The image below is The Savoy, London.
This Flash-Fiction piece is written first-person POV, not a POV I normally indulge.
394 words: MPA.
This was ridiculous. A lunch date with a stranger, and someone who had the audacity to send roses by florist first thing in the morning with card. Albeit invitation to lunch, then sends a car to pick up his date, swish maybe, but what sort of man does that? What sort of man writes words like that?
The car stopped, a concierge stepped forward to open the car door. It was only lunch, what could happen over lunch?
Hardly before setting foot inside a waiter stepped forward, asked, “Ms Stevens?” And, without awaiting reply, further said, “This way, please.”
He got to his feet, blue eyes sparkling, hair as dark as night, his towering height daunting. “Good to see you again.”
“Do I know you?”
“Not exactly but I owe you an apology.” He gestured to the seat opposite his.
“For that unexpected shower you received yesterday evening.”
“Oh, so you’re puddle man. Of course, I should have recognised the car.” How was it possible for a man to smile as he was smiling, and not have every woman in the restaurant at his feet? It was good to sit down before falling to the floor in swoons. “What I mean is . . .”
“I’m a git, a bolshy git for sending you roses, and for writing words that should only be said face-to-face.”
“I was a little surprised at the words written and almost didn’t take up your offer, but curiosity got the better of me.”
“I thought it might,” he said, settling to his seat. “So, am I out of line asking you out on a date?”
“Is that what it is?”
“I figured a lunch date might score more points than a dinner date. You strike me as too shrewd to be easily led.”
“Fair assessment, so what’s on the menu?”
His expression said it all. He was pushing boundaries, treading unknown territory in true spirit of an adventurer, a man of daring-do. So, it was a must ask. “How did you acquire my name and address?”
A chuckle. “Cut and thrust why don’t you.” Another chuckle. “I just knew you’d be a challenge.”
A romancer’s hand across the table, fingers toying fingers, teasing the senses, a big grin on face. “Let’s just say I’d like to get to know you better. Shall we menu?”
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