands. I’m Sierra Gibbs, and you’re…?”

“Ryder Kane.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t like my name.”

“No. That’s not it at all. I just remembered that I didn’t even know your name until now. But I do like it. It…suits you.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“You don’t have to thank me for speaking the truth.”

His laugh began deep in his throat and blended into the building crescendo that the Beatles were providing in the background. “Touché. I like you, Dr. Gibbs.”

“I like you, too. I don’t understand it.” To her surprise, Sierra found herself relaxing and leaning against the wall. She didn’t understand that either. She hardly ever relaxed around men. The first raindrops fell, and a few stores down, a young woman gathered up the pieces of colored chalk her little girl had used to make a drawing on the sidewalk.

“No doubt, it’s my charm,” Ryder said.

Sierra giggled. “No doubt.” The raindrops began to fall harder, and she backed into the recessed doorway of a shop entrance where the owner had already put up a closed sign. “We don’t even know each other.”

“Well, that’s the purpose of a speed date, right? So do you like movies?”

“Love them.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“I’m supposed to be asking the questions,” Sierra said.

“Humor me. I’m curious.”

“Casablanca.”