It’s Friday, and after the longest week in history, I start my vacation today after work.
I haven’t seen or heard from Nathan since our dinner date. I know I asked for space but I thought he would have at least called me or something.
“What’s good here?” a familiar, deep voice asks. I glance over to see Nathan standing beside me, also staring up at the board, totally entranced by the selection. “It’s my first day here.” he says.
My eyes flicker to him in question.
“I want a do over,” he says. “I want to go back to the day that we met. I want to start again. Give me the chance to be the man you want me to be.”
I smile softly. I can’t believe he’s doing this. My eyes drop to the floor, and I know that it’s now or never.
Do I want to see where this goes or not? I force a smile, I know that it’s something I can’t walk away from without at least exploring our options. Nathan’s made it quite clear that he’s struggling with our platonic friendship, and if my jealousy over that other woman is anything to go by. So am I.
I exhale heavily. Here goes nothing. I may live to regret this.
“It’s your first day?” I ask. “Mine, too.”
A smile crosses his face when he realizes I’m playing along. “Really? Where did you move from?”
“Florida. And you?”
“Vermont, although I studied in New York.”
“Do you know anyone here?” I ask as we shuffle forward in the line.
His eyes hold mine. “Nobody that matters.”
I smile softly.
He holds out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Nathan.”
“Hi, Nathan, I’m Eliza. I think I’m going to have the turkey on rye,” I say.
He nods as he peruses the choices.
>
“Next,” the lady calls. Nathan steps forward. “Can I please have two lasagnes and salads?”
I drop my head to hide my smile, and my heart swells. He remembered what we ate that first day.
“Drinks?” the woman mutters, uninterested.
“No, Nathan, I’ll get mine.”
“You can buy my lunch tomorrow. Then I can have something to look forward to.”
I smile up at the beautiful man beside me. He remembers everything from our first meeting. He pays the lady, and we walk over to a table to sit down.
“Do you want to go out with me tonight?” he asks as he puts salt and pepper on his lasagne.
“Like, as friends?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Like a date.”
My eyes hold his, and I know that this is it: the defining moment where I find out what I’m made of. “I’m willing to try.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.” He smiles softly.