Chapter 1
Chelsea Gardner sat at the No Hope at All bar, waiting for her friends.
While she waited, she got out her notebook and doodled.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t doodling. She was on a mission.
The ten-point list made perfect sense to her. She’d fine-tuned it, but really, she’d had this list in her head for a while now, and decided it was time to memorialize it, get it down on paper. Maybe even laminate it.
Chelsea was thirty-two years old, and the one thing she knew and knew well was men. She had years of dating history, and she could weed out a decent man from a loser in the first fifteen minutes of a date.
She should write a book about it. She’d probably make millions.
Okay, in reality, maybe not. But she had a lot of experience in dating. She could offer up some valuable advice. At least advice on how to date the wrong man. Had she ever dated a lot of the wrong men. She was an expert on that.
Hence the list.
Her list would ensure she found the right man—finally. She was tired of going out on useless dates. From now on, she was going to ask the correct questions so she wouldn’t waste any more time on the wrong man. If a prospective date didn’t meet the criteria on her list, then he wasn’t the perfect man for her.
Her list wasn’t going to focus on personality traits—she already knew in her head the type of guy she wanted—warm, caring, compassionate, with a sense of humor. If he didn’t possess those basics, he’d be out of the running before they even got started. And those she could suss out right away without a list. Nor did she have a preference for looks. No, this list was compatibility-based. That’s where she’d run into roadblocks in the past and where she was going to focus her efforts on in the future.
She scanned her list, nodding as she ticked off the attributes in her head.
1. Never married. Guys with exes carry a lot of baggage and woes.
2. Has to be a suit and tie kind of guy, because it means he cares about his appearance.
3. Has to work a 9-to-5 job, so he’ll be available for her.
4. No crazy ex-girlfriends. This one needs no explanation.
5. Likes fine dining and good wine. No more burger joints! Some guy out there must like something other than hamburgers, right?
6. Hates sports. Everything about sports. What is it with men and sports, anyway?
7. Must want at least two kids. A man who doesn’t want children is a deal breaker.
8. Must love animals—preferably big dogs, not those yippy little dogs.
9. Doesn’t spend all his time at the bar with his friends. If he’s always hanging out at the bar with his friends, then he isn’t with her.
10. Idea of a perfect vacation getaway is somewhere warm and tropical. With room service.
She studied the list, tapping the pencil on the bar top.
“You look deep in thought.”
Her head shot up as Sebastian “Bash” Palmer, the owner of the bar, stood in front of her.
Talk about the wrong guy. Bash was the epitome of wrong, on so many levels.
“I’m … working on something.”
He cocked a dark brow. “Yeah? I noticed you were intently focused on writing. So … grocery list?”
“Funny. And no.”
He leaned over, trying to sneak a peek. “The perfect—”
She shut the notebook. “None of your business.”
He laid the rag on the bar. “Hmm. The perfect something. The perfect steak. That was it, wasn’t it? You’ve got some secret recipe for the perfect steak. That’s the way to a man’s heart, you know.”
“You think I’d try to capture a man by cooking? Well, you’re wrong.”
He laid his palms on the edge of the bar. “So, it does have something to do with a guy, doesn’t it?”
She refused to take the bait. “I didn’t say that.”
A couple guys came into the bar and took a seat.
“We’re not done talking about this,” he said, his stormy gray eyes making contact with hers before he walked away.
Oh, they were so done talking about it.
Typical Bash, always up in her business.
And he was definitely the wrong type of man for her.
While Bash attended to his customers, she opened the notebook and checked her list.
Yes, Bash was the perfect example of the wrong type of guy. She mentally ticked off all the items on her list that he didn’t fit.
He was divorced. He was a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy. And while he might look super hot in said jeans and T-shirt, it still counted against him.
She wasn’t sure he even owned a suit. As owner of the No Hope at All bar, he worked terrible hours. As a teacher, she worked during the day, and he worked afternoons and evenings. They’d never see each other.
She had no idea who he was dating, but he was always going out with some woman or another, so he likely had some crazy ex-girlfriend somewhere in his past. She knew he was a beer and hard liquor guy, and his idea of fine dining was a burger and onion rings from Bert’s. He wouldn’t know fine dining if he fell into it. She had no idea how he felt about kids, but the guy practically lived at the bar, and he hadn’t had a serious relationship since his divorce, so it wasn’t like he was in any hurry to have children. Plus, he didn’t have any animals.
Then again, she didn’t have pets, either. But that wasn’t her fault. Her apartment didn’t allow them. She just wanted to make sure whatever guy she ended up with loved them. She wanted a dog. Or a cat. Her best friend Emma had two dogs, Daisy and Annie, and her other best friend Jane had a dog. Logan and Des had several dogs on their ranch.