“Good.” Thomas gave me the name of a new Spanish restaurant, and told me to meet him at seven-thirty the next evening. By the time we hung up, I was positively beaming.
When I got home, I texted Angela. She left work early and burst into the apartment with a cheap sheet cake and a bottle of Prosecco.
“I know I shouldn’t be splurging, but I’m so happy for you!” Angela pulled me into a tight hug. “Girl, this is the best news ever!”
“I know,” I gushed. “I can’t believe it. I just feel so good!”
Angela grinned. “I knew you had things under control,” she said. She poured me a glass of the sparkling wine and we toasted to ‘new things.’
“When I told Thomas, he didn’t seem too happy,” I said. I frowned and bit my lip.
“Oh, June, you know him – he was probably just really busy at work,” Angela said. “Give it time – I’m sure he’ll be thrilled when he sees you tomorrow.” She raised an eyebrow. “Just don’t come back here. I’m going to be here all night.”
I blushed hotly. “No way,” I said. I grinned. “But I can’t wait to sleep with him again.”
Angela laughed. “Girl, you’re too much,” she said.
We spent all of Thursday night celebrating. Friday, I slept in, hoping to get rid of my
hangover before my date with Thomas. By now, I was barely nervous – we’d been out together so many times that I was expecting something really special.
Aguilar didn’t disappoint. I was floored at the beautiful display inside the lobby – a fountain made entirely of glass mosaic. The water splashed and flowed over gorgeously vibrant tiles.
“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.”