“Senorita is enjoying our fountain, yes?”
I blushed and turned around to see a young, handsome maître d.
“Yes, it’s lovely,” I said. “I’m here a little early – I’m meeting Thomas March at seven-thirty.”
The maître d nodded. “Mr. March has not yet joined us,” he said. “But would you like to be seated?”
I nodded and nervously followed the maître d through the beautiful restaurant. The brightly colored tables were filled with all kinds of expensive looking couples, and I wondered what kind of delicious wine Thomas would order for us when he arrived.
“I’ll send a complimentary glass of sangria over to you,” the maître d said. He bowed deeply and I blushed.
Am I supposed to tip him or something, I wondered. But thankfully, he turned on his heel and walked away before I felt too awkward.
Seconds later, a glass of red sangria was brought to the table. I sipped it and thanked the waiter before starting to glance through the menu. Thankfully, it was printed in both English and Spanish. But by the time I’d read the whole thing, cover to cover, there was still no sign of Thomas.
I frowned. It was quarter to eight. When I checked my phone, there was no text or call. He’s probably stuck in traffic, I thought. And I’m sure he doesn’t want to get into an accident by texting. Maybe his Porsche is repaired and he’s still waiting.
Another ten minutes passed and there was still no sign of my date. Frustrated, I pulled out my phone and texted him: “Hey, everything okay?”
No response.
When the waiter came back for my empty glass, I was embarrassed. I picked a cheap appetizer on the menu – and at eighteen dollars for three seared scallops, it wasn’t very cheap – and told the waiter that I was still waiting on Thomas to show.
Fifteen minutes later, just as I was finishing my scallops, Thomas arrived. He looked flushed and out of breath, and he sat down hard without looking at me or greeting me.
“Hi,” I said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”
Thomas didn’t respond. He started digging through his pockets. After a few seconds of irritated silence, he pulled out his phone and pressed angrily at the screen.
I sat there, feeling like a fool. Thankfully, the waiter chose that exact moment to come up to the table.
“Good evening, sir,” the waiter said. “Would you like to see a wine list?”
“No,” Thomas said shortly. “Just bring us anything aged on oak, from the late nineties.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”
Thomas glanced up and looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “No,” he said. “June, have you gotten a chance to look?”
I nodded mutely.
“Just ask her,” Thomas said. “June, pick something with seafood,” he said. “And I want ceviche as an appetizer.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter noted. He turned to me and I began to sweat. My cheeks flushed as I fumbled with the menu.
“Um, can I have the gamba…gambas de…ai-aye-oh?”
“Yes, the shrimp with garlic,” the waiter said smoothly. “Very good choice. I’ll bring two dinners.”
“Thank you.” I blushed hotly, ashamed of my mistake. I really need to learn basic French and Spanish pronunciation, I realized. That is, if I’m going to keep dating Thomas.
As soon as the waiter was gone, Thomas sighed and took a long drink of water.
“You okay?” I asked nervously.
Thomas glared at me. “No.”
“What’s wrong?”