OVER AGAIN

GOOD NIGHT

For the first time in years, Weston was eager to get home; never had he been so excited since he found the idea for his first best-seller.

In the afternoon, he received a message from Tilda saying she would be at his place at 9 PM. At least she would try to be there on time. Weston rushed and ran to Tesco to buy groceries. He did not ask if she would eat before coming, but he preferred playing it safe and filling the fridge.

A top chef was not, but the man was resourceful; Weston made a salad and added fig bread, her favorite according to the fan website. Tilda also loved Hagen Daz ice cream, Macadamia, and brittle, to be precise. The internet was the devil incarnate. Still, at this instant, Weston appreciated the information which he considered as precious insights.

They did not talk much about themselves, Weston desired to know everything about Tilda, and it seemed crazy because this night would be their third encounter.

Time still at hand, Weston took a shower; he found himself fixing his kitchen clock, his wristwatch, and every ten minutes, he tapped on his phone screen.

10:30 PM, she still wasn't there.

Weston rarely felt such despair. Tilda was a celebrity asking her to be precise about her schedule was too much, but Weston couldn't hide his disappointment. There was no message, and this stressed him. Perhaps something happened to her?

The thought made him pace in his living room. After a few minutes, he stopped and grabbed his remote control. Who needs a GPS when one can use to Tv to track a star's whereabouts.

He switched to the entertainment channel, nothing. Weston did not know how to consider the lack of information.

"Tilda, where are you?" Weston whispered.

The man called it a day, he put the salad in a Tupperware and went to bed; he tossed and turned until his phone buzzed with an incoming message:

I'm outside; I don't want to ring and disturb your neighbors.

Weston sprung out of his bed and dashed to the window. Tilda looked up; even in the dark, he could see her smiling. He ran to his entrance to open up for her.

"I'm sorry, Weston Iㅡ."

Before Tilda could finish, the man hugged her. Weston held Tilda so tightly he could not feel her jacket's cold.

"Weston."

"It's okay, don't worry about it. I'm glad you're here," Weston said as he took her by the hand and went inside.

Once they were inside, Tilda hung her jacket. And they advanced into the living room.

"The day was hectic, and I have so many things to do. I have a week of concert dates coming up."

"Oh, where?" Weston asked as they took place on the couch.

"Germany."

"Germany," Weston repeated as if she announced she was leaving for Lapland.

"When is it?"

"Next week."

"I see."

Taken in by the whirlwind of their lightning relationship, Weston forgot Tilda's actual job and obligations.

Tilda responded directly before Weston's face could produce a frown of worry, "I'll come back; I'll always come back."

The words came out like a promise and with enough power to enlighten the man's face.

"Are you hungry, or do you want something toㅡ ."

"Something sweet," Tilda said, smiling.

Weston remembered the ice cream, "wait a minute."