The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 11 - The Morning After

We sit down at the same table as last week, right at the back of the bistro overlooking the sea. The clatter of cutlery, the clinking of glasses, the smooth music and the lively chatter are one big cacophony in my ears after the silent ride with him. No phone calls this time... At least.

The same chirpy waitress from last week bounces over to our table, menus at the ready. I glance at her name tag as she dazzles Mr Cordina with her pearly whites. Olivia. Her name suits her.

"Good afternoon, folks. Are you here for food or just drinks?" she asks, dismayed that her award-winning smile was lost on Jeremy. He looks at me warily, clearly unsure how to answer after my outburst last week. I press my lips together to suppress a grin.

"Food. The lady seems to have an appetite today," he answers finally without taking his eyes off me. I squirm in my seat. I don't know what's worse, him blatantly ignoring me or the way he's looking at me now.

Olivia sets the menus in front of us and huffs off. I reach over the table and snatch the board. I don't know what he meant by it but he's damn right about the appetite. I'm starving. I barely ate anything yesterday and I'm now craving for something to absorb the leftover alcohol in my stomach. I should have stopped for pastizzi on the way home yesterday.

Jeremy's laser gaze is still on me as he reaches over for the beverage menu. I give him a friendly smile which he doesn't return. He hasn't voiced a single word to me, not even an acknowledging grunt when I got in the car, but he keeps glancing over every few minutes as though he has something to say.

I discreetly turn on the selfie camera on my phone to check if I have something on my face, in my teeth maybe, but I can't see anything. My eyes are a little bloodshot, hence the more-meticulous-than-usual makeup, but other than that I think I look pretty decent. I'm wearing my favourite red lipstick, dark blue jeans, a pale pink blouse and dark red, peep-toe heels.

I look over at the attractive, young mother on the table next to ours, furiously wiping ketchup off her toddler's face while her salt-and-pepper-haired husband does a wonderful job of pretending not to ogle at the tribe of girls on the table behind them. Okay, so I am still not glammed up enough for this place, but at least this time I made an effort. Besides, one can only look so good when sporting a splitting headache and acid reflux that's burning up one's throat.

Jeremy on the other hand, puts the whole restaurant to shame in his cream-coloured trousers, black shirt, brown loafers and signature cavalier expression. He is almost painful to look at, like he's fallen straight out of a magazine featuring the world's hottest eligible bachelors.

"So, how was your date?" his voice quakes through my musings and I almost drop the menu as my abdomen does an impressive acrobatic lurch. The throbbing in my head doubles in pace and severity and a fresh wave of nausea rocks my stomach.

"My... my what?" I stutter.

"Your date," he repeats without looking up.

"How could you po-"

"You turned me down yesterday," he states in a flat tone. "You have curls in your hair and you keep checking your phone." His face may be neutral but I can tell he's displeased. Is this why he's been acting stranger than usual?

"Mr Cordina, I'm not che-"

His head snaps up and I stop talking. 

"Jeremy," he growls. "And I hope it was worth it because I had a dreadful time thanks to you."

"Excuse me?" I exclaim. "Mr Cordina, I-"

"It's Jeremy!"

"No, it's not! Not when you talk to me like this!" I hurl back, my irritation reaching breaking point. "If you really wanted me to go with you then you shouldn't have left it to the last minute to ask me. I told you I had plans. I wasn't going to cancel them because you decided to have another accessory on your arm other than your Rolex. Besides, I'm sure one of your fan-girls would have gladly dropped everything to join you and you would have had the time of your life."