Excerpt of Work Of Heart by Cindi Myers

Where did you come from?

You traversed the whole world

Just to land on my plate.

 'It's not really a blind date if you've already chatted with the guy online, right?' Nina Barry squeezed into the crowded Brooklyn nightclub behind her friend Erin. 'Since You've Been Gone' blared over the hum of the crowd of college students and twentysomethings who packed the dance floor and filled the booths and tables.

'It's not a date at all.' Erin grasped Nina's wrist and dragged her toward the back of the club and to the booth where the DJ over­saw this happy chaos. 'You're just saying hi and seeing if anything clicks.'

'Right.' Nina swept her long bangs out of her eyes and tried to see into the dark interior of the DJ's booth. Being five-ten made it easier to see over the crowd, but the smoked-glass front of the booth screened the man inside from view. 'Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,' she said. 'He's working and I shouldn't interrupt.'

'What are you so nervous about?' Erin turned to face her. Short and curvy, with a fall of mahogany hair, Nina looked like a titian Madonna. 'You liked his Facebook profile, right? And the e-mail messages he sent?'

'I did.' Nina sighed. 'It's just never easy starting up the whole relationship thing.' She'd been out a few times since she'd broken up with her last serious boyfriend two months before, but every new encounter left her feeling hollow inside. She was only twenty–three—too young to settle down, as her mother, who had married for the first time at eighteen, liked to remind her. But lately Nina found herself thinking about her future, longing for something more.

They reached the booth as 'Dancing With Tears in My Eyes' began to play. Erin was right. There was no reason to be nervous. Randy was a nice guy. Someone she could have fun with. She knocked firmly on the door to the booth.

The door swung open and Nina caught her breath. The fuzzy snapshots on his Facebook page really hadn't done this man justice. Hair she'd thought was black was really the deep brown of dark sienna. Hazel eyes looked into hers from beneath perfectly groomed brows; and when he smiled at her, a little shyly, she noticed the dimple in his chin. 'Hello ladies,' he said. 'What can I do for you?'

'I'm Nina,' she said. 'And this is my friend, Erin.'

'Pleased to meet you. I'm . . .'

A blast of music drowned out the word, though Nina thought she caught the 'y' on the end. 'I didn't mean to interrupt your work.' She looked past him into the booth where two turntables, a CD player, and stacks of CDs scattered like oversize coins littered the counter. 'Maybe when you take a break, we could have a drink.'

Did she imagine that half-second hesitation? Had he already decided they didn't 'click'? But then the smile returned full force. 'Sure. I'm just filling in for a friend for a bit. He should be right back. Why don't you find a table and I'll join you in a minute?'

'So? What do you think?' Erin waited until they were a few feet from the booth before she leaned in and asked the question.

'He's very good-looking,' Nina said. Maybe it was shallow to zero in on that first thing, but what could she say? Randy was much better looking than she'd expected. He really needed to update his Facebook profile.

'Maybe a little too good-looking,' Erin said.

'What do you mean?'

'I never saw a guy with such great skin. And his clothes and hair were perfect. I hope he's not gay.'

Nina had been so focused on Randy's face she hadn't noticed his clothes. She had a vague recollection of slim, dark jeans and a black T-shirt. 'He is definitely not gay,' she said. No gay man would ever make her pulse race the way Randy had. 'He asked me out, remember?'

'Well, yeah. There is that.'

They snagged a table near the dance floor as another couple was leaving, and ordered drinks from a passing waitress. Nina kept looking toward the booth, but the smoked glass made Randy invisible to her. She forced herself to look at the dance floor instead, at the writhing, swaying couples in slim jeans, short skirts, cocktail dresses, shimmery tops, plain T-shirts. If she let her vision blur, they formed a kaleidoscope of color and motion. She'd like to photograph them, perhaps a long exposure to blur the faces and bodies more, or a painting, almost impressionistic in its approach. . . .

'Earth to Nina. You need to pay for your drink.' Erin's voice brought her back to the present. She paid the waitress, then jumped as someone touched her arm.