A little late

My 3 word wednesday is finally up for last week... sorry it was a little late.

A Vague disclaimer is no one's friend:

These 3 word wednesday's are first drafts. I didn't even do spell check. I've banned myself from editing for at least a year. That is all.


It was a feeble attempt at humor.
His soft chuckle faded into silence when he noticed my smile didn’t quite reach my eyes.
I could see the burn in his cheeks as he cleared his throat.
This date had been a horrible idea. I told Melissa that it was a horrible idea. I didn’t even know why I bothered, except that I had been close to a year since anyone has asked me out.
Adam nervously adjusted his tie and leaned toward me.
His arms fell across the tablet and he scooted his chair closer.
Miss manners would be so proud.
“So, Melissa tells me that you work for a construction company. That’s interesting.”
“Uh, huh.”
Adams eyes fell to the table. I didn’t think his cheeks could get any more red, but here they were blossoming into an embarrassing shade of magenta all over again.
I stared at my drink, untouched in its glass. The ice settled, the tink, tink of it loud in the silence.
The waiter brought our food.
Italian. How original.
He straightened but didn’t touch his food, as if he were waiting for me to begin.
I twirled my fork around the plate, hoping it was obvious that I wasn’t interested. I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable under the force of his stare.
“Look, lets just get this out of the way,” he said. “I have no idea if I’ll call you tomorrow. I don’t have any expectations of leaving here and taking you back to my place-I don’t think this is going to be the first day of the rest of my life.”
And maybe I’m way off base here, but I can see that its been a long time since you’ve worn anything but seats or left you house for anything but I don’t know, work and grocery shopping.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about me-“
“I wasn’t finished..” He grabbed his beer and reclined back into his seat. He held the bottle with two fingers, his hands hanging limply over his thigh.
All of my righteous indignation was eclipsed by the shock Id felt at having someone talk to me.
I opened my mouth to say something but the words wouldn’t come.
“Wouldn’t it be wise of you to give this half a chance, to be open to the possibilities that I might call you tomorrow. I might take you home tonight-that you might enjoy, and that this might be the first day of the rest of your life?”
Wouldn’t it be nice enjoy a fee meal, a glass of wine, and the company of a relatively nice guy? Even if we never see each other again, instead of guaranteeing that before long you’ll be a bitter old woman who can only tolerate the company of her cats?”
Even I couldn’t predict a future that grim for myself.
It took me a moment to recover from the backlash. My throat closed up and I could feel tears springing up in my eyes. But then I relaxed. My arms, like an iron vise across my chest released their hold, fell to my side. I scooted my chair closer to the table.
I raised my fork to my mouth and the taste of garlic and butter, tomatoes and peppers exploded in my mouth. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d tasted food this good. (I couldn’t remember a time when I’d tasted anything but TV dinners and hot pockets.)
Adam took a bite of his food, and relaxed against the back of his seat, a casual laziness that didn’t quite go with his suit. “Atta girl,” he said, and smiled.