Bouquets of Chocolate (manxman)

Three

There's about 3 minutes left for me to get the last few bits of shopping I need, find a till, unload, scan, pay, and get out of the shop. Usually - not a problem, I've had practice and I'm impeccable at being efficient, but today everyone and their grandma decided to do their shopping at this specific store at this specific time. And so, by the time I make it past the automatic glass doors, almost 20 minutes have passed. Great.

The plan was to prep my new sourdough experiments today. I've been nursing a few different starters for the last few weeks and got loads of different seed, grain and flour combinations to try, but I'm also under a strict time plan. The timing of the resting and rising needs to be precise for me to make any significant notes, and it's already late.

I check my watch again in hopes of the time having turned back at least a few minutes and sigh when it hasn't. I can still make it, if I run. Only, I don't like, scratch that, hate running and my brain suddenly decides to remind me that Jordie's workplace is close. Not a surprise, of course, just inconvenient because it's yet another reason to postpone my sourdoughs. I haven't seen Jordie in a few days, which feels strange, and me having stood here contemplating my options has already wasted another two minutes, so at this point I stop caring.

I sigh and walk in the opposite direction of my flat. Phro is only a few minutes down the road and I soon open the made-old wooden door to the dimly lit, but friendly little bar slash restaurant.

"Table for- Oh!" one of the waiters greets me when I walk in, my plastic bags rustling noisily in my hands. I smile at her politely, even though I'm slightly embarrassed when a few guests on some of the close by tables turn to look what had the young waiter exclaim so suddenly. I really shouldn't be embarrassed about it, considering this seems to happen every time I come in here. I'm on friendly terms with pretty much everyone that works here due to picking up Jordie quite often. And because Jordie is a massive workaholic, I end up waiting for him more often than not, and chatting with whoever is on shift if they've got time.

"Vanessa." I greet her.

"Here for his nibs?" she grins and winks at me. I laugh. The expression is her favourite, says it's one of her grandma's staples. I don't take the jab at Jordie personally either; he is a bit demanding in the kitchen after all.

"Indeed I am, but I know he's still got half an hour to go, so I'll just have a little something to pass the time if that's okay?"

"Sure, table by the window okay?" she replies casually, already picking up a menu out of instinct, even though I could probably recite it in alphabetical order if I really tried.

45 minutes later, an exhausted Jordie drops into the chair opposite me and I lower my phone to smile at him.

"Hi," I say.

"What are you doing here? Isn't today 'don't bother me because I'm working on my super secret sourdough thing' day?" he asks with a mocking brow lifted. I roll my eyes.

"Was running late, so I decided to postpone. I'll do it tomorrow."

"Actually," I see him hesitating, so I raise my eyebrow in silent askance, "Masato is opening tomorrow, and he asked if we would come to the after party."

I sigh. Masato is a former sous chef of Jordie's. After working here for a few years, he packed up and has been working on opening his own place, focussed on his culinary heritage, ever since. His business partner specialises in savoury dishes, so their place was meant to be serving modern, experimental Japanese cuisine. He is also a good friend of Jordie's. I never knew him well, but I suppose he's a nice enough guy.

"Us?" I ask, because I'm fairly sure Masato wouldn't go out of his way to invite me of all people.

"Okay, me, but you know I'm not good with crowds, so I need you." I sigh again.