Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Marley
“C’mon, Atlas, no rush. I’m gonna be there in umm…” I said into the voice note as I checked the status bar of my phone. “Thirty minutes max,” I clarified as I pushed my legs into my boots.
I had a blind date, courtesy of my best friend, and honestly, I was already regretting agreeing to it. But Atlas had that irritating combination of guilt and logic that always worked on me.
“She’s perfect for you, Mar,” she’d said over coffee last week. “She’s smart and funny, and she won’t put up with your emotional unavailability bullshit.”
That last part should have been a red flag, yet here I was anyway, pulling on my winter coat and checking my reflection in my hallway mirror. My short hair looked messy, blue jeans that actually fit properly, and boots that could handle whatever the weather decided to throw at me today.
My phone buzzed against the kitchen counter where I’d left it charging.
Atlas: She’s already at the bar. Brown hair, red sweater. Don’t be an ass.
I snorted. Such low faith in my social skills.
Me: When am I ever an ass?
Atlas: Do you want the chronological list or the alphabetical one?
Fair point.
I grabbed my keys and wallet, shoving them into my jacket pockets.
The thing about blind dates was that they were usually disasters, but at least they were predictable disasters.
All I had to do was show up, make polite conversation for at least an hour, invent an excuse to leave early, go home, and watch HBO with a drink.
It was a light-footed, no-strings kind of easy.
I locked the door behind me and headed down the stairs of my apartment building. With any luck, this would all be over by nine, and I could salvage what was left of my evening.
I slid into my Honda and took a deep breath before popping my favourite icebreaker mint into my mouth. I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror and paused, my hand resting on the key instead of starting the engine.
Maybe I should have stayed home tonight, I had studying to do, and an important project assignment coming up in Dr. Chen’s class.
“Verdammt—damn,” the word slipped out.
Everything felt overwhelming lately. That was part of why I’d moved here from Germany in the first place, chasing something new, without the same stale air of home, away from familiar faces. If I were honest, I wasn’t regretting the decision to come to Canada for my master’s program.
I turned on Apple Maps and started the engine, pulling out of my underground parking lot.
The lounge I was headed to was called Roxie’s.
It was fifteen minutes away, and from the Google reviews I’d skimmed, it was a cozy place on a busy street, loud and usually crowded.
I wasn’t thrilled about that combination, but I could handle it.
I finally pulled up outside Roxie’s and sat in my car for a moment, watching through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Warm light bounced off exposed brick walls while people clustered around high-top tables with drinks in their hands, leaning into each other’s conversations.
As my eyes roamed, taking in every detail, that was when I saw my date.
She was exactly how Atlas had described.
The amber light hit her hair just right, and she had on this red sweater that made her look friendly but also as if she was in her own world.
She was sitting tall at the bar, totally locked into whatever was on her phone.
She was beautiful, undeniably so.
The door was heavier than it looked, and the noise hit me the second I stepped inside. Laughter, clinking glasses, conversations layered over each other in that strangely intimate, chaotic way bars always had.
She looked up as I got closer. Her face was all sharp angles and full lips, and her eyes were doing this cool thing where they flipped between brown and blue depending on the light.
“Marley?” Her voice had a faint rasp to it, as if she’d just woken up.
“That’s me.” I offered my hand, and she took it firmly.
She flashed a smile that definitely should’ve done something to me, but I didn’t feel a thing. Instead, I just watched her eyes dart back to her phone expectantly.
“Nice to meet you, Devon.” I flagged down the bartender and ordered a mojito. “Atlas told me absolutely nothing about you except that you’re perfect for me, which is either flattering or mildly terrifying.”
She laughed, but it sounded practiced. “Atlas is optimistic. I told her I needed someone who could keep up with me.”
Right.
“Keep up with what exactly?”
Her phone buzzed against the bar. Her attention snapped to it immediately, fingers moving across the screen with the kind of speed that suggested muscle memory. I watched her expression change from polite interest to complete absorption.
“Sorry,” she said, still not looking up. “Work thing. You know how it is.”
I didn’t, actually. But I nodded and took a sip of my drink, letting my eyes wander around the room while she typed what looked like a novel-length response.
The bartender caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged back.
“So,” I said when she finally put the phone down, “what do you do? Besides being permanently on call.”
“Marketing. Digital campaigns mostly.” She picked up her drink, something pink and complicated with a garnish I couldn’t identify. “It’s actually fascinating if you understand the psychology behind consumer behaviour and how social media algorithms create targeted engagement.”
I waited for her to ask what I did.
She didn’t.
Instead, she launched into a rehearsed monologue about conversion rates and brand awareness that probably impressed people at networking events.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, she didn’t even apologise before picking it up.
I turned slightly on my barstool, facing the room instead of watching her scroll.
A couple at a corner table leaned into each other over wine glasses, deep in an intense discussion.
Another woman sat alone by the window, reading a book with complete focus.
Apparently, the rest of the bar didn’t exist.
The realization was settling over me slowly that this wasn’t going to work. We weren’t even having the same conversation, let alone the same date.
