Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hartford
After a whirlwind week at work, I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.
But Joshua had arranged my second date and I wasn’t going to cancel.
Especially as I felt bad that I’d not even organized his second date yet.
Was I procrastinating on purpose? No. But I wasn’t not procrastinating, either.
Tonight, I wanted to remain open to meeting someone who looked at me like Bacchus looked at Ariadne.
From where I was sitting at the bar, I glanced over to the entrance to see if anyone new had arrived.
Tonight was a drinks-only date with a client of Joshua’s. And he was a little late.
I picked up my phone and scrolled through the pictures I’d taken in the National Gallery the previous week. I needed to channel Venus’ power tonight.
“Hartford?” a man said behind me.
I turned to come face-to-face with someone who looked like Michael Fassbender’s twin brother.
I grinned. “Hi, yes, I’m Hartford.”
He gave me a weird, almost forced smile and nodded as he took the seat next to me. “I’m David.” He didn’t shake my hand or even kiss me on the cheek, but greeting someone sitting at a bar was awkward, I supposed.
David picked up the drinks menu and seemed to examine it like it was evidence in a murder. “You live around here?” he asked, without looking up.
“Yes, next door to Joshua.” I smiled but David didn’t see because he wasn’t looking at me. “This is the Pina Clara.” I held up my drink before I took a sip. “My first ever. It’s delicious if you need a recommendation.”
The barman appeared in front of us.
“I’ll have a Hudson Manhattan Rye,” David said.
I was poised to tell him that I didn’t need another, even though my glass was almost empty. Despite the fact I wasn’t seeing patients tomorrow, I wanted to be sharp.
But David still hadn’t even looked at me since that first moment, let alone assessed the level in my glass.
Maybe he was nervous.
Or he’d just forgotten.
“So,” he said, turning to face me at last. “How do you know Joshua?”
“Old family friend,” I replied. “What about you?” Even though I knew the answer, I was desperate to break the ice that seemed a meter thick at the moment.
David’s drink arrived and I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he just needed a bit of alcohol to loosen his lips and help him relax. I was sure the next two hours couldn’t be this . . . awkward.
“I’m a client of his.”
I nodded, willing him on. But nothing. My date began to check out what was behind the bar and then what was behind me. “What sort of work do you do?” I asked. He didn’t seem to want to be here at all.
“I’m in marketing. For Mulberry.” His words were clipped and cold.
“Do you enjoy it?” I asked him.
He looked at me, having exhausted every available line of sight save the one immediately in front of him, and sighed. “Can I be honest with you?”
Here it was. He was going to confide that he’d had a shit day and was having trouble mustering enthusiasm for our date.
But that would put us in an excellent position, because I could be a wonderful listener while he relayed all his troubles.
“Of course,” I said. “Be as honest as you like. It’s the only way to be, as far as I’m concerned. ”
He slid off his seat and downed his glass of rye.
“This isn’t going to work out. You’re just not my type.
I go for . . . sexy girls and . . . you’re .
. . This feels like a waste of an evening.
I’m going to go.” He pulled out his wallet, left thirty pounds on the bar, and walked out. Just like that.
Heat crawled up my skin. When it reached my face, it was as if I were on fire.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
I focused ahead, hoping stillness would help me disappear. If I made eye contact with another person, and saw confirmation that there were witnesses to what had just occurred here, I might never recover.
As the heat on my face mellowed, I realized I was gripping my glass a little too tightly. Slowly, I slid my almost-finished cocktail onto the bar. People around me seemed to be chatting, and I couldn’t swear to it, but no one seemed to be staring.
I sucked in a breath and tried to figure out what to do.
I hadn’t even had the chance to respond. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have known what to say. The guy couldn’t stand to make a bit of small talk and have a drink with me? Was I so hideous? Boring? Ridiculous?
I longed for the ease of the hospital, where social interactions were easy and low-stakes. Where I knew my role, thrived with purpose. I’d not felt as utterly hopeless as I did in this moment since the paramedics pulled me out of that ditch over a decade ago.
The barman came over and asked if I wanted another drink. What I wanted was some kind of magic button that could transport me from my stool to my bed. I settled on asking him for the bill. There was no way thirty pounds was going to cover both our drinks in a place like this.
I willed the barman to move at warp speed so I could leave as soon as possible.
But where would I go?
I was only two streets away from home. What I wanted to do was crawl between my sheets and eat cake, but Joshua would surely hear me come in.
I couldn’t face him, couldn’t tell him what just happened.
Maybe if I was quiet enough, I could slip in unnoticed.
I could text him at the two-hour mark and tell him I was too tired to debrief.
In the meantime, I could slip into bed with Netflix, a cupcake, and a lifetime’s humiliation.