She swirled and sniffed the fruity acidic contents of the Bordeaux glass, took a sip, and let the full-bodied bittersweet taste of fermented cherries and dark grapes melt in her mouth. Disinterestedly gazing at the tables with pristine white covers, she glanced at her watch- 6:30 PM- he was late.
She is 35, a successful investment banker, and single. Annoyed with her mother’s tireless pestering, she grudgingly agreed to meet him. In her mind, she had an escape plan ready should the guy turned out to be a complete bore.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him trudging down the sidewalk adjacent to the thermally-broken glass window of the restaurant. Handsome face, lean physique, and confident gait. After exchanging pleasantries, he took a seat across the table. They chatted briefly before placing the order. He had perfect manners. She felt a connection and silently thanked her mother for fixing up the rendezvous.
Her eyes inconspicuously traveled from his long fingers tapping against the table to the slight movement around his conspicuous Adam’s apple.
“I want to tell you something,” he spoke nervously after clearing his throat. “This was my mum’s idea. I am not into women, I am gay.”
Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner
Photo MorgueFile May 2018 1400068700w0086