Another failed first date.
This meant I was entitled to a large cup of hot tea.
I tossed my dark green cardigan on the small table by the front door, dropped my bag on the floor, and slipped out of my shoes.
As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard the back door open.
“I need details,” Jemma demanded as she let herself in.
“Let me make some tea first, damn.” I laughed at her.
“Fine.” I heard the screech of the chair legs on my floor as Jemma took her seat.
I filled my kettle with water and placed it on the stove. I knew Jemma was rolling her eyes behind me. She’d been on this journey with me as I’d started dating again these past few months, and she loved to hear about the train wrecks.
Which all of them had been.
I took my hair down out of its bun, letting my dark brown tendrils fall to the middle of my back. My fingers ran through my hair, and I sighed as I stood in front of the stove, waiting for the kettle to whistle.
“That good, huh?” I turned around to Jemma, her feet kicked up in the chair next to her. She was in tight jeans, a loose-fitting grey shirt tucked into the front of her pants, with a pair ofcombat boots on. Her natural light brown curls bounced on her shoulders.
She looked relaxed, put together, and also annoying as she wiggled her eyebrows in encouragement for me to spill what had happened.
“I think this might have been the worst one yet.”
Her eyes went wide. “Hell. No wonder you look like shit.”
“Hey,” I tried to start to defend myself, but I caught a look at my reflection in the window. “Fuck.”
I looked unkempt in my tight, high-waisted jeans that were askew, even though they hugged my hips and thighs. I ran my hand down my curves, noticing my orange t-shirt was half-hanging out of the full tuck I’d done before leaving earlier. My hair, now down, had me looking like I’d just gotten laid, which was not the case.
Thank goodness.
The kettle went off, and I finished preparing our teas. Irish breakfast was my favorite, while Jemma preferred green. We both liked it just as sweet, where you could smell the sugar if you put your nose to the brim of the cup.
“I tried to tell you not to go on this one. He seemed a little too good to be true. He was basically writing you poetry the first night you started talking.” Jemma reminded me. She was right. She’d tried to convince me not to go on this date after I started talking to this man a week ago, but I wouldn’t listen. I liked to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but it always bit me in the ass.
I brought the cups over to the table, and Jemma moved her feet to make room for me to sit down next to her. She’d tossed my mail on the table; it looked like mostly junk.
“He told me that I’d make the perfect housewife once he was actually able to afford a house.” I finally let slip.
Jemma choked a little on the first sip of tea she tried to take.
“What did he say when you told him you already owned a house?”
I took a sip of my own tea. She leaned forward, waiting for me to continue. I rolled my eyes and gave her what she wanted.
“He promptly left the restaurant and said that I could afford to pay the whole tab.”
“He did not!” Jemma practically screamed. She’d set her tea down and had her hands over her mouth. In my small cottage house, the scream was almost twice as loud as it reverberated off the walls.
I’d lived in my house for about three years after my ex and I broke up. One day, I was driving through different parts of New York and stumbled upon a street in a small town where this house was for sale. The house had looked abandoned—because it was. The owners had died one year before I bought it, and their children had let the house go. Luckily for me, I got it at a great price, and a few months later, Jemma bought the house next door when the widow who lived there passed away. The circumstances were horrible, but it worked out in a way neither of us could have expected.
“The waitress felt bad,” I shrugged, taking another sip. “So, they looked, and since he had to put a card down for the reservation, they charged him for his meal, and I paid for mine.”
“Damn, I love the service industry sometimes.”
“Amen.”
