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My patience wears thin as I consider leaving. After all, waiting around for someone who can’t even be bothered to show up on time isn’t exactly my idea of a fun evening.
Just as I’m about to flag down the waiter and make my escape, I catch sight of a familiar figure striding through the restaurant doors. It’s him—my date.
Relief washes over me as he approaches the table, a sheepish smile on his face. He apologizes profusely for being late, explaining that he got caught up in a work emergency.
I force a smile, trying to hide my irritation as I wave off his excuses. Deep down, though, I can’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment. After all, punctuality is a sign of respect, and he’s already starting off on the wrong foot.
But as he takes his seat across from me, offering a sincere apology and flashing me a charming grin, I find myself softening. Maybe Chloe was right—maybe this date won’t be such a disaster after all.
“Sorry again for keeping you waiting,” he says, with a smile that almost makes up for his tardiness.
I nod, trying to maintain a polite demeanor despite my growing impatience. “No worries,” I reply, forcing a smile of my own. “These things happen.”
As we settle into our seats, the waiter approaches, ready to take our orders. I glance at the menu, scanning the options, but before I can even open my mouth to speak, Tom jumps in.
“I’ll have the steak, medium rare, with a side of mashed potatoes,” he says confidently.
“And the lady will have the same,” he states, giving the server a charming smile, not even bothering to look at me.
I clear my throat to assert myself. “Actually, I was thinking of trying the salmon,” I interject, but he doesn’t seem to hear me.
My eyes widen in surprise, but before I can protest, the waiter scribbles down Tom’s order and disappears into the kitchen.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Tom says, turning his attention back to me. “I just know that you’ll love the steak here. It’s their specialty.”
I force a polite smile, but inside, I’m seething. Who does this guy think he is, ordering for me without even asking what I want? But I decided to let it go, not wanting to cause a scene on what is supposed to be a pleasant evening.
As we wait for our food to arrive, he starts talking—about his job, his accomplishments, the prestigious clients he works with.
He’s a talker, that’s for sure, and I find myself struggling to get a word in edgewise as he regales me with stories of his glamorous career.
Every time I try to participate, steer the conversation in a different direction, or share a tidbit about me, he interrupts me, eager to keep the spotlight on himself.
“So, Jessica,” he says, finally pausing for a breath. “What do you do for a living?”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can utter a single word, he launches into another monologue about his latest business venture.
I sigh inwardly, resigning myself to the fact that this date is going to be a one-sided conversation. As he goes on with the monologue, I find my mind drifting, tuning out his words, and I focus on the delicious food in front of me.
Maybe Chloe meant well, but this is definitely not my idea of a good time. I’m so going to kill her for setting this up.
As Tom continues to talk incessantly about his job, oblivious to my attempts to engage in the conversation, I feel a growing sense of frustration bubbling up inside me.
This is not how I envisioned spending my evening—trapped in a one-sided dialogue with a guy who seems more interested in hearing himself speak than getting to know me.
I glance around the restaurant, desperate for an escape route, when suddenly, inspiration strikes. With a sudden burst of determination, I sit up straight in my chair, feigning urgency.
“Oh my goodness,” I exclaimed, placing a hand over my heart and giving Tom a wide-eyed look. “I have to leave right away. It’s an emergency.”
Tom’s expression shifts from confusion to concern, and he reaches out a hand to stop me. “Wait, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
I shake my head, trying to look as panicked as possible. “I’m so sorry. I really have to go. It’s a family emergency,” I lie, hoping he’ll buy my excuse.
Before he can protest further, I push my chair back, grab my purse, and leap to my feet, practically sprinting towards the exit. I can feel Tom’s eyes on me as I make a beeline for the door, but I don’t stop to look back.
Once outside the restaurant, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and I take a moment to collect myself. I can’t believe I just pulled off such a dramatic exit, but right now, I don’t care.
All I want is to put as much distance between me and that excruciatingly awkward date as possible. But as I reach into my purse to grab my phone and call for a cab, a sinking feeling washes over me when I realize that my battery is dangerously low.
