Monday Morning Quickie - She Fell Over and I Fell In Love
The last thing I expected was to fall for her.
Rich, successful, and busy, travelling the world, meeting beautiful people in amazing places. I’m happy, I guess.
She walked in to the hotel restaurant, head in a book, glanced around to find an empty table. Another attractive woman in another busy hotel. I wouldn’t have paid her any more attention, to be honest, if she hadn’t fallen flat on her face. I saw hotel staff run to her aid, a few guys at the bar laugh, even chinking beer glasses together to laugh about her misfortune.
Then they brought her to sit at my table, the nearest, and the only one with an empty seat. I always eat alone.
Her wild curls had fallen over her eyes. The staff dabbed at a cut on her exposed knee. She gained a state of calm as she sat back, flicked away the curls and I knew in that moment. My heart actually skipped.
I gasped.
I don’t do gasping.
I’m known for my ice cold persona doing deals. Poker is my thing. But she took my breath away.
I quickly recovered, poured a glass of ice water, and held it out for her. She reached out, her fingers touched mine and a shot of electricity passed between us.
‘Fuck!’
Her voice, not mine.
When I say a shot of electricity, I wasn’t joking. Maybe the static in the hotel carpet, but a real bolt made her pull back her hand. I almost dropped the glass, laughed as it spilled on the table. Saw her eyes fill with tears. I guess laughter wasn’t the best reaction to yet another misfortune.
The guys at the bar, already bored, turned their backs. The staff fussed and fetched a manager. She shooed them away. Embarrassment rather than annoyance flushed her cheeks.
‘Can I buy you dinner?’
I asked.
She frowned.
‘We all need to eat, right?’
I persisted.
Before she could answer, I saw her book, open on the floor. I collected it, picked up the bookmark, brushed them off, and placed them carefully on the table.
‘You’re a romantic?’
She looked up.
‘Yes. And no.’
‘Sorry?’
I felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her skin shone in a way I imagine of angels and mermaids. My brain spun, pulling literary quotes from the back of my memory.
‘Yes, to dinner. No, I’m not a romantic. It’s a classic. I’m lecturing my students on it next week.’
By the end of our shared dinner we sat alone. Her passion overflowed and overwhelmed me. I understood why Byron sought beautiful women and places, and felt compelled to write about them.
We laughed. We touched. We knew.
We’re happy, now.