Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 13: Date Night (Part one)

My hands were gross and clammy. The liquid eyeliner pen shook and slipped between my fingers as I tried to meticulously draw a straight line, then flick it out into a wing. It had been a long time since I put together a decent makeup look, and going on my first serious date wasn't helping my precision skills.

I jammed my finger onto my phone's screen to stop the so-called 'relaxing' music playlist. The noise from the bathroom fan was already driving me up the wall. Every little sound bothered me, even my own breathing.

I worried how I was ever going to eat at dinner. With an anxious stomach, there was no way I'd be able to consume more than a few bites. I had to try because I didn't want to seem rude or come off like a nervous wreck.

"Clo! It's five minutes 'till seven!" Rory yelled from the living room. His voice rang muffled through the bathroom door and bounced off of the 1950s green wall tiles.

Shit. I'm not even dressed.

I ran a brush through my hair to separate the waves and add volume. With a cloud of hair spray spritzed all over, I hurried out to the bedroom.

"You're not dressed?!" Rory exclaimed.

I ignored him and slammed the bedroom door, quickly disrobing. I stepped into the gown and stretched my arms back to zip it up. The next cloud of spritz to reign on me was perfume, but not too much.

Since I chose the dress, Rory picked the shoes. He had mercy on my sensitive feet and chose a pair of lower heels, however it didn't compensate for flair. They were open toed with flakes of gold shimmer. They looked expensive, but thankfully were on sale.

I checked myself in the mirror before revealing the finished product to my friends.

It's just dinner, I reminded myself.

In the living room, as I shoved a few necessities into a clutch, Morgan insisted on snapping pictures. "I'm so proud of my sugar baby gal."

I made a strange face which apparently was humorous to both of them. She digitally captured that too. They suddenly felt like my parents on my prom night, which I never actually had because I didn't go.

Not long into the impromptu photo op, the buzzer rang.

"Is he coming up here?" Rory asked, nervous.

"No, I'm going downstairs," I said. "There's no way he's seeing this place."

"Gee, thanks," Morgan retorted, though smirking.

Rory held the door for me. "If I don't see you until tomorrow, then I know you had a good time. If I don't see you for two days, then I know you had a great time. If I don't see you for three days, then I'll need to file a missing person's report unless you send me a postcard."

"I'll be back," I Schwarzenegger'd, then carefully carried myself down the concrete steps. As I descended, the reality of everything washed over me again. My hand held onto the paint chipped metal railing and for the first time since living there, I felt like I didn't belong.

My baby pink, ruffled gown and glittering shoes, a handsome man with a Bentley waiting outside to whisk me off and dine at (probably) an exclusive eatery—it was all really happening. It was what I was becoming, at least for one night. I prepared myself for the Bentley to turn into a pumpkin after midnight.

Jacob was waiting right outside the locked front door. The door itself embarrassed me—a trivial matter—for resembling a steel gateway into an old Soviet bunker. But Jacob was obviously not the type to judge.

"Oh," he breathed out, surprised. His eyes ran down my outfit slowly, as if taking in a piece of abstract art or ancient, hand-carved statue. He brought his gaze back up to my eyes. "Chloe, you are breathtaking."