First Date
Right place, right time?
I rush out of the Uber, barely glancing back to see if I have left anything in the car. I breeze through the building’s security check, greeting the guards and grabbing my bag before making a dash for the lifts. I am late. Ten minutes late to a first date, with all hopes of making a good first impression dwindling by the minute.
The lift doors open, ushering me out onto the fifteenth floor. The sight is breathtaking: floor-to-ceiling glass windows offering a dizzying view of Nairobi’s skyline, stunning art pieces and floral arrangements scattered throughout. It’s the kind of setting I’d be sure to take a picture of, but there’s no time. There’s a lady behind the reception desk, smiling graciously at me. “Welcome to Tulip,” she says. I thank her.
“I am meeting someone. Is she here yet? The reservation was under Julia.”
“Ah, yes, she is here. Let me show you the way.”
“Actually, could you please point me to the bathroom first. And then send over a margarita to the table? I’d like to surprise her before I sit.”
The lady, whose name tag reads ‘Sylvia’, doesn’t bat an eyelid. She simply points to a door and says, “I’ll arrange it.”
*
When I emerge, I am calmer and more assured. I have refreshed my lip gloss, checked that nothing unsightly happened to my outfit during the trip, and sprayed one small spritz of perfume on my cleavage for good luck. I follow Sylvia as she leads me through the restaurant towards the balcony where my date is sitting.
Her back is towards us and I can’t see her face, but I can still feel the butterflies rousing in my stomach. “Here you go,” Sylvia says before turning back. I breathe in.
“Hey! I am sor….”
I trail off as my date turns, and I am certain that her confused look mirrors the one on my face.
“You are not Marley,” she says, her eyes looking me up and down.
“And you are not Ellie.” I look around, but she’s the only other person in the restaurant. I have pored over Ellie’s dating app pictures a hundred times. Ellie is tall and slender, with short-cropped hair. The woman before me is about my height, muscly, and has a nose ring glinting from the left side of her face. Attractive, yes, but decidedly not Ellie.
“There must have been a misunderstanding,” I say lamely. She raises one eyebrow as if to say, “Clearly”, but then she says, “Yes, I wondered why Marley would send me a margarita. I only drink whiskey.”
I chuckle. “Sorry! I’ll take that off your hands. I am sorry for the mixup…I, I’ll leave you to it.” I take the coupe glass, frosty from the cold margarita it contains, and turn carefully, trying to figure out a new place to sit.
“Wait, erm, you can stay with me as you wait? If…that’s okay with you.”
I am surprised at the invitation. She’s not unwelcoming, not exactly, but she wears the aura of someone who would rather be left alone. She raises that eyebrow again and I hear myself already agreeing.
“Are you sure?” I ask, but I am already placing the margarita and my bag down.
She smiles, “I mean, you’ve already bought me a drink. It’s the least I can do.”
Taking a sip of the margarita, I try not to focus on how nice her smile is or the woodsy scent she’s wearing. “What do you have against tequila?” It feels like a safe question.
“Tell me your name and I’ll tell you.” She leans back against her chair. She’s smirking and I fail miserably at trying not to notice how attractive that is.
“That’s easy, I’m Julia.” I reach out my hand, then, realising how strange that is, start to pull back. She grabs my hand, palms it softly and says, “Nice to meet you, Julia”.
I should say something back, but there’s a flood of sensation at the touch of her hand, and the only thing my brain can focus on is how good my name sounds coming from her lips. There’s also the small matter of the way she’s looking at me, eye contact unwavering, and the flicker of desire that sets off inside me.
My phone vibrates, reeling me back. I pull my hand. “So…” My voice is huskier but I hope it escapes her notice.
“I have nothing against Tequila. I just prefer Whiskey.” She looks down at the glass in front of her, picks it up, and swirls the golden liquid it contains around. She takes a sip before asking, “Do you only drink Tequila?”
“Tell me your name and I’ll answer.”
Her laugh is yet another thing to add to my list of distractions. “Touché.” She says, raising her glass towards me. “My name’s K.”
“Should I ask what K is short for?”
“Shouldn’t you tell me about the Tequila thing first?” She pushes back.
“We can always come back to that.” I demur.
“No, rules are rules.” She volleys.
“I didn’t realise there were rules. When was that decided?”
“Hey,” she shrugs, “you’re the one who said you’d answer if I told you my name.”
“Fine, fair. I don’t only drink tequila. I drink everything except beer. But the person I am meeting loves a margarita and since I was late, I thought it would be cute to send a margarita over to the table before I got here.”
She looks like she’s mulling my explanation over before conceding, “it is cute.” She continues, “But it seems like your date is even later.”
“Who said it’s a date?”
She cocks her head to one side, and there that eyebrow goes again. “Your outfit, the margarita, this location…” she trails off.
“Maybe this is just what I wear to meetings.” I insist, gesturing at my dress.
“Do you also drink margaritas at meetings?” She’s leaning forward now, her arms on the table, looking at me with an intensity I feel everywhere.
I lean even closer, “Does that mean you are also here for a date?”
She chuckles and I am already imagining all the things I can say to make her chuckle again. “So it is a date.”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes.
“First date?” She asks.
“Yes. You?”
She nods. I pick my glass up and motion to hers, “To first dates, then”.
We’re clinking our glasses when we hear footsteps approaching. I turn to see Ellie, with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and confusion on her face. I stand to greet her. “Hey, this is K. She was keeping me company while I was waiting for you.” I grab my drink, my bag and turn to K, “good luck on your date.”
Before K can respond, Ellie leads me to a table on the opposite end of the balcony. She places the bouquet down, pulls me in for a hug and says, “I am so sorry I am late. There was drama on the road.” I hug her, doing my best to ignore the way that K is staring at us, at me.
***
thank you K, for the bedtime story that led to this.
i love this!