One Last Waltz

My stomach rumbles at the light touch of garlic filling the air. Meat still sizzles on the plates of a passing waiter. The lobster tail on another platter looks divine. For someone who hasn’t eaten anything other than a chocolate croissant for breakfast, I couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks with an iPad ready in her hand.

“I’m supposed to meet someone. The reservation should be under his name. Henry Styles.”

“I’m sorry, he isn’t here yet. Would you like me to show you to your table or do you want to wait at the bar?”

After a stressful day at the law firm, what could be better than a little drink? “I’ll wait at the bar.”

“Perfect. I’ll let Mr. Styles know as soon as he arrives.”

Five minutes later, I’m seated at a cute little round table right in a corner with views over most of the restaurant. That’s how I like it. Back to the wall, eyes to the front. No sudden surprises I can’t see coming.

The body of a waiter blocking my sight works as a temporary distraction. “Can I get you a drink?”

I scan the cocktail menu. “A Sex on the Beach, please.”

“Great choice. I’ll be right back.”

He disappears, thus allowing me to observe my fellow diners. The low murmur of people deep in conversation fills my ears, disturbed by the occasional laughter. The popping of a champaign bottle draws my attention to a table for two. The girl bites her lip; the guy is fidgeting in his chair. He pulls on the collar of his shirt as if it were too tight. My money is on a proposal later in the night.

The waiter sets my drink down. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Not right now.” I check my phone for the time and a message. Henry is ten minutes late and has sent no text to explain himself or give me fair warning. That’s strike one against him. I hate tardiness; it’s so disrespectful. Like I have nothing better to do with my time than wait around. In hindsight, agreeing to a blind date set up by my own son might not have been the best idea.

My focus shifts to the front door of the restaurant and I find myself drumming my fingers on the polished tabletop. The 8:12 display on my phone mocks me. Maybe he isn’t coming. Being stood up would sting even more than missing out on this amazing food.

Slurping my drink, I divert my gaze back to the tables with their flickering candles. A little girl of about seven is being served a humongous slice of cake with tons of icing. Her face flushes with excitement. When Austen was that age, he hated restaurants. He couldn’t sit still and ate his meat by spearing it with his knife. Neither the fine linen napkins nor the white tablecloth would have survived the chocolate stains attack.

8:15. That’s it. I’ll finish my drink and leave.

On cue, a lone guy steps through the front doors. Could that be him? He’s definitely shorter than the promised six feet, and a lot less muscular than my usual type. The dark blue slacks and a light blue button-up shirt with the top button closed have geek written all over them. His salt and pepper hair is neatly trimmed around his ears and he pushes up horn-rimmed glasses as he glances around with eager eyes. Nothing about him screams audacious. He’s definitely not the bad-boy type I typically go for.

The type that has always gotten me into trouble.

Plus beggars can’t be choosers. I haven’t been on a date in three years and should be happy that Austen even cared enough to arrange a blind date.

The hostess points at me and Mr. Geek strolls over as if he has no worries in the world. He definitely doesn’t look one bit contrite that he has left me waiting. Arriving at my table, he gives me a smug smile. “You must be Jill.”

“I must be.”

“I’m Henry. Shall we?” He swoops his hand in the direction of the main dining section.

“Sure.”

I grab my drink and follow him and the hostess, all the while ignoring that I’m at least three inches taller than him in my heels. The table we end up at isn’t ideal; it’s almost in the center of the restaurant with plenty of space in the back of me. Henry doesn’t attempt to help me with my coat, or the chair. That’s another semi strike against him. In my eyes, chivalry is not dead but a nice gesture, especially on a date.

As he settles into his seat, he eyes my drink. “Is that alcohol?”

The question sounds like an accusation and my cheeks warm. That completes strike two. “Uhm, yes. Is that a problem?”

“I don’t drink alcohol. It’s poisonous for your body.”

Alrighty then. Glad we got that out of the way. I chew on my straw, the cocktail no longer as appealing as it once was.

He studies the menu. “They don’t have a lot of vegan dishes.”

“Oh, are you a vegan?”

Our eyes meet, his are filled with contempt, as if I’m some sort of animal killer. “For the past ten years.”

Nothing against vegans, after all, it’s a life choice, but why on earth would he suggest meeting at a steakhouse?

“I didn’t know. Do you mind if I order meat?”

“Not at all, since you don’t seem to be bothered by the slaughter practices in this country.”

“It’s an Argentinian steakhouse.”

He frowns, clearly not amused by my feeble attempt at humor. “I doubt the slaughter practices in Argentina are any better.”

