A Shattered Merlot

The shattered glass mixes with the Merlot as the spilt red seeps into the white linen tablecloth. My hand hovers, trembling, over the latest mess I’ve just created. Damn it.

‘I’m sorry – I’m such a klutz.’ I say, reaching with that trembling hand to a cloth napkin.

She reaches across the table to my other hand, still sitting in place next to my dinner setting.

‘It’s alright,’ she says, smoothly caressing the back of my hand in a way no one has done for a long time. ‘I’m nervous too,’ she adds in a soft tone; almost a whisper.

‘It’s a terrible waste of wine,’ I say, dabbing the napkin on the tablecloth spill, as slow drips start to make their way to the floor.

‘There’s more in the bottle,’ she says with a smile.

Our waiter appears by the table with such suddenness that I nearly knock over the water carafe in shock.

‘Not to worry sir,’ he says whilst placing a towel over my mess, ‘shall we find you another table,’ he adds.

My date tightens her hand over mine briefly, then moves her hand away into gestures as she speaks to the waiter.

‘Don’t worry about it Michael,’ she says with a wink, ‘We’ll be fine right here.’

‘Very well,’ Michael says. He picks up the shattered wine glass, leaving the smaller pieces to glisten in the wine and candlelight, then covers them with a towel. ‘I’ll come back for your orders soon – it appears you are not ready yet,’ he says as he looks over the table, then over me with a cursory glance, before swiftly moving off to a darkened corner of the restaurant, disappearing into the dim warm lighting.

‘Michael?’ I say with a raised eyebrow. ‘Do you come here often then?’

She gives her head a slight tip back as she makes a gentle laugh. ‘You could say that. It’s one of my preferred places when I’m in town.’ She says. Her sweet perfume casually wafts across the table.

‘I’ve seen you around a bit recently, do you travel a bit too?’ I ask.

‘Yes, I travel for work. I have a home here for when I’m between jobs… I’m really glad you asked me to dinner,’ she says, not taking her eyes from my mine. I feel my cheeks flush. ‘Very old fashioned, you know, to be actually asked, in person, by someone you’ve only seen in passing. It’s usually swipe right, match, chat, catch and release.’

‘Is that a Tinder thing – mixed with a fishing analogy? I ask. ‘Cause I’m not really au fait with the whole dating app world. I’m not technology adverse. Just the idea of meeting a potential date that way doesn’t appeal to me. I’d rather see a person, watch a person, see their body language, say hello. I don’t know, maybe be a bit more romantic about it…’

She chuckles again, her eyes glistening in the candlelight.

‘You are an odd fish in today’s world,’ she says.

‘Another fish analogy! Is that why we came to this restaurant?’ I tap my fingers on the table, splotching in the spread red damp of the soaking napkins. ‘You have some secret fish obsession?’

‘Well,’ she says with a wry smile, ‘we come to a seafood restaurant and you order a Merlot, so I assume you’re having one of the only two non-seafood options. I’m guessing you don’t have any fish obsession… So, you’ve never tried Tinder?’

She tilts her head to one side, her bob touching her shoulder.

I hesitate, tapping my fingers still. There’s no reason for her to think I wouldn’t have kids, she probably has her own given our age, though I suspect I might have a couple more trips around the sun on my earthly time.

I clear my throat.

‘My daughter, she’s a sassy teenager, she installed it on my phone, setup a profile too… I looked at it once. But it wasn’t for me… Look this is all a bit new for me. It was a rare moment of courage when we crossed paths the other day, and after chatting briefly I felt compelled to ask you to dinner.’ I say.

‘Ah kids. She’s just looking out for you. I’ve never had the opportunity to have my own. There’s still time of course, though I admit it’s fleeting.’ She says without expression.

I’ve always been terrible at guessing someone’s age; I just see people, young, in-between, old. I’m starting now though to suspect the age gap is greater than I thought. I must seem so old to her...

Michael returns as quietly as before, swiftly placing a new wine glass at my setting, then placing a small tray of bread on the table, the smell of herbs fills my nostrils. He fills my glass, then levels his notepad from under his arm, pen ready, not a word said.

‘I’ll have the salmon tonight, the usual sides.’ She says, then nods towards me.

‘Umm,’ I pick up the menu I haven’t looked at till now. ‘Umm, I’ll have the steak, medium, to go with what’s left of my Merlot.’ I say, handing Michael the menu. He nods, then promptly leaves again, still nothing said.

‘You didn’t even look at the menu,’ I say. ‘How often have you swiped right, caught and released here… If you don’t mind me asking?’

She smiles and nods gently. ‘Not often, but I do eat here regularly. It pays to have interest in your own investments… It’s cute that you have no idea who I am.’

I feel my cheeks flush again.

‘Even in this light I can see your cheeks change to the colour of that Merlot,’ she says with another chuckle.

‘Umm, am I supposed to know?’ I say.

‘I’ll go out on a limb and assume you don’t see many films,’ she says with a warm smile, her dimples drawing me in.

‘I’m more of a book nerd really,’ I reply, with a sudden creeping feeling that her familiarity wasn’t just from seeing her around town a few times. Damn my cheeks are burning.

‘I’ll say,’ she says, ‘not many people approach me for a date, unless they’re a little full of themselves they usually don’t approach me at all, except for the occasional gushing nervous one’s after that selfie – no one asks for autographs anymore…’ she looks down seeming disappointed, then looks up again with a smile. ‘You are the first non-creepy man to properly ask me out since stardom. Not “hey let’s grab a drink,” a proper date – and you have no idea who I am. I must say, I thought it to be true, but romance isn’t yet dead, because your nervous for all the right reasons, and I’m nervous for those same tingling in the belly reasons too.’

There’s silence between us, backgrounded by soft music coming somewhere from the darkened corners, the gentle clatter of cutlery, and the muffle of intimate conversations from other tables nearby.

I reach with my free hand to the new wine glass, careful to not knock over another. I raise it in a toast, before taking an awkward sip.

She smiles again, nervously this time, placing her hand out again on to my free hand with another gentle caress, as the remaining spilt Merlot makes it last few drips to the floor.

‘So, this been the first real date for both of us for a long time, let’s get to know each other,’ she says.