None of those sound even remotely near the tone I want to give off. Too formal? Too casual? Too weird? For sure not the last one, don’t need him getting any ideas.
I collapse onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. This is what nerves really feel like, huh? Heart pounding, palms sweaty, with the tiniest doubt gnawing away at the edges of my confidence. I can’t believe I’m letting a text message do this to me.
So, I decide to make myself dinner and stew over what I want to text Gabriel. If I’m going to obsess over this, I might as well distract myself with something productive.
I choose to make chicken confit, a favorite meal of mine when I studied abroad in Paris. When I graduated college three years ago, my parents gave me the most incredible gift—a year-long study abroad program across Europe to learn how to cook and bake different traditional dishes.
In France, chicken confit became my go-to comfort food to make. It is so simple, but the flavor is incredible—the dish that makes you feel like you’re in a Parisian bistro, sipping wine, watching the world go by.
Tonight, I choose to pair the chicken with a truffled broccoli cauliflower bake, a recipe I stumbled upon during a trip to Tuscany. The combination of the truffles and creamy cheese is perfect and pairs amazingly with the chicken confit.
As the smell of baking fills my kitchen, my mind wanders. I imagine myself in a little bistro in Montmartre—plates arriving with flair, the quiet hum of conversation all around. Then I snap back to reality, and it hits me how much I’m craving that kind ofsimple joy: good food, good company, and a place where I can truly relax.
When I am done cooking, I realize I’ve made too much food for one person, but that’s nothing new. I love to cook, and one of my siblings will most likely end up at the café hungry tomorrow, anyway.
As I am finishing up the dishes, my phone pings from the couch.
Unknown
Hey Bumper, it’s Gabriel. I wanted to text you and let you know I am off for the next three days, so whenever you want to meet to discuss further, let me know.
I’m relieved to finally be hearing from him, but also nervous. I type out a response.
Me
Oh hi, sorry, I meant to text you but I got distracted, and if I’m being honest, nervous…
I stare at the message, wondering if I’ve over-explained myself. Gabriel’s probably used to people being nervous around him, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. I hit send anyway and try not to think about it too much.
Gabby
When is a good day for you to meet? We could come to the cafe if that is okay with you, or you could come here. You’ll be able to see Aura before you start.
Woah,Aura? That’s such a pretty name. I wonder who picked it?
Me
Oh, I can come to your place. That way, it’s familiar to Aura since she is meeting someone new.
Gabby
Tomorrow at 6?
Me
It’s a date!
Ugh, why did I say that? That was completely unnecessary. It’s not a date—he’s not interested in me like that, and I most definitely don’t like him like that either. The guy can’t stand me. This is business.
I go to bed with butterflies in my stomach at the thought of going to Gabriel’s house. I keep picturing his place—what will it be like, how will Aura react to me, will Gabriel be a pain or will he be different without his mom around?
I toss and turn all night. My mind racing with questions. What will his home be like? Is he a neat freak or a disaster? Will I find dirty bottles in the sink and boxers on the floor? Is he a slob or maybe, just maybe, is he secretly the soft-hearted guy who doesn’t know how to show it?
Surely not. He’s way too cool to be the soft type. Never mind this. I need to get up and go to the café.
I drag myself out of bed, feeling like I didn’t sleep a wink, and pull myself together in fifteen minutes. My hair is still damp from the shower, but whatever—I’m not meeting anyone important today, right? I grab my bag and head out, making the short walk to the café.