Probably not. I flip to the part of the menu with the seafood options. Lobster is out; they are cooked alive. I won’t hear the end of it. “Maybe grilled shrimp skewers,” I mumble to myself.

“Sure, if you like eating micro plastics.”

And pasta with veggies it is. My stomach grumbles at the prospect; I’m not the only one disappointed by this date. I glance at the display on my phone. Ten minutes have passed; it seems like an eternity. If I weren’t such a polite person, I’d excuse myself and sneak out through one of the back doors they must have for emergencies.

“So my son tells me you are an engineer,” I start in the hopes to crack the ice with a bit of small talk.

“Yes, I am.”

And why not elaborate a little to keep this conversation alive? Do I have to do all the work? I take a long swallow of the cocktail, praying that another question will magically appear in my head.

“Isn’t it something that our kids set us up on a blind date,” I finally say when nothing else comes to mind.

“Yes, it is.” He sets the menu down. “I can’t seem to find anything, so maybe I’ll just have a side salad and some bread.”

Without the garlic butter. Yummy.

“Salad and bread sounds like a good alternative.”

“Of course, you can order whatever you like.”

And prolong this date? I don’t think so.

Silence stands between us like a brick wall. My gaze is fixed on the time display of my phone. How long do I have to sit here after finishing my food before I can safely leave without being impolite? Another ten minutes? Fifteen?

“Can I ask how old you are?” he suddenly pries. “Jenna didn’t know.”

“Oh, I’m thirty-five.”

“And your son is what . . . eighteen?” Judgment in the form of disgust seeps from every pore of his twisted face.

And here’s strike three. It’s not his place to criticize my life choices. “Yep, I had him young.”

“And how long have you been divorced?”

“No divorce. Austen’s dad and I were never married.”

“I see.”

More judgement spills from his eyes. My cheeks burn; I want to crawl under the table and hide.

“And you are a lawyer?” He pronounces the word “lawyer” as if it were something detestable.

I nod, for the first time ashamed of my profession.

He clicks his tongue. “We should order.”

I agree. The faster this is over, the better. I’m about to signal the waiter to ask for a portion of vegetable lasagna and an ice water refill when a cheerful shout interrupts me.

“Girl, is that you?”

I turn my head to find a total stranger beaming at me. Before I can enlighten him that I’m the wrong “girl,” he bends down to peck my cheek.

“You look miserable, so play along,” he whispers with a conspiratorial wink.

No need to ask twice. “Dude, how long has it been? Five years?”

“About that. But you look amazing, like you haven’t aged a day. And I love what you did to your hair.” Grinning, he turns to my blind date with an outstretched hand. “Hi, I’m Josh.”

“Henry.” Their handshake is more a touching of fingertips. “So you are an old friend of Jill’s?”

“The oldest.” Josh rests his hand on my shoulder. “High school, college, we have always been inseparable.” He laughs. “They used to call us Siamese Twins.”

Nice one.

“Are you Austen’s dad?” Henry asks.

Josh blinks a couple of times; obviously, he didn’t expect to be branded a father within seconds into the conversation. For a breath, I fear he’ll chicken out, but then he laughs again. “No, that was another dude. I was just there to pick up the pieces.”

Great safe.

Josh squeezes my shoulder. “Not to be rude, but I’m only in town until tomorrow, so is there any way I can kidnap Jill, and you guys could finish up your dinner some other time? I would hate to pass on an opportunity to catch up with my best friend in the world.”

Now, don’t lay it on too thick or Henry might get suspicious.

Henry stares at the almost empty table. “Well, we haven’t ordered yet, so I guess—”

“Thanks, you’re the best.” Josh holds out his hand; only one eyebrow is raised. I’ve always admired people who can do that.

I take a moment to fully appreciate his appearance. On paper, he’s definitely my type. Tall, at least six feet, he passes me by a few inches, and his tanned skin and trim body suggest he spends a lot of time outdoors. His dark hair is just long enough to run my fingers through but not too long to make it messy. The fire of the candle sparkles in his azure-blue eyes, daring me to disappear with a total stranger.

“How about it, Jill? Are you ready for a wild night together?”

I shouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’m here with Henry. Henry who struck out, and who has done nothing but offended and disrespected me all night.

Screw him. Life is too short to be polite.

And all of a sudden, my blind date has turned crazy . . . and fun.

I take Josh’s hand, even though I’m pretty sure I’ll regret this in the morning. “Absolutely. Let’s get out of here.”