Page 65 of Sparks Fly
I spendthe weekend avoiding him. Making excuses why I can’t go out with him, that I’m busy with work and Rue. Nora apologised for not making it this weekend but said she should be able to get here next before the race schedule kicks back up. I won’t hold my breath. I know how busy she is, and I also know that if she could get here, she would.
Walking down to the Princess Grace Gardens, I slip into a quiet corner and pull out the book that I brought from Rue’s book shop. The afternoon sun is glorious on my skin as I tuck myself away. Iced coffee beside me, head in a book and my phone silenced—bliss. This trip really is teaching me things about myself, things I need to change for my own sake. It makesme appreciate a lot more too, makes me realise how important the smaller things are.
Nestling down, I switch my brain off and lose myself for an hour or three.
Dusk was setting in, and I should be heading home, but I knew the longer I stayed out, the longer I was out of Creed’s way. He was leaving tomorrow so there was no point getting attached to a fantasy.
Whatever this is would never work outside of Monaco.
He jet sets around the world and is career driven, and me? Well, I just want to feel grounded, and I don’t think I would get that with Creed.
I scoff at my thoughts. Who am I? There has been no indication of anything going on between me and him and yet here I am, giving reasons why we wouldn’t work.
Face palming myself, I pause outside a quaint Italian restaurant. It’s not overly busy, but there are people at tables. Wandering in, I find a table and sit myself down. The menu is already laid out, a small candle flickers before me, and soft music fills the restaurant. It’s cosy and warm.
Doing what I do best, I snap a photo of the menu, posting it onto my story and tagging the restaurant. They have a small following and I feel like I have found a gem.
A waiter greets me and my order is taken. I ask for what they recommend, and I settle on a bottle of white wine and a carbonara and arancini balls for starter. One thing for certain, I have eaten extremely well on this holiday but that stops from tomorrow. I have had my break, and now it’s time to focus on my future… even though I don’t know what that looks like.
My fingers drum on the red and white checked tablecloth to the soft guitar that plays. The radio has been switched off and an older man, dressed in a shirt and trousers playing an acoustic guitar, has taken its place.
Videoing him, I sway in my chair before he begins to sing.
Reaching for my wine, I take a huge mouthful then, press live. People start flooding the stream and asking me questions but I ignore them, just letting it play so they can see and hear the magic I am witnessing.
This is what I mean, though. Sometimes you have to take it slow to appreciate what is right in front of you. Turning the camera around when I see the waiter approach, I wave and blow a kiss into the camera and cut the stream.
“Merci.” I smile softly as he places the arancini balls in front of me. My stomach grumbles when I look down at my deep friend risotto, stuffed with parmesan and herbs whilst sitting on a bed of thick tomato sauce and a rocket and parmesan side salad.
He comes to check if everything is okay and I give him a curt nod before ordering another bottle of the white. Probably a bad move but here we are. Yolo and all that.
This is the journey of me finding myself, to becoming a new woman…
“Is this seat taken?” I hear his voice before I see him, and I blink.
“Yes,” I say before taking a bite of my starter and looking away from him.
“No, it’s not.” I hear the confusion in his voice, but I refuse to look at him.
“Can you go please? I just want to enjoy my dinner in peace.”
“No.” He drags the chair out and sits down in it and I furrow my brow at him.
“What?” I hiss, leaning across the table, so as to not cause a commotion in my new favourite hang out.
“I said no.”
“You asked if the seat was taken. I said yes, you ignored me.”
“Because you have been avoiding me.” He pouts.
“I’ve been busy.” I put my fork down and cross my arms over my chest.
“Bullshit.” A laugh teases his tongue.
“Can you leave, please?”
He opens his mouth then closes it again. “Is that what you want?”
