Original Uber Allergic: A Romance - part 19 / ? Updated Nov 26

[Ariel]

This is so good! I can't wait for more. I wouldn't even mind if this comes out as a wattpad novel 😁

[HideAndGoSneeze]

MY HEART. 

 

IT CRAVES MORE. 

 

 

I friggin love your writing. You have such an amazing skill of immersing us into this world you've written. I am eagerly awaiting the update! 

[BurgundyJayne]

Your writing is so, so good! 🥰

[Victoria]

Loving this...can't wait for the next update!! 

[starpollen]

Thanks, guys.   @Ariel I don't know what a wattpad novel is?... I'm kind of... old.   Sorry.

Hope you like the next part. 

--- --- --- 

The Date - Part 2

Beth

“What would you like to call me?”  That piercing gaze intensified, and his hand moved like he wanted to reach for mine... but he didn’t. 

I turned away and thought for a moment.  Then, I decided.

“Cy.”

There was a silence, and then I continued more softly. 

“I think I’d call you Cy.” 

He reached for my hand then, long fingers closing around mine and giving a gentle squeeze. “I like it,” he murmured, looking down at our joined hands and swallowing hard.  “N- No one has ever called me that before.”  He cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat a little, for the first time all night reluctant to meet my gaze.  “And I… I like to drive.” 

“Drive?” my voice was unnaturally high for some reason.  I took another drink of water to cover it.

“Yeah,” he released my hand and sat back. My fingers immediately missed the warmth. Running a nervous hand through his hair, slightly mussing those tawny waves, he continued. “I love that feeling of freedom, when it’s just you and a stretch of road, some good music… holding someone’s hand…”  Those blue, blue eyes once more locked on mine, and I found myself breathless in their gaze. 

The waiter arrived then with a bottle of wine, and Cy glanced at me nervously, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his sculpted brows.

“Oh, I … I should have asked if you—” 

“No, I love wine,” I replied, thankful that my weekends at Olive Garden had given me a taste for it. I gave him a wide smile, and his gaze deepened.  “Thank you.”

My date took the tasting sip and nodded, then the waiter poured us each a glass before leaving the bottle in a silver ice bucket on a stand nearby.  

“Cheers,” Cy said, holding his glass between us. “To an evening with a beautiful woman, and enchanting conversation.” 

The faint chime of crystal echoed as we drank. It was a light white, slightly acidic.  A glance at the bottle told me it was a Grenache Blanc/Viognier blend from France.  

Cy suddenly set his glass down and raised his napkin in both hands. “... hegt--SCHgtT!! … excuse me.”

“Bless you,” I breathed, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Sorry,” he blushed again, pinching and wiping downward.  “Wine… sometimes makes me sneeze.”

Was this man for real? 

The waiter returned with two plates of gorgeous diver scallops, which saved me the embarrassment of my mouth hanging open in shock.  I quickly took a bite... then closed my eyes in bliss. The scallops were buttery, and the lemony sauce complemented the wine perfectly. 

We spent the time between bites talking about our respective college experiences, trading stories of midnight escapades and dorm room pranks.  He asked me about my family but - other than the mention he had made of his mother earlier (past tense, I had noted) - he didn’t offer any details of his own.  I had a feeling that I shouldn’t press that tonight.

After the scallops was a perfectly seared duck breast, paired with a fruity Pinot Noir from Oregon. Once again, after the first drink Cyrus snapped into his napkin with a wet, “... hg’zCHHt!-... pardon.” 

More conversation about our jobs, and he encouraged me to tell story after story of my students’ antics.  He waved off most inquiries about his job, claiming that IT consulting was pretty boring.

Finally the waiter set down a gorgeous pear galette.

“Traditionally this is served with port,” Cy explained. “But if you prefer coffee or tea?” 

The two glasses of wine were already making my head swim ever so slightly. “Coffee, please.” 

An elegant silver coffee service was brought out, with delicate white porcelain cups.  Dosing mine liberally with a tooth-aching amount of sugar and cream, I watched as he only took one small cube of sugar with the silver tongs. 

‘Two things one should always know about their significant other,’ my mother’s voice rang in my head. ‘How they take their coffee, and their favorite Subway sandwich.’

“Subway sandwich?” I blurted out.

Naturally, Cy looked at me quizzically, cup pausing halfway to his lips. “Pardon?”

Flushing slightly, I clarified, looking down as I stirred. “What’s your favorite Subway sandwich?”

“Meatball,” he replied without hesitation. “On Italian herb, toasted, with extra provolone, green peppers, and pickles. Yours?”  He finished taking the sip.

I suddenly realized how silly this was: we’re sitting in this incredible, expensive restaurant and I ask about Subway sandwiches?  Blushing deeply, I took a long drink of my coffee. 

“Sorry,” I said, setting the cup down on its saucer with an awkward clink. “That was a random question.” 

