© 2017 Ji Hye. All Rights Reserved.
| T W O |
She's crying; I just know it.
But it's not until I'm a couple of feet closer that I realize the reason as to why. It's today. Well, what this day signifies.
Valentine's Day
For the first time in a long time, Claire does not have any special plans for this evening. In the past, she always spent it with her boyfriend, Xavier, but alas, with them calling it quits last year, that is no longer an option. After having been in a relationship with the guy since our high school days, the thought of being alone on such a sentimental occasion must kill Claire on the inside. I'm sure of it. Sigh. Such a sad possibility, even if it has nothing to do with me, still manages to cut so deep that even I begin to feel an ache in my chest.
I turn away, unable to see her so down in the dumps, and head over to where the maître d' is posted.
The guy appears to be around my age, stands about three or four inches shorter than me, and is clean-shaven with sandy-blond hair and irises as green as my own.
He scans me from head to toe and within seconds a disinterested look crosses his features. "Bienvenue dans L'Jardin," he says with an undeniably fake French accent. "How may I be of service to you?"
I clear my throat, and with the most professional and stern voice I'm able to muster, I tell him, "Eight o'clock reservation for Montoya."
"I see . . . " He shifts his sights down to the large, leather-bound book in front of him, and begins to looks through the pages.
As his finger scans the seemingly never-ending column of names, I feel a chill of sweat run down my spine. By the looks of things, there must be over a hundred reservations for just this evening alone. This can only mean two things: there are going to be over a hundred people dining here tonight, and all but one of them are lacking in originality. Me. Because unbeknownst to everyone here, aside from the restaurant's management and myself, I have a little trick up my sleeve, something to set me apart from the seriously 'romantic dinner on Valentine's Day' cliché.
I continue to watch the maître d' as he looks over the list, and not before long, I see his finger pause at what I can only assume is my reservation. "First name?" he asks as the edge of his nail digs into the page.
"James," I tell him.
His eyes sweep over the list once more and moments later his brows knit together. "Hmm . . ." he mutters to himself before meeting my gaze. "I'm afraid I do not have a reservation for a 'James Montoya'."
My sights dart from the guy down to the book and back again, and from within, I feel a wave of panic surge through me, quickly foiling my calm exterior. He can't be serious. He can't be. I just know that he can't. I confirmed the reservation with the manager myself, countless times, so I just know that he can't be right. My persistence leading up to this night has been so steadfast I'm sure the employees were all beyond annoyed with my efforts. None of it fazes me though because when it concerns important things, like tonight's dinner, I'd rather be safe than sorry.
"If it isn't too much trouble, could you double ch—"
"Monsieur Montoya, I can assure you—"
"Cut the crap, man, and just check the list again!"
YOU ARE READING
Till There Was You
Short Story(Rewriting) (Ongoing) Meet James Montoya. For the first time in his life, he is in love. She's the one, and James just knows it. It's Valentine's Day and he is dead set on finally telling her how he feels. James isn't the most romantic guy in the wo...
