The Stranger

17

I enter in the restaurant, looking around, searching for a possible lawyer. But my research is stopped by the hostess, who welcomes me, and asks for my name.

"I am Lucas James. There should be a reservation for two under..." I stop abruptly, remembering that I don't know the name of the lawyer.

But, after hearing Lucas James, She smiles and with a nod shows me the way through my table.

I thank her and sit, adjusting my black vest.

There are bread and two glasses of prosecco on the table. "Courtesy of the house," informs the waitress, bringing the menus.

I give her a timid smile and take a slice of bread.

I am a bit nervous and decide to send a text to Matt, sounding his mood.

Hey, still at work?

I get no answer. So, I slide the phone into the pocket of my jacket and sip my glass of prosecco, hoping that the lawyer will show up soon, ending this night.

After ten minutes waiting, and two glasses of prosecco empty, I am sure he ditched me, and I can't be more happy and relieved.

I almost get up and leave. But my conscience yells at me to wait ten more minutes. Like always, I listen to her. In this way, I can complain all night with my sister, and torture her with my fake anger and frustration.

I ask my gentle waitress for a pen, that she gives me accompanied to another glass of wine.

Maybe, she feels sorry for me. Stuck at this table, waiting for a date, who decided that at the end, I wasn't so important.

I write a verse of Bécquer, a Spanish poet, on a napkin, whispering the words in Spanish. Hoping to short this endless minutes.

Podrá nublarse el sol eternamente;
Podrá secarse en un instante el mar;
Podrá romperse el eje de la tierra
Como un débil cristal.
¡todo sucederá! Podrá la muerte
Cubrirme con su fúnebre crespón;
Pero jamás en mí podrá apagarse
La llama de tu amor.

"Beautiful!" I hear someone saying at my back, and I turn around.

"It's a poem from a Spanish poet."

I watch him shaking his head and taking a sit next to me. "You are beautiful," he says, blushing at his spontaneous statement.

I didn't think that lawyers could blush like any human being. It's fascinating this new discovery for me. I feel like an archaeologist in Egypt when were discovered the mummies.

"Sorry, I am late," he adds. "I hope you aren't mad." His voice is not as I have imagined it was. It's soft and gentle, like a blanket in winter.

It's not the voice of a lawyer. Or, perhaps I have too many stereotypes about them.

"I am not mad." I take another bite of bread. "Maybe, hungry, a little tired, but not mad."

He opens his brown eyes like in surprise and grabs a menu. "Let's order fast then." He seems worried as if I am going to die of malnutrition if he doesn't feed me.

His scared expression dances between sweetness and funny. "It's okay. I had bread and prosecco while I was waiting," I inform him. "I drank also yours." I am shameless, but the prosecco is his payment for being late.

He smiles, opening his mouth like a curtain, showing his shocking, white teeth. "If you want we can order a bottle."

I shake my hands in front of him, rapidly. "No, no. Then I am going to drink all the bottle and get drunk in no time."