Page 2 of Accidental Blind Date

Listen. I love this man. In a strange, slightly insane way, he is the best friend I’ve ever had.

That comes partially from us being in the same field of business together and partially because he is unfiltered, which I appreciate.

“I appreciate it, but I think I’m good,” I tell him. We end the call, and I set my phone down, screen up just in case anything important pops up. As the CEO of a massive chain of big box stores, something is always bound to pop up, even when my automated email is set to OUT OF OFFICE.

The bartender clears her throat to get my attention. “You want it to be fast or you want it to be good?” she asks as she adds the final touches to my next drink.

“I want it to be strong,” I say. She sets the drink down just as a group of people take a seat at the other end of the bar.

“Hang in there. Life can only get better.”

Not true. Life can always get worse.

And I’m not trying to sound like a pessimist.

But if life couldn’t go from good to bad in the blink of an eye, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, alone and buzzed at a swanky cantina we used to come to on date nights.

It occurs to me in that moment that save for the group of college boys at the end of the bar who are full blown peacocking for the tattooed and pierced bartender (don’t worry, she’ll eat them alive. Also, I’m not entirely sure she’s into men), everyone else here is coupled off.

With the heart shaped, blown glass hanging from the ceiling, the bright art on all the walls, and the Latin club music instead of mariachi, Tony’s Cantina is very much a date spot.

I am the only one in this whole damn place who is alone.

I pick up my fresh glass, ready to toss it like a shot instead of sipping it the way I should, when I stop.

Actually, there is one other person who is alone.

A dark-haired woman.

From here, she seems to have greenish, sunburst eyes.

Sitting alone. No date. (Ok so I already said that).

I’m going to preface this with the very true, somewhat pathetic fact that I haven’t looked at another woman since…her.

So, the fact that I am staring at this woman with the raven hair, the dark green eyes and the nervous smile has me completely caught off-guard.

And yet…I can’t stop staring.

She’s wearing a yellow dress that hugs her form just as a dress should. It also brings out her olive skin and rosy cheeks.

Cheeks that look like she’s blushing even though she’s not.

The bartender makes her way over to the table and I watch their interaction.

While I can’t make out the woman’s words over the volume of the music and the energy of the crowd, I can hear her laugh. It’s high, nervous and infectious. I don’t smile, but my lips do tick in the corner when I hear it again.

She brushes her hair behind her ear and nods, talking some more. Despite the fact she seems anxious, she also seems very comfortable in her skin.

As she should be.

The bartender makes her way back behind the counter and I swivel my seat. I can still see the girl, but it’s much less obvious.

I take a sip of my drink and keep my eyes down on the bar.

“That girl at the center table,” I say to the bartender. “Is she…did she come here alone?”

“There’s no one sitting with her.” She states the obvious and my eyes pop up to her. After giving the sarcasm, a second to sink in, she smiles. “But no. She’s not alone. She’s waiting for a date. He's running late.”