“Sorry, sorry,” Devon said, sliding the phone into her purse with visible reluctance. “Work is absolutely insane right now. Where were we?”
“Targeted engagement,” I said lightly, even though something in my chest had already closed off.
“Right, so the key is understanding user patterns and…” She continued, but her purse lit up with another notification. Her eyes flicked towards it unerringly.
Devon was beautiful, probably smart, and definitely successful. But she was also somewhere else entirely, and honestly, I didn’t mind.
“You know what,” I said, standing up and pulling a twenty from my wallet, “I’m going to hit the restroom real quick.”
“Oh, sure.” She was already reaching for her phone again. “Take your time.”
I left the twenty on the bar and walked towards the back.
The restroom was mercifully quiet. Just me and my reflection in the mirror above the sink, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to do next.
I washed my hands slowly, buying time, wondering how to exit politely.
“…and the most annoying highlight of it all was one oyibo who bumped into me first at the airport and then started acting rude with her annoying accent,” a woman’s voice said from one of the cubicles.
Foreign accent. Animated. A familiar prickle at the voice. But I shrugged it off.
I paused, listening quietly.
Oyibo?
No idea what that meant. Probably not flattering. None of my business, I told myself, switching off the faucet and adjusting my hair in the mirror.
“Like, do you get? And the worst part was I couldn’t even defend myself because I was still trying to figure out her gender, I mean, was she a man or a woman—”
The cubicle door opened.
As I looked into the mirror to see who it was, my eyes clashed with a pair of familiar dark eyes.
Well, shit.
It was her.
Airport princess herself, standing there in a simple, flowy dress, phone pressed to her ear, looking just as startled to see me as I felt. A muffled voice carried from the other end of the line.
We stared at each other for a second too long before she slowly lowered her phone.
“I’ll call you back,” she said quietly into the device, ending the call.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with both recognition and embarrassment.
I turned around to face her properly, crossing my arms and leaning back against the sink.
“Huh,” I said, unable to keep the smirk off my face.“Didn’t know my accent was that annoying.”
Her face flushed dark, the colour rising from her neck to her cheeks in a way that was actually quite…..striking.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Clearly.” I tilted my head, studying her. Up close, she looked softer than I remembered.
Less defensive and more… human.
“Though I have to say, I’m curious about the gender confusion part. Is my presentation really that ambiguous, or do you just not meet many butch women where you’re from?”
She opened her mouth and closed it.
She might have wished the ground to open and swallow her whole.
“I didn’t mean… that is, I wasn’t trying to…”
“Relax, princess.” I pushed off from the sink, taking a step closer. “I’m not offended. Though I am wondering what other charming things you’ve been saying about me to your friend.”
“My sister,” she corrected automatically, then looked like she regretted giving me that information.
“Sister, right.” I nodded slowly, studying her for a moment, my gaze lingering just long enough to notice the careful styling, the straight posture, and the way she seemed to hold herself in check.
“And what exactly did you tell your sister about me? That I was rude? Annoying? Or just that you couldn’t figure out what I was?”
Her jaw tightened, and for a moment I saw a flash of the fire she’d shown in the classroom the other day.
“You were. You called me princess and made assumptions about me.”
“Fair,” I admitted. “I can be blunt.”
“That’s one word for it.”
I almost smiled.
“Though, to be honest, the princess thing seems pretty accurate. Well-dressed, careful mannerisms, that general aura of someone who’s been protected from the messier parts of life. And I could tell that you’re used to doing everything right, making everyone proud.”
Her eyes blazed.
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“No, I don’t. But I know what I see.” I let my eyes roam again.
“And you think how I look means my whole life revolves around making other people happy?”
“Doesn’t it?”
She went quiet, long enough that I wondered if I’d crossed a line. Then she lifted her chin and met my gaze.
“Maybe,” she said softly. “Or maybe you’re only seeing what I let you.” She straightened. “Being polite doesn’t mean I’m fragile, and choosing when to speak doesn’t mean I don’t know how to stand my ground.”
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth.
“Still, feel free to keep guessing. It’s interesting to watch someone be so sure of themselves.”
Her words caught me completely off guard.
“Guessing,” I repeated quietly.
She blinked, like she’d just realised she’d said too much.
“I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“But you did.” I held her gaze. “So what are you doing here, Kelechi?”
She looked surprised that I remembered her name.
“I’m getting my masters,” she said.
“Really?”
Before she could answer, the restroom door swung open, and two women walked in, chattering loudly. The spell between us broke, and she stepped back, suddenly looking nervous.
“I should go,” she said quickly. “My friend is probably wondering why I’m taking too long.”
She moved past me, and without really thinking, I reached out and caught her arm gently.
“Hey,” I said, my voice softer than I’d intended. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the airport. I was having a shitty day, but that’s no excuse for being an ass.
She looked down at my hand on her arm, then back at me. I noticed the faint hitch in her breathing, the quick flutter at her exposed collarbone before she stilled herself, breaking eye contact.
When her eyes met mine again, something passed between us that made my pulse quicken, and suddenly the air felt warmer.
“Thank you,” she said.
I let go of her arm.
Then she was gone, leaving me standing there alone, thinking about what had just happened.