That Summer Feeling: SUMMER 4EVER [H.S.]

1. Brutal

It's not alright.

My day was absolute shit. I was running fifteen minutes behind because my car wouldn't start for some reason. Before that, I was recklessly throwing my clothes across my room because I couldn't find a nice, clean, and dry outfit since I took an unplanned nap in the middle of doing my laundry and I didn't get to finish.

I also gave myself a black eye after I accidentally dropped my phone directly on my face when I was checking the time at the ass crack of dawn today. I couldn't cover it completely with makeup because it was too sore and swollen.

On my way here, the driver drove so fast that I rubbed dark lipstick all over my front teeth and spilled loose powder over my black jeans when I was trying to finish my makeup. He also dropped me off two blocks past the restaurant but I couldn't bring myself to tell him at that moment. I sucked it up and half-walked and half-jogged those two long blocks in boots that felt too tight when I arrived at my destination.

And when I finally get inside the restaurant, the hostess tells me they've accidentally double-booked the reservation slot I made last week and I would have to wait 25 minutes until a table is available.

So, no, it was not alright. I was not alright. Nothing was alright. Nothing about my day— this whole fucking year— has been alright. Far from it.

"It's alright." I tightly smile at the hostess as I hold my breath, pretending my mood didn't escalate from somewhat fine to downright sour. "It happens. Don't worry about it."

"We can sit you at the bar if you would like to wait." She apologetically smiles at me. "Is that okay? Again, we're so sorry."

"It's alright," I repeat, despite the forceful feeling in my throat from how much it was not alright. "Where's the bar?"

I shrug my jacket off, blowing out a sigh when I finally get to sit down after everything that could have gone wrong today did. I glance behind me, looking towards the entrance. It appears I wasn't the only one running late.

"What can I get you, miss?" The bartender grabs my attention.

"Uh—" I glance behind him, eyeing the tall bottles of alcohol and growing tempted to order the strongest drink on the menu. I could sure as hell use one. "Mojito, please."

The bearded man gives me a short nod and turns away to make my drink. I glance at the door again. Nothing yet.

I pull my phone out to type up a quick text before deleting it completely. I figure it's best if I explain everything in person. Surely, our reservation being screwed up is the last thing both of us need right now.

I crack every finger and knuckle on my hands out of nerves and stress, a habit I've picked up over the last few months. Makes me feel looser and more relaxed most times. I force my hands down on the counter, sighing again as I glance around the restaurant.

I didn't choose this place. I've never been here, it's way out of my league. Tables lined up against the dark-colored wall. Red velvet fabric soaked into the chairs adding to the moody intimacy. The only sources of light coming from each candle resting in the middle of the tables and the hanging orange lanterns above the bar.

A couple sitting at the table nearest to me in the dimly lit room seizes my attention. The orange flicker between them illuminates their pearly white smiles as they can't seem to take their eyes off of each other. Their legs are secretly intertwined under the table. Fingertips lightly grazing each other. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they're in love.