Jenlisa Oneshots

future tense

INTRODUCTIONS

It can't be.

"Wow." Lisa breathes, the 'hello' she's been practising in her head dies in her throat. Two feet short of the booth, the accompanying host turns to her in confusion about the abrupt stop. She apologises in a fluster. "I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong table. This is not who I was expecting."

He looks momentarily panicked, an incidental mirror of her expression. His gaze breaks from Lisa to the tablet in his hand, madly swiping and tapping.

The already seated guest, an attractive brunette, peers up in piqued interest at the commotion. The woman lowers her menu and raises an eyebrow. A quiet, subtle shift but heart-stopping nonetheless by the way the movement calls attention to striking cat eyes and how it tugs at something unsuspecting in Lisa.

"Wow," she repeats. The brow goes higher.

Lisa pulls the host back another step with her. This time she voices her thought out loud. "This can't be right."

"Kim-Manoban. Table for two. 7:30 pm." The host reads from the screen, volume lowered to match her hushed tone, albeit its urgency isn't at the same level Lisa thinks it should be. "This is what I have on the reservation, ma'am."

"She can't be my blind date," Lisa rebuffs, not taking her eyes off the pair staring at them intently. "It's not conceivable."

Lisa swallows down her growing incredulity though the lump stubbornly lodges in her throat next to the deserted 'hello.'

"Why not?" He whispers back. Tablet forgotten.

"She's like... the total opposite of bad looking." Lisa can't even find the word for it. Pretty, fit, hot. Gorgeous is maybe the closest. Exquisite wouldn't be a stretch either. Yet, each adjective seems milquetoast at best. Inadequate at most. Having left her pocket thesaurus at home, she settles on, "Fine."

"Ah," he answers in understanding, a dawning realisation the matter at hand isn't a clerical error, more of an aesthetic complication, and concurs, "Yes." Drawing her focus away, he motions for Lisa to come closer as if to strategise in a huddle. But rather than give tactical advice, he leans in, a conspiratorial glint in the curl of his moustache, to let her know, "As are you, ma'am. I think you will be more than fine."

"You know I can hear you both, right?" Lisa snaps her head back to be met with a look of amusement from the questioner. The woman rises, interrupting their deliberation to offer in a stage whisper, "Jennie Kim, one half of the reservation names," extending her hand to Lisa.

Lisa stares at it for a beat too long before her manners thankfully steers her on autopilot to take it in hers. Except, she misjudges the distance and ends up grasping a forearm instead. It's soft. Super soft. Committed to her overreach, Lisa hangs on, shaking absentmindedly, for longer than polite society would approve were it to overlook the strangeness of the adapted handshake in the first place. She does not let go until a chuckle and a gentle throat clearing prompts her self-conscious withdrawal.

"If I'm me, you must be you," Jennie deduces the obvious with a teasing smile. "Manoban, Lisa Manoban?"

Her voice has a sand-scratched raspiness that sounds like it holds smoke and secrets in as well as the dark amber liquid of the quarter-empty tumbler on the table. Lisa nods, absently again, savouring the sound's richness and the way it wraps around the vowels of her name.

Blame it on the tight cocktail dress that came into full view and the curves it generously hugs, that a traitorous thought runs through her mind, for now I'm a Manoban but by the end of the night, I might want to hyphenate.