The Fifth Date

Chapter 25

        “No way!”

        “C’mon, July! We have to keep up with what remains of our youth!”

        “No, thanks! I’ll have it remain with dignity.”

        “I’ll just borrow your dignity and bring it back to you spick-and-span.”

        I can’t help but laugh. “You can’t borrow someone else’s dignity, Mister.”

        “I’ll rent it, then?” You smiled beguilingly.

        “I don’t think there’s much of a difference.” I was laughing so much my stomach was starting to ache.

        “Here—“ You got your wallet out and opened it for me to see, “Come, I’ll pay you.”

        That did it. I doubled over the table, my laughter echoing through the white walls of the café. The other costumer on our far left and the couple on the corner looked our way but I didn’t mind.

        “Please, July. What do I have to do for you to say yes?” You, too, were chuckling at your desperation. “I’ll buy you more oatmeal cookies.” You comically nodded as if it was enough to convince me.

        “You have to do better than that,” I teased.

        “I can’t buy you with money nor with oatmeal cookies. Woman, you’re one of a kind.” You shook your head while clicking your tongue as you leaned back on your chair with folded arms across your chest. At that moment, I busied myself admiring you. The boyish charm exuding every time you smile and laugh and the alluring smell of adventure and life sweeping me off my feet.

        You have that hold on me that sent me reeling down my own road, following your path as if I had never made mine. You grip me by my heart when all I offeredwas my hand. You draw me rainbows and butterflies when I only sketched a cloud. You sing me a hundred hits when I only hummed a lullaby. You buy me the whole galaxy when I only ought for the stars. You give me things I never thought I wanted. You made me feel things I almost thought I was never capable of feeling. It’s not me, it’s you. You are one of a kind.

        “Are you sure about this?” I bit my lip, nervous, as I fidgeted with the strap of my denim overalls, my white sleeves rolled just a few inches below my elbow.

        “Don’t worry. I got you,” You said, not looking at me but peeking from the brick wall against us to the house down the alley instead.

        I whined, “We might get caught.”

        You then turned to me, staring from head to toe, “Don’t worry, you look like a rebellious teenager, they would never recognize you. It’s normal for teenagers to do this.”

        “Rebellious teenager?” I looked up at you, aghast. Okay, my wardrobe isn’t something Jeremy Scott, Givenchy or Chanel would approve of but I sure as heck wear comfortable clothes with dignity. Not some stuff a rebellious teenager would wear.