But people are staring, and I feel like I'm making a fool of myself. So after a few pictures, I hand the phone back and step away.

“There you go.”

Meg takes a look at the photos I've taken and frowns. “Karl, these are terrible! I can’t post any of these. They make me look fat. Try again.”

I'm taken aback once more, but in the spirit of giving people the benefit of the doubt, I do as she asks. We repeat the process several times, with Meg growing increasingly frustrated each time she reviews the photos.

At one point, she even asks the waiter to take a few shots, but nothing seems to meet her standards.

Finally, she snaps. “Karl, you're supposed to make me look good! This is your job, you know.”

"My job?" I scoff.

She folds her arms across her chest. “You could at least try to take one good picture of me. It's like you don't even care.”

By this point, I've had enough. We've been here for almost an hour, and we still haven't even ordered our drinks. I finally push my chair back and stand, grabbing my jacket.

"Where are you going?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“I'm leaving,” I reply. “If you wanted a photographer, you could have just said so.”

Without waiting for a response, I leave the rooftop restaurant, ignoring her calls behind me.

Shana

This is it: the third date. I'm standing outside a small Italian restaurant, a low-key place that was much needed after the first two failures. The air smells like fresh bread and oregano, and I can hear the sound of accordion music playing inside.

Shana, my third date, is a few minutes late. I'm checking my watch, wondering when she'll arrive, when a sleek white car pulls up and out of the back steps a lovely looking woman with long red hair and freckles across her nose.

I remember her from the luncheon, but she was quiet the whole time; we barely got to talk. Maybe that's why I picked her as one of my top three—because she’s not loud and obnoxious.

“Shana?” I say, stepping forward.

“Karl,” she says as she approaches, her white dress swishing around her legs. “It's nice to see you again.”

“Likewise. Would you like to head inside?”

We head inside and take our seats by the window. Shana is quiet, but I chalk it up to nervousness, and besides: the quiet is nice for a change.

After we order our meals, I decide to break the ice. “So, Shana, what do you do for a living?”

She chuckles softly, a hint of shyness in her eyes. “Well, to be honest, my father runs a successful business, and I help him manage it. It's not very interesting, I'm afraid.”

I nod. “Business rarely is. What would you rather do, if you weren't working for your father?” Shana's light up at my question. “Well, I love to paint..."

Before I know it, we've fallen into an easy—albeit sparse—conversation. Shana is a painter, and likes to read. She's pretty, sweet, and although she’s not the most exciting or talkative company, she’s good company nonetheless.

I can't help but think to myself that I wouldn't mind her company in the future, even if it's just for a date to the Alpha party. At the very least, she's leaps and bounds more pleasant than the first two dates. Of course, she’s not Abby... but no one ever will be, and I'll just have to get used to that.

As the evening draws to a close, I decide to broach the subject that's been on my mind. “Shana, there's something I'd like to discuss with you.”

She tilts her head slightly, her curiosity piqued. “What is it?"

I take a moment to choose my words carefully. It's a decision that weighs heavily on my heart, but it's one I've had to make nonetheless.

Yes, she’s not Abby, and yes, I'm not in love with her. But the Alpha party is getting close, and I need a date; and Shana, out of the three candidates I selected, seems like the most reasonable option. And maybe, just maybe, I could grow to feel more for her.

“Would you like to attend the Alpha gathering with me? As my date?”

Shana's eyes widen in surprise, and she blushes slightly. “Karl, I would be honored to be your date.”

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