The Shoe-in

-3-

Dinner is as amazing as it's promised to be. I'm sad that Kelly isn't there with me to enjoy it, and play the "guess the secret ingredient" game we play whenever we go out for dinner. But Davin is not bad company. Okay, he's fabulous company. All his jokes are funny, his brain is beautiful whenever he talks about work and his passions, and he's getting more gorgeous as the time passes and the alcohol is pruning my liver. I'm not brave enough to finish all my drinks but I have what I can tolerate.

Davin asks me about my childhood, my mother and her new family, my late father and if I've ever wanted to visit the town in the Philippines, where he was born. He considers each of my replies and has a follow-up question at the ready. He's met my mom and adores her cooking.

By dessert time, we've discussed grades 2 to 8 of my life, and about to probe into high school when nature calls. I excuse myself and promise him an embarrassing story when I return.

I don't realize I'm still smiling while I use the facilities. "Calm down. It's not a real date," I murmur to myself. Before I step out of the stall, I slip my phone out of my purse to check if Kelly has send a message. Nothing. Then two women slip into the bathroom, and I decide, Kelly must still be busy at work.

"He's so hot. I thought I recognized him when he came," one of the women says.

"He's funny, too," the other one says. "Did you see the size of his hands?" I roll my eyes at that addition. What's that got to do with anything? Maybe I shouldn't be eavesdropping. I'm about to go out when they continue.

"I met him at a party once. He was dating a friend of a friend, obviously he's single again."

"You should give him your number."

"I sure am! Davin's not gonna know what hits him. He should be with someone like me."

Hearing his name hits me like a battering ram. They're talking about Davin? My Davin? No...he's not exactly mine, but they assumed he's single, which he is but hats besides the point. And why should he be with someone like her? I peek through the small space between the stall door and the wall. Both women are pretty, but the other one is taller and slimmer. After applying lipstick, she reaches into the top of her dress and rearranges her breasts, making her cleavage look more appealing. I step away from the door, my ears warming up from anger. What's wrong with me?

Chin up, I exit the stall and stand in front of the two women, ignoring them, and taking my damn time to wash my hands. I don't re-apply my lipstick. I don't fix my dress, or hair or boobs. I shake my hands and when they jump from, God forbid, getting soaked from the water off my fingers, I simply say, "Oops, my bad." Then I head back to my table.

Dessert is set and there's a new glass of white wine on the table. I reach for it and tip it to my mouth.

"Everything okay?" Davin asks and I glance at him beyond the glass.

"Yup. What's for dessert?" I slam the glass on the table and rub my hands, focusing on what looks like a chocolate orb on a shallow bowl.

"I think it's chocolate," Davin replies, and he reaches for my hand, squeezes it. I look down at our clasped hands. He does have ginormous hands, but it's hardly a surprise. It would be funnier and more note-worthy if he has dinky hands.

The server returns and he pours a thick liquid over the orb and it melts, opening itself to a stack of more chocolate and cake and fruit within.

"Are you sure everything's okay? Are you feeling sick?" Davin asks again, his thumb circling over the top of mine.

I brace myself and look up at him, letting a smile spread. "Yup. All good."

His eyes are full of concern. He doesn't believe me one bit. He may as well call me a liar.