I was late. And like grandma always said, it’s stupid to be late. The rain drenched me and I felt so stupid, walking into the restaurant with wet espadrilles, a moist dress and a broken umbrella. A part of me dreamed of running out of there with my wits intact, before the woman in the counter decided to give me another piercing stare. But I had to stay.
I slipped into the bathroom and dried myself off as quickly and as decently as possible before I made my way to the opulent dining room. I can’t say much about the place, except for the putrid smell of lavender-flavored perfume that mixed somewhat horribly with the decadent essence of the food that entered the dining hall.
“Is it you?” I felt a chill down my spine and turned around, slightly shaking.
He fit the description perfectly. Well-dressed, tall and slightly muscular, with wavy brown hair and bright green eyes, a scar on his left cheek and another on his neck. I would later learn that he had gotten those wounds from a surfing accident while in Hawaii.
He led, and I followed. The table was right in the middle. I felt my cheeks turn scarlet as I sat, and hundreds of pairs of eyes stared at the moist girl in the green dress and her well-dressed companion. I could still hear the sheets of rain that fell that afternoon.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“Haven’t I told you enough?”
He laughed, flashing a smile. “The letters were fascinating.”
“But have they not told you enough?”
It was an honest and straight answer. I could tell he was serious. I cleared my throat, drinking in the sparkling water before I spoke. “I love to write, I love to eat, and I’ve never been out of the country my whole life.”
His small eyes widened. “Funny.”
I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or slightly flattered at his words, even though it seemed like his actions spoke louder.
I felt a smile form on my face. “I suppose you have, then.” He nodded.
I gracefully took the champagne glass and drank from the wine that had been poured.