Perhaps you'd like to reschedule. Heat crawled up Ethan's neck. Not anger exactly, just the familiar exhausting weight of not belonging, of being the wrong kind of person in the wrong kind of place. Can you at least tell her I'm here? Just tell her Ethan is here and I'm sorry I'm late.
The hostess picked up the phone with the kind of exaggerated patience usually reserved for children and difficult customers. What name is the reservation under? I don't know. Viven. First name Vivien.
A pause. We don't have any reservations under that name. Are you sure? Maybe it's under a different sir. The hostess set down the phone.
We don't have anyone by that name waiting. And I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you're not a guest. " Ethan stood there dripping water, feeling the eyes of well-dressed diners turning toward him with the kind of casual disdain reserved for people who didn't understand that you needed reservations made 3 months in advance. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Screen cracked, case held together with electrical tape, and saw a text from Sarah.
She left. She said, "You never showed. " "What happened? "," he muttered. The hostess cleared her throat. "Sir, yeah, I'm leaving. " Ethan turned toward the door, boots squatchching, and walked back out into the rain. He sat in his truck for a long time, engine off, staring at the restaurant through the rain streaked windshield.
Somewhere in there, at some table he'd never see, a woman named Vivien had waited for him. Had checked her watch, had ordered a drink, had eventually given up and left. And he'd been on the side of the road fixing a stranger's car, getting soaked to the bone for someone who didn't even say thank you properly. His phone rang. Sarah, he answered.
I know what happened. I stopped to help someone. Car broke down. I fixed it and then I was late and he dragged a hand through his wet hair. It doesn't matter.
She left. Ethan. Sarah's voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. You can't keep doing this. Doing what?
Putting everyone else first. You stopped for a stranger instead of showing up for yourself. She was stranded, Sarah. What was I supposed to do? Show up on time.
Just once. Show up for something that's about you, not about fixing someone else's problem. The words hit harder than they should have. Ethan closed his eyes. Listening to the rain hammer the roof.
I'm tired, he said finally. I know. I don't know how to do this. The dating thing, the trying thing. I know.
A pause. But Sophie needs to see you try. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. He thought about his daughter asleep at Sarah's house right now, wearing her favorite dinosaur pajamas and probably clutching the stuffed elephant she'd had since she was three.
Sophie, who asked him every morning if he was happy like an eight-year-old should have to monitor her father's emotional state. I'll try, he said. Good. Now, go home, take a hot shower, and tomorrow you're going to text Viven and apologize. I don't have her number.
I'll send it to you. Text her. Explain what happened. Maybe she'll give you another shot. Sarah, uh, text her, Ethan.
She hung up. Ethan sat in the dark, rain turning the world outside into a blur, and wondered how his life had become this small, this careful, this afraid. His phone buzzed. A number he didn't recognize in a message from Sarah. This is Viven.
Be brave. He stared at the screen for a long time. Then he started typing, "This is Ethan. I'm so sorry about tonight. " I stopped to help someone whose car broke down, and by the time I got to the restaurant, you'd already left. I know that sounds like an excuse, but it's the truth.
If you're willing to give me another chance, I promise I'll show up on time. I understand if you're not interested. You deserve better than someone who shows up late and covered in mud. He read it three times, deleted it twice, then finally hit send before he could overthink it anymore. The message showed as delivered, then a moment later, read.
He waited. Rain drumed on the roof. His phone stayed silent. Finally, after what felt like an hour, but was probably only 5 minutes, three dots appeared. Vivien was typing.
The dots disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared. Then, what kind of car? Ethan blinked at the screen.
What? The car that broke down. What kind was it? He hesitated, then typed, vintage Jaguar Eype, British racing green. Beautiful car.
Loose fuel pump relay. The response was immediate. That was my car. For a second, Ethan just stared at the words, brain refusing to process them. Then, "You're Viven and you're the mechanic who fixed my Jaguar.
You were the blind date and you were mine. " Ethan started laughing. Couldn't help it. The absurdity of it. Fixing her car, getting soaked to the bone, rushing to a restaurant where she'd already left, only to discover that the woman he'd helped and the woman he was supposed to meet were the same person. His phone buzzed again.
Are you laughing at me? No. At the universe. This is insane. Agreed.
A pause. Then the restaurant wouldn't let you in, would they? How did you know? Because I saw you through the window, walking in, soaking wet, leaving puddles everywhere. And I was sitting at a table by myself, checking my phone, completely unaware that you were the person I'd been waiting for.
Ethan's chest tightened. You were there? I'd already paid for my drink and left through the back entrance. I didn't know. If I'd known, we're both idiots.
Completely. Another pause. Longer this time. Then there's a diner on Madison. It's open until midnight if you want to try this again.