Chapter 1 — Luke

I regularly dined at 71, and as I walked in, hating the idea of being late, I noticed the woman who could possibly be my date was stuck outside. It was as if she was being security checked at the airport.

Jean-Luc, the server, knew me well, and when he told me my date had arrived and was outside, I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t feeling great. No, I was feeling kind of shitty and needed something to eat, but I knew I had to wait for my date before eating anything. It would be impolite to start eating without her.

I wasn’t looking or feeling my best. Normally I wouldn’t wear my work clothes to a date. I needed to go home and shower first. Washing my mouth out in Starbucks earlier with some water didn’t do the trick, and my breath wasn’t smelling great. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. All I wanted to do was hit the sack and then get to the bar tomorrow morning to get my laptop and jacket. I didn’t even need to do that, since I became even grumpier when I remembered I didn’t even have as assistant anymore to go get my stuff for me.

I was feeling sorry for myself, but when I saw my date, I knew she had been through something a lot worse than me. She was wearing a T-shirt with 'Girls Just Want To Have Sun' written across it, which felt like an understatement as her complexion was bright red. As I took in her appearance, she was asked to give ID.

Who asked for ID at a restaurant?

I’d lost my patience and decided to come to her rescue when I saw her bangs were straight up, as if she’d had an electric shock, and she was wearing sneakers. Her day had to have been a lot worse than mine, and I couldn’t even say anything to her because I was trying so hard not to laugh. There was something familiar about her I couldn’t put my finger on. I hoped her time in the bathroom would make her presentable, but as the time ticked by as I headed to the table. I wondered if I should stop worrying about my manners and just order something, anything, to stop me from eating anything on the table—which would be the glass, the cutlery, or the napkins.

“Would you like some soup?” Jean-Luc asked as he came to my table, placing a cup of French onion soup and bread in front of me.

I nodded my head. “I’m starving. It’s as if you read my mind.”

He laughed. “No. You’re just a creature of comfort. You always sit at the same table, order the same bottle, and request the same menu.”

I didn’t know how to take the assumption he had of me. He was right about my order, though. When I came here, I would always have their French specialty. And come to think of it, when I went to the tapas bar, I always got the same dish there, too. It dawned on me that he was right. I was fucking boring. Boring. A creature of comfort is a polite way of saying someone’s boring! I never tried anything new. I hadn’t even had to ask where my table was as I came in because I always sat here.

Fuck it. Next time I’d sit in the corner, I decided, but just as quickly I shook my head at the idea of it. The corner was the place where couples forgot it was a restaurant and mistook it for a room at the back of a seedy bar.

I’d had plenty of fun there back in the day, but now when I came there it was to eat and converse. What I did behind closed doors was my business and my date’s.

Okay, I could sit at the front. But that was the place where everyone who walked into the restaurant always looked at your plate and decided if what you were eating was a good choice or not. I often saw diners point and say, “I’ll eat whatever they’re eating.”

How revolting.

Which just left the back, where I was sitting. I had a good reason for choosing this spot, and as much as Jean-Luc was telling me I was boring for sitting here, I shouldn’t fucking care. At the end of the day, I was the client, not him.

Yet it bugged me.

I couldn’t enjoy my soup or even the warm bread—which melted as soon as it entered my mouth—because of it. As time was ticked away with my date still stuck in the bathroom, I asked Jean-Luc to go ahead and bring my dishes, seeing as he was so smart. I didn’t need to order, after all; he knew exactly what I wanted.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the annoying hostess who’d been giving my date a hard time as she entered.

“Yes?” I barked. The longer my date took, the more I was getting bored, and I was going straight past hungry to one whopper of a bad mood.

“It’s just your date seems to be having some trouble in the bathroom.”

I looked at her blankly, wondering if she was going to elaborate or if she wanted to make this into a guessing game. I hated surprises, and I hated people who didn’t get straight to the point.

We played a little staring game, where she bent over and stared at me as if I was going to read her mind.

I wasn’t.

I was getting tired of this game, though. At times, I had an attention span of five seconds. This was one of those times.

“What is it?”

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath, her dramatics just agitating me even more. “Well, she’s locked the door, and no one can get in.”

I put my hand on my chest. “Do you want me to go into the ladies’ room, where you could clearly go yourself, and get her out for you? Is that what you’re asking?”

She nodded like a bobbing doll. “That would be so kind of you, sir.”

Really?

Did she not hear the sarcasm in my voice?

This date was turning into more of a nightmare by the minute, and I felt as if I should just call it a night. I’d lost my appetite. Between Jean-Luc calling me boring, Hayley practically dragging me to this date, and my date—oh, my date—looking as if we were going to McDonald’s instead of one of the top restaurants in town, I’d decided this night was going to come to a swift end.

I headed to the restroom grounding my teeth, observing the different tables in the restaurant and continuing my thoughts about where I should sit next time I was here. There was one space, one place I hadn’t thought of, and it was near the bathroom. It was an option… but then it had the same issue as sitting near the front. A group of guys was pointing to the table, saying they wanted what they were eating too.

Did no one have class these days?

There was a line in front of the bathroom, one which could only have been built up as a result of my date. She’d arrived twenty minutes ago, and she’d been holed up in there ever since as if it was a hostage situation.

“April,” I said calmly as I knocked, all eyes on me.

There was a lot of noise coming from the bathroom, and I took a step back as I noticed there was water coming from under the door.

“What the fuck!” I shouted as I backed away from the door. The water was escaping the restroom as if it was dying to get out. There wasn’t a lot of it, but enough to know something had gone wrong in there.

“It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault!” she repeated over and over again as she walked through the door. In between her legs, even more water escaped. I had to shut my eyes and open them again because I wondered if the water was coming out of her or from the bathroom.

I shook my head at the idea of her holding so much water in her body, thinking Hayley sent me on the date with some alien rather than a babysitter.

I wasn’t amused, and I had strong words to give Hayley the next time I saw her. No, I wouldn’t wait long. My date was clearly over, and the moment I left the restaurant and was safely in the damn taxi home, I’d be calling her. I would tell her blatantly to never organize a blind date for me. Wait—not just me, but anyone—ever again. Especially not with a babysitter. She could call me snobby, a creature of comfort, Mr. Lonely, whatever she felt like, but this was too much. My night was ruined and so were the chances of me ever setting foot in this restaurant again.

At least I had one less thing to worry about now. No need to wonder where I’d be sitting next time I came here because I wouldn’t be coming back again.

Ever.

More water poured out under the door. The hostess screamed, the other ladies waiting to use the bathroom waving their hands in the air as if they were surrendering.

“What the fuck?” I shouted. April was drenched in water, and she was half-wearing a red dress with her jeans still on. I couldn’t believe it.

“It’s not my fault,” she repeated.

I pointed at the greeter. “Fix it.”

Then I left. I didn’t need to leave a card or even pay for it. At the end of the day, the bathroom was clearly faulty, and they clearly hadn’t been checking their plumbing. Whatever April had done in there, it shouldn’t have caused a flood, which looked like it came from not only the toilet, but a couple of the pipes too.

April looked lost and helpless as she clung onto her gym bag as if her life depended on it, and servers crowded into the bathroom to try and resolve the issue. I ignored the commotion as I sighed, and with what dignity I had left in me, walked out with my shoes and soaks soaking wet, not caring if April was behind me or not.

Hell would have to freeze over before I ever stepped foot in there again.