12. Chapter Twelve
I’m officially in the longest relationship of my life. A month. Not that I’ve told Iola that. Some women see it as a red flag — who could blame them? A twenty-eight-year-old man who can’t get anyone to stick around longer than a month?
Pathetic.
Tonight, I’m taking her out on a date. It’s a local restaurant made entirely of stone and waterfalls. I made the reservation on our third date, filled with optimism. Ever since we met at the market, I’ve known she was something special.
Flowers in hand, I wait at the restaurant’s entrance. She’d texted an hour ago confirming, but here she is, ten minutes late. Where is she? I check my phone for any other missed messages. Nothing.
Rocking on the balls of my feet, I scan the faces to find her pretty pink one. She’s a Dimension Witch with a knockout smile. It was the first thing I noticed.
Relief washes through me when her silver eyes catch mine. I accidentally wave with the hand clutching the bouquet. Petals flutter to the ground. Grimacing, I give her a sheepish smile.
“Are these for me?” she gushes, snatching them from my hand.
Watching her inhale the roses’ scent, I say, “Of course.”
I open my arms to give her a hug, but she’s too focused on the flowers. Lowering my arms, I clear my throat. “Would you like to go inside?”
Iola nods, grabbing my hand. My heart warms at the affection. Maybe there’s a chance here. For a split second, I let myself imagine the future. A wife, kids, a home, love. So much of the last one, I wake up grateful every day.
A beautiful dream.
Leading Iola through the front doors, we’re greeted by a hostess, who immediately shows us to our table.
The restaurant is waterfall themed, with alcoves made of falling water holding intimate tables.
A Water Sprite owns the restaurant and uses magyck to block the sound of crashing water, so it’s more eerie than anything.
After pulling out the chair for Iola, I sit across from her and smile. She looks so pretty with her silver hair swept back in a braid. Too busy reading the menu, she doesn’t notice my admiration. That’s okay. I like watching her when she doesn’t realize it.
“What do you think you’ll get?” I ask.
Iola scans the menu. “Hmm, I think the ‘Fish of the Day’ might be a good choice.”
Eager to be on the same page, I nod. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll order that, too.”
Beaming, she sets her menu over mine. “Thank you so much for inviting me here. I’ve always wanted to come. I thought reservations were hard to come by?”
I shrug, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel. “Lucky, I guess.” Grinning, I say, “I made reservations for next weekend. We can also go to the chimeragon festival beforehand. I heard there will be at least a thousand chimeragons. Apparently, it’s really fun.”
There’s a shift in her expression. She smiles politely, but says nothing. Her eyes dance around the small alcove as if the water contains secret patterns.
Okay, maybe she hates chimeragons?
“How was your day?”
Her focus returns to my face, expression suddenly aloof. “It wasn’t too bad. How about yours?”
Pleased that she’s asking, I regale her about some of my Dragxi fares. Fynn recently started his own company, and while I do a lot of administrative work, it can be fun to pick up fares for the stories.
As I continue talking, it’s clear something is different. Where she used to be playful on our dates, now she’s more reserved. It’s not obvious, but more of a subtle shift in energy. Iola brightens when the food shows up. She takes photos on her phone and shoots off a text.
Growing worried, my words eventually dry up. Dread clenches my gut painfully. It’s almost like I can taste the incoming rebuff.
It’s impossible to not be disappointed, already imagining going home alone tonight. When the check arrives, she squirms in her chair. After paying, I lean back in mine, crossing my arms.
“Go on. Just do it.”
Iola startles, her silver eyes widening into moons. “Do what?”
I motion toward her. “Break up with me. That’s what you’ve been delaying this whole time, right?” My gut burns with shame when she looks away. Though my instincts were right, it doesn’t take away the sting of rejection.
Sitting straighter, I ask, “Why?”
Finally, she looks up. “This got more serious than I expected.”
My ire deflates. “More serious?”
She gathers her things. “Yeah. We were supposed to just … you know … hook-up. We aren’t dating or anything, Trinte.”
It’s like a physical blow to the chest. “I-I don’t understand. When we met, you said you were looking to date.”
“Yeah, but things change.” She stands; I stay seated, trying to hide my pain from my expression. “I had a good time with you. But I think we should leave things as they are.” Iola gives me a half smile. “Thanks for dinner.”
With that, she slips out of the room. Leaving me with the bill and a widening crack in my heart.