are wide and playful.
I rush through finishing the coffee, slide a bagel each onto tea plates, and usher a motion to him to return to the lounge. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I sink my teeth into the bagel, suddenly just needing food more than fuelling more embarrassment. I can’t be more self-conscious than I have been over the last few minutes, and as I’ll never see him again, I give in to it, accept my humiliation and dive in to the delicious smelling breakfast. Oh, this is seriously good, and I’m unaware as I release a loud groan.
“This is….are you ok?” I shoot him a puzzled look and he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes wider than ever and staring fully at me.
“I’m good…good” he coughs brushing an invisible crumb from his chest.
“Oh, ok…I was just saying…this bagel is seriously good. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Look, I think I need to shoot…um, get to work” he stands swiftly to his feet, dropping his half eaten bagel back onto his plate. Quick strides and he’s swung my front door open. Turning back towards me, he shuffles slightly.
“I still feel crap about yesterday. Can I apologise properly? And then I’ll be out of your hair for good, I promise.”
Raising my hands in frustration, I shake my head at him “I don’t need any more apologies…please…get to work, I’m fine.”
“Please? I’d like to say sorry properly. Cook you a meal. I do a mean steak. Do you like steak?” Again, his head lops to the side and the impish grin is back.
Now I’m shaking my head vigorously. “No, no…I don’t….don’t”
“It’s not a date…just a meal. Then you’ll never have to see me again.”
I sigh deeply and somehow I hear myself reluctantly agreeing to see him again . Tomorrow night. At Seven Thirty.
“I’ll get Thomson to pick you up, ok? Seven Thirty. That way if you want a glass of wine, you don’t need to worry about your car or driving. Until tomorrow then” and before I can utter a response, he strides down the path and is gone.
Why would his friend pick me up? But then he called him Sir yesterday so is he an employee or colleague? Maybe I’ll ask him tomorrow night.
Chapter Four
I stare at my reflection in the full length mirror in my bedroom, twisting for a back view, and turning back again to face myself. It’s 7.00pm so I have another half hour to decide the finishing touches, accessorize, or change again. This is my third outfit. I’m having dinner with the most beautiful man on the planet, and pride makes me want to at least try to look my very best. I know I’m not beautiful, and certainly couldn’t compare to Mia my stunning former top model best friend forever, but I am pretty, or so I have been told.
I step closer to the mirror and stare at my face, wrinkling my nose at my damn smattering of freckles. I have chosen to leave my hair down, straightening it within an inch of its life, so it swings curtain-like to a few inches past my shoulders. The hair mask has done its trick and it shines with pearl blonde highlights. I have done a smoky eye, not too much, but enough to draw out the green from my iris. My lips are nude, bar a slick of rose gloss.
I settle for the third outfit. A simple black wide leg trouser pant and a matching black silk halter top. At five foot five, I can just about get away with a wide trouser, without drowning my frame. I search for suitable foot wear. Simon, my cheating, miserable ex, was generous with gifts and showered me with expensive shoes and handbags probably to distract me from his screwing around! So I plump for the Oscar de la Renta gladia cut out leather sandals teamed with my black Marni clutch.
I start to make my way down the stairs as a polite two taps on my door stops me momentarily. Suddenly, I feel nerves drying my mouth and consider backing out. I’m still raw from Simon and it feels too early to be in the company of another man. It’s not a date. Not…a…date. Another two
I rush through finishing the coffee, slide a bagel each onto tea plates, and usher a motion to him to return to the lounge. Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, I sink my teeth into the bagel, suddenly just needing food more than fuelling more embarrassment. I can’t be more self-conscious than I have been over the last few minutes, and as I’ll never see him again, I give in to it, accept my humiliation and dive in to the delicious smelling breakfast. Oh, this is seriously good, and I’m unaware as I release a loud groan.
“This is….are you ok?” I shoot him a puzzled look and he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes wider than ever and staring fully at me.
“I’m good…good” he coughs brushing an invisible crumb from his chest.
“Oh, ok…I was just saying…this bagel is seriously good. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Look, I think I need to shoot…um, get to work” he stands swiftly to his feet, dropping his half eaten bagel back onto his plate. Quick strides and he’s swung my front door open. Turning back towards me, he shuffles slightly.
“I still feel crap about yesterday. Can I apologise properly? And then I’ll be out of your hair for good, I promise.”
Raising my hands in frustration, I shake my head at him “I don’t need any more apologies…please…get to work, I’m fine.”
“Please? I’d like to say sorry properly. Cook you a meal. I do a mean steak. Do you like steak?” Again, his head lops to the side and the impish grin is back.
Now I’m shaking my head vigorously. “No, no…I don’t….don’t”
“It’s not a date…just a meal. Then you’ll never have to see me again.”
I sigh deeply and somehow I hear myself reluctantly agreeing to see him again . Tomorrow night. At Seven Thirty.
“I’ll get Thomson to pick you up, ok? Seven Thirty. That way if you want a glass of wine, you don’t need to worry about your car or driving. Until tomorrow then” and before I can utter a response, he strides down the path and is gone.
Why would his friend pick me up? But then he called him Sir yesterday so is he an employee or colleague? Maybe I’ll ask him tomorrow night.
Chapter Four
I stare at my reflection in the full length mirror in my bedroom, twisting for a back view, and turning back again to face myself. It’s 7.00pm so I have another half hour to decide the finishing touches, accessorize, or change again. This is my third outfit. I’m having dinner with the most beautiful man on the planet, and pride makes me want to at least try to look my very best. I know I’m not beautiful, and certainly couldn’t compare to Mia my stunning former top model best friend forever, but I am pretty, or so I have been told.
I step closer to the mirror and stare at my face, wrinkling my nose at my damn smattering of freckles. I have chosen to leave my hair down, straightening it within an inch of its life, so it swings curtain-like to a few inches past my shoulders. The hair mask has done its trick and it shines with pearl blonde highlights. I have done a smoky eye, not too much, but enough to draw out the green from my iris. My lips are nude, bar a slick of rose gloss.
I settle for the third outfit. A simple black wide leg trouser pant and a matching black silk halter top. At five foot five, I can just about get away with a wide trouser, without drowning my frame. I search for suitable foot wear. Simon, my cheating, miserable ex, was generous with gifts and showered me with expensive shoes and handbags probably to distract me from his screwing around! So I plump for the Oscar de la Renta gladia cut out leather sandals teamed with my black Marni clutch.
I start to make my way down the stairs as a polite two taps on my door stops me momentarily. Suddenly, I feel nerves drying my mouth and consider backing out. I’m still raw from Simon and it feels too early to be in the company of another man. It’s not a date. Not…a…date. Another two
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