Hello,
It’s Thursday. It’s been a long week with children running around the house, little outings and visiting family over the Easter holidays. Enough about me, how are you?
Today’s story is about a young woman who goes on a blind date set up by her flatmate and her flatmate’s boyfriend. At first, our heroine thinks she’s being stood up but after a minor miscommunication she’s about to realise that is the least of her problems.
This is the first part of a small series called Love in a Quartet and you are reading Winter.
I hope you enjoy it,
Jordan x
A yellow raincoat clings to the man crossing the road opposite the restaurant. Is that him? It could be. No, it’s difficult to tell but I’m sure he doesn’t have any facial hair. As his head bobs out of view I look down to my wrist where the seconds tick by. Tick, tick, tick. They almost seem empathetic about continuing to round my watch while I get ever closer to being stood-up on a date that I didn’t even want to go on. Could he have missed me? No. I told Alice I would wait at this corner, right outside the door, so I would be impossible to miss. Perhaps, he had taken one look at me and thought, nah thanks and off he went about his day. It’s not like it wouldn’t be the first time that has happened to me but we won’t get into the transgressions of the Tinder men of past. Lonesome on a corner outside an overpriced bistro housed in a red brick building on the right side of town, the rain soaks into my coat. It wasn’t forecasted to rain and it’s the part of winter where a heavy coat is too much but a jacket isn’t enough. Occasionally, I push my hair out of my face, creating a wet look that says more drowned rat than sleek model. Yes, I could go inside where there is cover and warmth but again, I told Alice I would wait outside, on the corner where I would be noticeable. I was now beginning to regret agreeing to this. I mean, the whole thing was, is, regrettable. Going on blind dates in this climate? One, our time is too precious and two, I have listened to enough True Crime podcasts to know that meeting with strangers doesn’t always turn out well. Sure, this guy is a colleague of Alice’s boyfriend, Adam, but how well does Adam know him? How well do we truly know anyone? I definitely don’t know Alice as well as I think I do.
The hands on my watch illustrate another two minutes passed. I exhale and watch as a man crosses the road, approaching me too nonchalantly to be my date. And if he is, then turning up fifteen minutes late, hands in pockets and casually walking up to your date is definite grounds for instant excuses and a swift exit. To my relief he walks straight past me and heads inside the restaurant.
‘Here you are, mate.’ He says and a few seconds pass before the bell above the door rings and someone steps into the street. Another man.
He checks his watch and peers down the right side of the street that intersects with this corner. A frown burrows itself into the darkness of his eyebrows. He takes out a cigarette from his jacket pocket, perches it between his lips then goes on to shrug the jacket on. He’s very good looking, in a non-threatening, nice guy way. Soft, dark features and honey toned skin. Dark hair, a beard and a moustache. My heart pounds against my chest. Oh shit. Though his time in my life may have brief and his facial hair is better groomed, there is no way I could forget him.
His brown eyes glance at me before looking back, this time he takes a moment to study me. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and says, ‘Hey!’ With startling recognition in his voice.
A sound gurgles in my throat as I attempt to form words while the tops of my ears begin to burn.
‘How are you?’ he says finally, perhaps to save me from myself.
‘Fine, good. And you?’
‘Yeah, all good. Waiting for friends?’
I shake my head. ‘Getting stood up apparently.’ I reply.
‘Me too.’
Dark hair, a beard and a moustache.
Dark hair, a beard and a moustache?
Dark hair, a beard and a moustache!
‘Wait, you are Matt, right?’
The remnants of the croissant I preemptively ate before leaving the house toss about my stomach, threatening to come back up the way they entered.
‘Yes… and you are… Lana? His head falls forward, hanging low and shaking from side to side. He lifts his head and huffs, ‘Of course you are.’
‘Of course I am.’ I say.
‘Okay, well…’ he sounds as though he’s going to continue but doesn’t, instead he frowns. Just as confused as me, I see.
How did this happen?
How could Alice and Adam have gotten it so wrong?
‘Adam said you’d meet me inside.’ He jabs a thumb back in the direction of the bistro.
‘I told Alice I would wait outside.’
It’s my word against his. We fall silent.
The rain comes down a little heavier, each drop soaking into my clothes upon impact
‘I should get going.’ I say. There is nothing else to talk about here anyway. I’ve already wasted enough of this rare free Saturday afternoon.
‘Do you have an umbrella?’ He asks.
‘No.’
‘Why don’t we go inside and wait for the rain to ease up a bit?’
It’s an awful idea but it would be nice to get warm… I chew my lip as Matt waits for an answer.
‘I know this is… not exactly ideal but at least stay for a drink. We’ve waited this long.’
‘Ok.’ I nod and tuck my hair behind my ears, it’ll soon frizz into something more comfortable for a bird, I have until then.
Just one drink, extremely cordial conversation and then I will go home and wrangle my flatmate, who will soon be formally known as Alice Coleman.
Matt pushes the restaurant door open, allowing a warm rush of air to prickle my skin. He steps inside and I move past him as he holds the door. The scent of his aftershave now pervades the closed air, musk and citrus, I think.
Over the choral chatter, jazz piano just about manages to rise above the din, almost every table is filled save for one at the very back. In the midst of the restaurant, a waiter raises his hand to Matt and signals to the table by the window.
‘Nice to see you back so soon.’ The waiter jests in a deeply French accent.
Matt laughs and the waiter leads us towards the table. His long body can be seen above Matt’s head, a mop of blonde hair swishing as he walks. We pass a fortunately placed mirror hanging behind a table littered with bottles and glasses, encircled by young women. I take a quick glance at the few stands of hair that have begun to dry, sticking up from my scalp, and smooth them down before quickly catching up to Matt’s tail.
We reach our table, a round top, mahogany wood positioned under and between the scalloped edges of drawn red velvet curtains. Our view of the street would have placed me out of Matt’s sight if this had been where he sat whilst waiting for me so I can relieve myself of any further feeling about that.
‘My name is Anton,’ the waiter tells us as he places two menus on the table. ‘I’ll be your server this afternoon, anything you need just give me a shout.’ He rounds one side of the table and withdraws one of the chairs. ‘For you, mademoiselle.’
‘Thank you.’ I say and take my seat.
‘I’ll give you a minute to look over the drinks menu.’ Anton smiles and promptly turns on his heels to tend to another table.
As soon as he’s gone, I shrug off the sodden jacket, instantly making me shoulders feel lighter. I ignore the drinks menu, already knowing that this situation calls for a strong drink.
‘This is nice.’ I say to Matt. Attempting some semblance of conversation because the awkwardness sits to the table too. ‘Did you choose it?’
Matt peers over the top edge of his menu. ‘Adam did.’
‘Let me guess, you’d have chosen somewhere more relaxed?’
‘Yeah!’ He smiles and puts the menu flat on the table.
‘Somewhere that does pale ales and sours?’
He grins with a frown fixed upon his brow, ‘How could you tell?’
‘You literally have a t-shirt on that comes from a micro-brewery.’
He looks down at the cartoon motif, a dozy faced beer can on legs, mid stride on the left hand side of his top.
‘Touché.’
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