Page 50 of Cloud Storm

Twenty minutes to eight, the car arrives, and I run to the stairs, not stopping to speak with anyone, because today I don’t have time to socialize, much less to give explanations.

A quarter of an hour later, we are entering the parking lot where the restaurant is located.

I’ve been here before, but only in the lower level, where the prices are more affordable. Upstairs is another world. Arthur is trying to rip the rug from under my feet, I have to hand it to him. He has nice taste and I can’t help but wonder if we’re compatible or not.

We’ve fantasized a lot. We’ve talked a lot. But we’ve never dug into our real lives this way and even when I’m feeling wooed—the restaurant is pretty romantic and fancy—I don’t know if this is for me, for the long term.

This place isn’t my jam. From the bottom of my heart I’m a small town girl, a simple girl with simple tastes.

Following the instructions, I ask the maître d for the reservations in Arthur’s name.

“Is he here already?” I ask, craning my neck to take a look around the restaurant.

“Let me see,” he says, checking his iPad. “No, not yet, miss. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I reply cheerfully.

“I’m sure he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Sure thing, it’s early, right?”

In my crazy pink haze I dreamt he was already here, waiting for me. But I won’t let deception shade what is meant to be a great night. The kind man guides me to a small table in a corner. The location is breathtaking, the sun is setting on the horizon, behind the naval base that we have directly in front of us. It’s wonderful. I can also see the bridge and some sailboats that, taking advantage of the tranquility of the bay, venture to sail at this time.

It’s a show worth admiring, although many times we take it for granted.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” asks a cheerful waitress who has approached me.

“In a few moments,” I answer. “I’m waiting for someone.”

She nods, silently, but with a kind smile, leaving me there with my thoughts.

From my chair, beside the large windows I can see the Kiss Statue. My mind immediately flies back to that walk, wishing I had one of his superpowers, one that makes my mystery man and him to be…

No, I can’t go there. I just can’t.

A little less than five minutes have passed and with each step of the larger hand of the clock, my anxiety increases.

Luckily Arthur hadn’t asked me to come wearing a clear sign of identification, such as a feather hat or a red dress. But what if when he sees me he turns around and leaves?

A tall man enters the restaurant, turning around and my heart stops for a moment. He’s young and really handsome, but maybe too young. It’s not him. He can’t be more than twenty-five. My legs insist that I get up from the chair, but I force them to stop, holding me down like lead, so much so that my knuckles are surely white.

The man smiles at his family, on the other side of the restaurant and heads to meet them.

Every time the door opens, my eyes fly to it.

And more than half an hour passes.

I feel stupid being here, waiting for a man I’ve never seen and maybe one that never existed. Maybe someone was playing a cruel joke, maybe he regretted it, maybe he got tired of fooling around, of my negatives. Of all the times I said no.

They say that revenge is a dish best served cold and here it is. Leave me standing at the restaurant waiting for him to arrive.

Damn you, Arthur.

I take a look at the menu and my eyes bulge at the prices, this is way too expensive. Too much for my blood.

Finally I order a glass of white wine—I can be classy, remember?—silently thanking Roselynn for making me apply for a credit card. The same one I have stashed in the security of my clutch right now.

My mind is set in motion, weaving a large web of theories, from the compassionate, to a few giving the benefit of the doubt.

---