It feels weird leaving him behind in this cellar, working. I’ve never left this close to five, either. Something about it feels almost illegal and I can’t explain why. I open my phone camera,checking over my face and applying a fresh coat of gloss to my lips before I get up from the floor.
‘Oh, Maddy?’ Aiden calls and I freeze, hand wrapped round the cellar door handle. ‘The jeans aredefinitely first-dateappropriate. He’ll be a big fan.’
Nudge 20
The First Date
‘We should have got a booth,’ Benji sighs as he pulls up a stool, steel legs scraping loudly across the floor.
‘Sorry, I just sat where they led me,’ I say, attempting to catch his eye as he scans the noisy room for better seats.
Even with the early exit, I still found myself at the bar twenty minutes late. I walked as fast as my heeled boots allowed me, hobbling from the bus stop to the venue in the hopes that he was still there. He didn’t reply to any of my three journey update texts and I don’t know him well enough to know whether that was a sign of frustration. Turns out it was probably a result of him travelling himself, as I arrived at a yet-to-be-claimed reservation.
He huffs as he settles. ‘It’s fine. Just not what I’d wanted for us. You deserve the best, you know?’
He gazes into my eyes, waiting expectantly. I force a tight-lipped smile and a faint nod of appreciation, which proves to be more than enough. He smiles back at me, as if desperately attempting to summon a vibe that has yet to appear, before reaching for the singular menu on the table.
‘Have you ordered yet?’
‘No, I was waiting for you.’
‘That’s so sweet. You’re too sweet,’ he says, eyes locked on the card.
‘So, how’s your day been?’ I ask.
‘What?’ He has to yell as the music grows louder.
I raise my voice too. ‘How’s your day been?’
‘Oh! Yeah, it’s been good.’
He waves his arm in the air, beckoning a nearby waitress over as he keeps the menu clutched between his hands.
‘Hey– can I get a rum and Coke– it’s Happy Hour, right? I’ll have two. And the sliders, and the fries on the side.’
‘Of course. And for the lady?’ she asks.
‘Sorry, could I see the menu?’ I ask him.
I haven’t had a chance to look. When I first got here, I was afraid that, in my state, the mere names of the food would take me from mildly irritated to full-on hangry. He hands it over and stares impatiently as I scan through the items, the weight of his and the waitress’s eyes pressing on me, so I narrow in on the first thing I see.
‘I’ll just take the fries. And. . . a gin? Do you do gin? I’ll take a gin and lemonade.’
‘And two tequila shots,’ Benji adds, before turning and winking at me. ‘It will loosen us up.’
Forward, but at this point I’ll take anything.
The waiter turns on her heel, leaving us at our tiny, tall table, surrounded by the loud chatter of the bar around us. I’ll admit, it’s not exactly the ‘dinner and drinks’ vibe I got from his texts, but on the upside my jeans are definitely not out of place. If anything, the boots and top may be a littletoodressy for the vibe here.
‘So, tell me about yourself, Maddison,’ he says, reclining on the imaginary back of his stool.
I’ve always thought ‘tell me about yourself’ is one of the worst questions you can ask a person. It does nothing on your part to decipher them and puts it all in their hands. It’s lazy and callous, and full of ambiguity, along with the presumption that the person you’re talking to is basic enough to condense their whole life into a small string of sentences.
‘What do you want to know?’ I ask, throwing it back at him.
‘Everything.’ He shuts me down instantly.
His eyes are still pretty, I suppose. The glint appears a little duller drowned in the low light of the bar. But he’strying, at least. I can’t expect him to live up to the standards I imposed in my head.
