Meeting Drue
They were supposed to meet at Coastal Flats. It was her favorite place: a laid back restaurant with Carribean style food and a wait staff that always made sure that you were well-taken care of. She wondered if she'd be the early one, which was rare. She tended to run late. But, as she realized that she had arrived first and began the obligatory cell phone check, she felt the hand on her shoulder.
He wasn't what she had imagined and people didn't always look like their pictures. He was blond when his hair looked red in the pictures; it was a trivial fact, but she had promised herself no more blonds. She trended towards guys with brown hair, brown eyes. Curly hair was a plus and redheads were her personal favorite.
His sweater did him no favors, but he was about 5' 10" with hazel blue eyes. His lips were thin but expressive, settling into a self-amused smirk. 'You must be Andrew.' She couldn't hear his response over the crowd noise, but she knew it was him and they followed the hostess to a booth in the center of the restaurant.
Other than getting the ball rolling with small talk, she let him do the talking. She was tired. She had to worry about being in court the next day, for her custody case. And she thought it was a strange coincidence, that tomorrow would be the day of rememberance for Pearl Harbor. But even though she was somewhat distracted, he pulled her into the conversation, made her laugh and she found herself admiring his hands. With thin, long fingers, his hands seemed artistic enough but the cuticles were cracked. Artistic but not pampered.
Her ex had butcher hands, fat, meaty hands that would make most any Italian American proud. She had settled for many things, with the ex. She liked Drue's hands and she admitted, she liked Drue. Even if he was a blond. But what could you expect from a guy from CA?
He wasn't what she had imagined and people didn't always look like their pictures. He was blond when his hair looked red in the pictures; it was a trivial fact, but she had promised herself no more blonds. She trended towards guys with brown hair, brown eyes. Curly hair was a plus and redheads were her personal favorite.
His sweater did him no favors, but he was about 5' 10" with hazel blue eyes. His lips were thin but expressive, settling into a self-amused smirk. 'You must be Andrew.' She couldn't hear his response over the crowd noise, but she knew it was him and they followed the hostess to a booth in the center of the restaurant.
Other than getting the ball rolling with small talk, she let him do the talking. She was tired. She had to worry about being in court the next day, for her custody case. And she thought it was a strange coincidence, that tomorrow would be the day of rememberance for Pearl Harbor. But even though she was somewhat distracted, he pulled her into the conversation, made her laugh and she found herself admiring his hands. With thin, long fingers, his hands seemed artistic enough but the cuticles were cracked. Artistic but not pampered.
Her ex had butcher hands, fat, meaty hands that would make most any Italian American proud. She had settled for many things, with the ex. She liked Drue's hands and she admitted, she liked Drue. Even if he was a blond. But what could you expect from a guy from CA?
posted by Michelle at 8:41 PM
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