. . . an invite
A chronically single girl’s six months to find ‘the one’ – update
With one city down and only one date to my name, it seems I’m not exactly a dating expert.
As it turns out, attractive people don’t just fall from the sky, declare their love for you and whisk you off your feet.
Even when you’re among the cobbled streets that landscape some of your favourite romance films.
I’m hoping that Rotterdam, the second stop of my journey, will be the place where this adventure really begins. Barrier Boy eased me in, but now I’m ready to find someone new, make conversation, be a person who dates.
I need to get out there. I need to get some game. I need to stop sitting in cute cafés on my laptop and go live a life. However, right now, I’ve been left with no choice. I owe you an update, fuelled by some sugary caffeine.
‘Iced vanilla latte for Amorie?’ a voice calls out.
I run over to grab it without even looking, but the cold glass is replaced with something different. My hand meets skin, small, soft and clasped around my cup.
‘Sorry, this is mine,’ I say as slowly as I can, in the hopes that this person speaks English.
‘I don’t think it is,’ she replies, her accent tinkling with each word.
I go to object, but I look up at her and immediately forget how to speak. She’s gorgeous. A little taller than me, with long, pink-blonde hair that runs down her back in beach waves. She clutches the glass closer, inspecting it before nodding back at me.
‘Iced vanilla latte for Amelie,’ she says. ‘I’m Amelie.’
She stretches out her other hand, flashing a smile of perfect pearly whites. Her eyes scan over me delicately, the tops of her cheeks rising even more.
Get it together, I implore myself. She is talking to you. Act like you’ve seen a pretty girl before.
‘Oh, I see,’ I manage to say, reaching out my hand too. ‘I’m Amorie. And I also ordered a vanilla iced latte.’
She throws her head back and giggles before shaking my hand, and her head, jovially. ‘Ah, so we both have similar names and great taste in coffee. I don’t know which name he said, but you can take this one.’
She holds out the glass, her short, chrome nails wrapped around it.
‘No, it’s all yours. I don’t mind waiting,’ I say.
She clasps her lips tight, stretching them into a new, more alluring smile.
The room responds as she does, sunlight hitting her cheeks and bouncing off her cheek highlight in a way that only makes her glow more.
She is literally lighting up the room and I have to bite my tongue to remind myself that I can’t just stare like a lunatic.
‘Well, how about we wait together?’ she says, snapping me back to reality. ‘Want a sip?’
She holds out the glass yet again, waving it in front of my lips. I squint back at her, silently asking if she is sure that she wants to share her drink with a total stranger, but she nods back. I take a sip while she watches, slowly and gently angling the glass to my mouth.
There were people at Groundlings who considered themselves coffee aficionados and could tell their arabica from their excelsa with their eyes shut.
I was never one of them. I believe all coffee beans tastes the same .
. . a little dirt-like until you mask it with the right milk and syrup.
But this? This is the first time I’ve had a sip of one and thought that maybe they might have been right all along.
There is such a thing as ‘good coffee’ or, at least, coffee that tastes better than all the rest.
‘First time here?’ she asks, reading the shock in my eyes.
‘Uh-huh,’ I say. ‘This is really good.’
She nods. ‘Some of the best. I work around the corner and this is usually the highlight of my day.’
They call the second name – I still can’t tell which one of us it is, but I grab it from the counter anyway. Then she beckons me to join her as she makes her way to a cosy two-seater in the corner.
‘So, you work near here?’ I ask, trying to remain as normal as I can in front of the pretty girl.
She takes a long sip of her drink and then nods. ‘I’m a tour guide at the gallery. Have you been?’
I shake my head. ‘I actually only arrived today.’
She gasps, face flooded with excitement as a million questions leave her mouth. ‘How long are you staying? Do you like it? What have you done so far?’
I take a large gulp of my drink, cringing as I think about my lacklustre journey so far.
Luckily the hotel Noah was already booked in to still had a couple of rooms left up for grabs – and at a decent price too thanks to last-minute deals.
I managed to get a single bed for thirty-seven euros and it genuinely seemed like a decent place to sleep.
I checked for cockroaches, dumped my bag and knocked on Noah’s door, ready to seize the day .
. . which was when I learnt that Noah has a job that he’s doing remotely, so he couldn’t come out and play.
Instead, I headed for a café on my own in an attempt to get ahead of my articles.
‘I haven’t done much yet – any recommendations?’ I ask, playing it strategically safe.
It works. Her face lights up and she launches into a list of restaurants and sights, and tips of when to go and what to absolutely avoid.
I type diligently into my notes app, bumbling over the spellings and trying so hard to focus on her words and not her cute, cute face.
The more she talks, the more I sip my latte and ask questions, to which she sparks to life every time.
Eventually, she glances over at her phone and her eyes widen.
‘Oh, I’ve got to go – my lunch is over! But it was nice to meet you, Amorie. How much longer are you here?’
‘Until Sunday,’ I say.
‘Perfect! I’m having a party at my place on Saturday night.’ She reaches across for my phone, which I hand over willingly. ‘I hope to see you there,’ she says as she types, then hands my phone back.
I look down at my notes app. An address and a phone number. Her number. In my phone.
‘Say you’ll come,’ she says, looking me over one more time.
It’s forward. Forward enough to make my stomach flutter, before dropping at the thought that she might just be really friendly. But I nod anyway.
‘I will,’ I say.
She smiles cheerily. Then she downs the last of her latte and saunters out the door, leaving me to freak out at our table alone.