Never Seen Anything Quite Like You Too (A The Script Fan-fiction)

13) Cafe

The cafe was like any other cafe I'd been to. Nothing special and the place was pretty much deserted. Maybe that's why he decided to bring me. No people means no questions. It was a quaint little cafe on the corner of the street at the end of the market stall area.

"It's a small cafe but it's one of the best in my eyes," Glen said.

I simply nodded. I wasn't really up for conversation. I looked around. There were six or seven tables with white and pink checkered table cloths on them. Glen led me to a table and drew out a chair so that I could sit down. I nervously sat down and waited for him to sit down.

"So what would you like?" Glen asked and smiled.

In answer I took at the menu and scanned it. Typical cafe menu. Hot drinks, pastries, cakes, sausage rolls and French toast.

"Um I'll have an Mocha," I said uncertainly.

Glen smiled across the table.

"No deserts or savouries?" He asked.

I shook my head. I don't particularly want to be here but I want to thank him for buying the painting that we had worked on together.

"You sure?"

"I said no didn't I?" I asked rhetorically.

"Yeah. You did. I'm sorry. It's just ... Well ... If someone else is buying some people normally try to get all they can out of that person and -" Glen stuttered and stammered his way through what he had just said before I interrupted him.

"And you thought that I was one of those. One of those people? Is that what you think of me? Bloody hell you're no better than Danny," I snapped.

"No Siena. Hear me out. My past girlfriend of nine years did that to me. Tried to get all she could from me and I guess I did it to her too. This started after we'd had our son and I guess we never recovered. It was a pretty messy break up to say the least. That's who I was making reference to Siena. Her and not you," Glen rambled on.

I stared at him in shock. Why was he being so open with me? From what I got from him he is a private person and wouldn't share a secret with anyone but his own true self... But maybe that's not the secret. Maybe it is. If so, why has he taken the time to tell me? Then the answer came to me. He was digging himself out of a hole and kicking the ball down the guilt wing of the field.

"Stop trying to guilt trip me into saying sorry," I said.

His face twisted a little. A bit of anger and a bit of confinement all muddled up together to create a whole new expression.

"You think I'd stoop that low?"

"You just did and may I tell you that it didn't work,"

Glen sighed and lightly grabbed my wrist. I fought the instinct to slap his hand off of my wrist or withdraw and go back into my own bubble away from conflict.

"I'm sorry you think I'm truly like that. I'm not. I really wouldn't try to guilt trip you. Well, not unless it was truly important. The point I was trying to make is that I've dealt with experiences of women and men doing that to not only me but others they have been with and it isn't nice. I only offered you a desert because: one, I thought it would be polite, two, I assumed you'd want one after a hard days work of flicking paint at each other's faces," he paused as he pointed to his white speckled hair and I fought back a smile.

"And three: because I'm so used to offering more than I should give," Glen finished.

He removed his hands and placed them into his lap. He looked me in the eye and awaited my reaction.