realised it was only 7o’clock; I was too early and I was hungry again but I didn’t want to spoil my dinner, so I put music on again and began painting another coat of nail polish on my nails.
At 7:45pm my phone flashed with a message from Chris, ‘ Running late sorry. I’ll meet you there about quarter past - looking forward to seeing you again x. ’ I hesitated before calling to book a taxi – for a few moments I imagined myself the victim of a joke sitting alone in the restaurant while Chris and his stunning girlfriend arrived to have dinner.
I'd already told my Mother my fake excuse for going out so I couldn't really back out without faking some kind of illness. Admittedly, the humiliation of being stood up had been part of the reason I hadn’t told her the truth about the date in the first place, and now I would have no one to agree how much of an asshole he was if he didn't turn up. Not that my Mother would use such a word, and besides a secret was better than her pity. I was shaken from my thoughts by the taxi horn beeping from the street outside and I headed out after saying goodbye to my Mother.
As I watched the ice in my glass shrink smaller and smaller, it started to feel like being stood up might be reality. Almost every other table in the restaurant was full with couples talking in low voices and large groups laughing and chattering over one another. I had already looked around the room three times, so I sat rigid in my seat trying not to fidget or look around the room again too anxiously.
Suddenly the seat across from me was pulled out I looked up to see Chris looking down at me. I’d been sat there for seventeen minutes, but I was so glad he actually turned up that it didn’t even cross my mind to frown at him.
He slipped his coat from his shoulders and hung it over the back of the chair.
“Hello beautiful.” he said.
I just stared at him in wonder and brushed off the compliment.
“Hi Chris, you look…” incredible, gorgeous, perfect. “…good.” I replied.
“Thanks I had a job interview earlier, hence the suit.” He undid the buttons at his wrists and pushed up his sleeves. It was such a normal thing to do and yet watching his hands, I began to wonder what it would feel like to have them around my waist.
It really wasn’t fair that he’d been at a - most likely stressful - interview and didn’t have a hair out of place, while I had spent hours getting ready and still wouldn’t look as good as he did if I’d had a team of stylists, make-up artists and hairdressers work on me for twenty-four hours straight.
Chris ordered a bottle of wine and I sat holding my breath hoping the waitress wouldn't ask me for identification. However, the magnetism I'd noticed at the party seemed to be a constant for him, as the waitress smiled and offered a selection with a suggestion of one in particular.
"I'm starving; shall we decide what to eat?" My horror in being caught staring at him meant I nodded my head and buried my face in the pages of the menu that had entertained me while I'd waited for him. Thankfully my Mother was keen on family dinner at various restaurants so the dishes were not too unfamiliar.
Once we had ordered, the bottle of wine was brought to the table and our glasses were filled with the sweet, fruity liquid. Again, I was grateful to my Mother as her belief had always been to bring up her children with a healthy respect for alcohol by introducing it to us gently under her own roof. I always wondered if she took the notion from my father's Italian heritage or simply thought it better than becoming the holy grail of teenagers and having our first taste of alcohol through peer pressure. This wine was sharper than I liked but I sipped it slowly and felt a little less out of place.
"You look very pretty, that colour suits you." He smiled and his eyes ran down my front.
"Thank you, it was just something I had in my wardrobe." I replied with lie number one.
"So, what have you
At 7:45pm my phone flashed with a message from Chris, ‘ Running late sorry. I’ll meet you there about quarter past - looking forward to seeing you again x. ’ I hesitated before calling to book a taxi – for a few moments I imagined myself the victim of a joke sitting alone in the restaurant while Chris and his stunning girlfriend arrived to have dinner.
I'd already told my Mother my fake excuse for going out so I couldn't really back out without faking some kind of illness. Admittedly, the humiliation of being stood up had been part of the reason I hadn’t told her the truth about the date in the first place, and now I would have no one to agree how much of an asshole he was if he didn't turn up. Not that my Mother would use such a word, and besides a secret was better than her pity. I was shaken from my thoughts by the taxi horn beeping from the street outside and I headed out after saying goodbye to my Mother.
As I watched the ice in my glass shrink smaller and smaller, it started to feel like being stood up might be reality. Almost every other table in the restaurant was full with couples talking in low voices and large groups laughing and chattering over one another. I had already looked around the room three times, so I sat rigid in my seat trying not to fidget or look around the room again too anxiously.
Suddenly the seat across from me was pulled out I looked up to see Chris looking down at me. I’d been sat there for seventeen minutes, but I was so glad he actually turned up that it didn’t even cross my mind to frown at him.
He slipped his coat from his shoulders and hung it over the back of the chair.
“Hello beautiful.” he said.
I just stared at him in wonder and brushed off the compliment.
“Hi Chris, you look…” incredible, gorgeous, perfect. “…good.” I replied.
“Thanks I had a job interview earlier, hence the suit.” He undid the buttons at his wrists and pushed up his sleeves. It was such a normal thing to do and yet watching his hands, I began to wonder what it would feel like to have them around my waist.
It really wasn’t fair that he’d been at a - most likely stressful - interview and didn’t have a hair out of place, while I had spent hours getting ready and still wouldn’t look as good as he did if I’d had a team of stylists, make-up artists and hairdressers work on me for twenty-four hours straight.
Chris ordered a bottle of wine and I sat holding my breath hoping the waitress wouldn't ask me for identification. However, the magnetism I'd noticed at the party seemed to be a constant for him, as the waitress smiled and offered a selection with a suggestion of one in particular.
"I'm starving; shall we decide what to eat?" My horror in being caught staring at him meant I nodded my head and buried my face in the pages of the menu that had entertained me while I'd waited for him. Thankfully my Mother was keen on family dinner at various restaurants so the dishes were not too unfamiliar.
Once we had ordered, the bottle of wine was brought to the table and our glasses were filled with the sweet, fruity liquid. Again, I was grateful to my Mother as her belief had always been to bring up her children with a healthy respect for alcohol by introducing it to us gently under her own roof. I always wondered if she took the notion from my father's Italian heritage or simply thought it better than becoming the holy grail of teenagers and having our first taste of alcohol through peer pressure. This wine was sharper than I liked but I sipped it slowly and felt a little less out of place.
"You look very pretty, that colour suits you." He smiled and his eyes ran down my front.
"Thank you, it was just something I had in my wardrobe." I replied with lie number one.
"So, what have you
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