How hard can it be to fall in love with a football player when you're afraid of footballs...?
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Helping out her best friend by playing the lead in that music video project for university had seemed like an easy enough feat for art student Lorelai...
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»La Fianna« was a bar and restaurant in the heart of Barcelona, and only about a ten minute walk from Lorelai's apartment, which was an added bonus, since she could go there without having to pay for a cab or other public transportation.
Jane had made good on her promise and had helped her find the »perfect« outfit with matching shoes, make-up and hair-do (her usual braids and beads wouldn't do, she'd said). By the time they were finished, Lorelai had gotten the feeling of, well, not quite being herself anymore. But she rarely felt like herself when dressed up — partly because, to her, dressing up for some occasion felt a little bit like cheating on your true self. Or, as Jane kept insisting, maybe her distaste for dressing up and »making herself pretty« really came from watching her mother doing nothing but that all of her life: high society meetings, one charity event after another, keeping up the pretence of having the perfect family.... Yes, that sounded quite logical, didn't it?
The dress Lorelai wore went slightly over her knees, was dark blue and had long sleeves; it was November, after all. Accompanied by simple black pumps and a tiny black bucket bag, she was all set for and nervous about the date. Her blonde strands let loose around her shoulders felt unfamiliar without the trusty weight of her braids and beads. Why had she let Jane talk her out of wearing them again?
It was 9 PM when she met Fernando outside the posh bar in El Born. She was cold (the dress was quite breezy and her jacket didn't really help with keeping her warm) and her feet were hurting from the shoes. Would it be ridiculous to order a cab for the very short drive home later on? Why did women put up with high shoes again? Ah, yes, because it looked awesome.
Fernando greeted her with a peck on the cheek — but only because, at the last moment, Lorelai had turned her head to the side —, complimented her on how beautiful she looked, and held the door for her when they entered the place. To Lorelai's delight, the rooms were heated; either from the heating system itself or the massive amount of people already seated around small tables or lying on, yes, those were duvets, right along the walls and in some corners. She eyed the duvets jealously as they walked past; they looked awfully comfortable. Many of the lamps even glowed in a soft red tone, basking the room in a dim light, complimenting the general red décor of the place: red velvety seats, red napkins on dark wooden tables, red curtains on the wall, red electric candles in the, yes, those were chandeliers.
Fernando had cleaned up nicely: dark dress pants and a light blue dress shirt und a dark blue blazer. The matching hipster scarf around his neck was there, barely ever missing from his form. His neat outfit didn't surprise her; Fernando usually always wore something nice. Not »posh place« nice, mind you. But you rarely saw him in jeans or a sloppy T-shirt around campus. Which, funnily enough, didn't mash up with the »poor and humble artist« vibe he was normally going for. To each his own ticks, I guess, Lorelai thought.
By the time they had been seated in the part of the place reserved for eating — a sweet little table in the corner, which provided at least some sort of privacy from the rest of the people gathered around — Lorelai was right in the middle of doing what she did best when in situations she wasn't all too comfortable in: think about things. Like, how had she ended up on a date with Fernando?
