A Date with a Foodie (The Dating 7)

I walk over to the door. “What table is he at?”

“Table twenty. You’ll see him through the window. Just don’t let him see you.”

When I get to the door, I have no clue why I’m even considering peeking out the window. I should just go out there and ask him how his dinner was like I do with everyone else. I haven’t been on a date in months. The last guy I went out with ended up being married and I had no clue. Needless to say, that ended pretty quickly. I’ve had horrible luck with men. When you’re thirty-five years old, most men are either married or divorced. Going with someone younger has crossed my mind, but I don’t think I’m ready for that either. Hence, why I don’t date anymore.

Slowly, I lift up on my toes and focus on table twenty. The man’s back is to me so I can’t see his face. However, when he turns to the side, I know exactly who he is. It’s been sixteen years since I’ve seen him, but there’s no way I could forget his face.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, clutching my chest. I move away from the door.

Katy’s eyes widen. “What? Do you know him?”

A smile lights up my face. “Yeah, you can say that. His name is Adam. I haven’t seen him in so long.” What is he doing here? The last time we saw each other was right before he moved to New York.

Katy throws up her hands. “Why do I not know who he is? I’m your best friend. Judging by the look on your face I’d say you know him. Like in more than just a friendship kind of way.”

I can feel the heat flood to my cheeks. “I met him at Northwestern when I was a freshman. He was a senior and we had the same anthropology class.”

Katy slaps a hand over her mouth. “Is he the guy you studied with and always came back to the apartment with your clothes all wrinkled and sometimes backwards?”

Closing my eyes, I look away sheepishly. “Yes. It was college and we were just having a good time. That spring, he moved back to New York after he graduated.” It wasn’t serious between us, but I really enjoyed spending time with him. Over the years, I’ve thought back on him and wondered what he was up to. Now he’s back in Chicago.

Taking a deep breath, I wink at Katy. “Here we go.” I walk out the door toward Adam. He glances over his shoulder and my heart skips a beat when he smiles at me.

2

Adam

Being back in Chicago really brings back fond memories from college. I loved it here and had hoped to stay but my passion was to be a news anchor in New York City. Still, I can’t help but think about all the good times I had in Chitown. One of the best memories was being with Madeline Metcalf. We dated—if you can call it that—when I was a senior and she was a freshman. I saw her across the quad early in the fall. She had dressed in a thick cream-colored cable knit sweater and the sleeves of her cranberry colored turtleneck stretched beyond the cuffs. She rolled the jeans she wore at her ankles and she had on duck boots, and I found myself wondering if they were real or just a knock off version. I don’t remember how long I stood there and watched her, but I was fascinated by her. My issue back then—I was leaving in May and had no intentions of returning.

Until now.

My return is strictly business, but that didn’t stop me from making a reservation at Madeline’s restaurant. I wasn’t surprised when I read the yearly alumni magazine and came across her name. She always had a passion for food and could turn the college staple of top ramen and peanut butter and jelly into a meal fit for a king. Timing for us, was our enemy from the start. Madeline had just started college and I was on my way out. Still, we made the best of it, promised to keep in touch once I moved and figured we’d run into each other someday in the future.

We never kept in touch and it’s now the future.

My reservation for Maddy’s Tavern was for the latest possible time. I did this for a couple of reasons. One, I wanted the restaurant to be as empty or quiet as possible because I wanted to take in her accomplishments without the hustle and bustle of a packed place. Two, I wanted personal attention from Maddy because I wanted to see if she remembered me, and if she did, if she harbored any ill will toward me. It was, without a doubt, my fault that we didn’t keep in contact. Once I arrived in New York with my first job, I was on the go from three in the morning until at least eleven, if not later. I survived a full year on coffee and donuts. A caffeine sugar high to get through my days, first as an intern who became an assistant, who then became the low man on the totem pole, sent out in the hazardous conditions or to a slaughtering plant to cover animal cruelty. I took every assignment given and never said a peep. When I was offered a job as a junior producer, I accepted it, even though it wasn’t what I wanted to do. It was then, I realized, I was never going to sit at the early morning table and deliver national news. A life behind the scenes was what I was good at, even though it wasn’t my dream.