“No, Beth,” he breathed, leaning forward and once more taking my hand. “Your mind, it-... I love how it works.” he smiled softly and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.  “I never know where it’ll take us next.” 

Us.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. “Turkey,” I whispered, staring into his sapphire eyes and still feeling like this was the stupidest thing in the world we could be talking about. “On honey oat. Lettuce, tomato, cucumbers, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper…” 

“No cheese?”  Our eyes were still locked.

“No cheese.” 

“Toasted?”

I shook my head ‘no.’

“Interesting,” he was staring at my mouth, as if he was imagining… I don’t know what.  I licked my lips, and he did the same. 

“Excuse me,” I pulled my hand from his and stood.  He stood, as well. 

“Is everything all right?” that wrinkle was back between his brows as he looked at me with gentle concern.

“Yes, I just… um… the ladies’ room?” 

Cy smiled and gestured to the left, and I went weaving my way through the tables.  Somehow I hadn’t noticed the other diners before, couples of various ages.  All elegantly dressed making quiet conversation. 

There was an attendant by the sinks, replenishing a stack of neatly folded white towels.  No cheap paper for this place. 

I locked myself in the gorgeously tiled stall and leaned against the full-length door, taking deep, steadying breaths.  What was I doing?  What was he doing?  How was it possible that this gorgeous - and apparently rich and successful - man was interested in me?? 

I didn’t know if I could do this. 

Edited August 4, 2021 by starpollen

[HowFitting]

OMG 😍😍😍

I love this so far!!! so well written with likeable characters. Cant wait to see more!!

[Tassielli]

6 hours ago, starpollen said:

 I don't know what a wattpad novel is?... I'm kind of... old.

Honest to god I didn’t think anyone even still knew what it was. Back in my day (bear with me, I am new to being old) Wattpad was a host website for OG writing and tbh there were some absolute gems. Also, some people literally typed out entire books to pirate on there, bless them. But it also became the favored home for “my parents sold me to one direction”-esque rpf. It was like drilling for oil in a minefield and I loved every last bit. 
 

And this fic could definitely be up there with the best of the best. The energy is just great. 

[rockbell]

absolutely love this fic! can't wait for the next update!!!!!!

and just to add to the wattpad convo, it's still going on strong and is also home to not only OG writing like @Tassielli said but is also a big site for fanfics as well. 

[Juto]

On 6/3/2021 at 8:18 PM, starpollen said:

Was this man for real? 

Relationship goals 🤩🤣 

also… I’m in love with his constant concern 💜💜💜💜💜 

Glad to hear there’s more to come. 

[starpollen]

Awww guys!    I'm so glad you like this.  @Tassielli I hear you about being "newly old" .  And @Juto absolutely relationship goals.  I like to write male characters that I wish were men in real life... *sigh*

Three things:

1. This is his perspective, again.  It's happening so far that it's 2 chapters her, 2 chapters him, but I don't promise that it will always be 2-2.  It might be 1-1 at some point or 3-3 or whatever comes out. 

2. As with the mirror chapter, there's no sneezing in this part.  (I'll make up for it later... )

3. I don't speak French.  (Yay Google translate!)  So, if I made mistakes let me know and I'll happily correct them. 

---     ---     ---

The Date - Part 3 

Cy

I arrived at the restaurant nearly 30 minutes early: there was no way I was going to leave this beautiful girl waiting, wondering if I would actually show up.  I was tempted to order a cocktail at the bar to calm my nerves, but I didn’t want to risk overindulging and forgetting a single second with her. 

Been there, done that.  Had a few T-shirts. 

When she stepped through the front door, my breath caught in my chest.  She was beyond gorgeous. Her strawberry-blonde hair was half up in an elegant twist, the rest tumbling down in curls past her shoulders.  She was wearing a jewel-toned blue dress with silver buckles on the shoulders, which perfectly complemented her hair and skin and eyes.  The dress hugged her curves in all the right places.

I quickly went to intercept, taking her hand and brushing my lips across her knuckles. “Hiya, darlin’,”  Her hands were so soft.  Taking my time looking at her from head to toe and back, I couldn’t help but say, “You look stunning.”

“As do you,” she replied, ducking her head a little. God, she was so damned cute when she was flustered.  Which, as it turned out, seemed to happen often.  

I admit I had been tempted to text her several times before our date, or even give her a call.  But… something inside me didn’t want this to be like every other relationship I’ve had. It always began the same way: I’d meet a pretty girl, give her my card, and she would call or text me, and we’d talk through our phones for a week before the first date.  Then, as the relationship built to its inevitable climax and fizzle-out, 90% of our communication would be through this hand-held jumble of metal and plastic.  

Other than asking her what her name was - Beth - and giving her the details of our date, I hadn’t done that.  She hadn’t, either. 

It was different this time.  Refreshing. 

As I was about to slip a hand behind her back to guide us to the table, she stiffened.  Stopped.  The look on her face was one of uncertainty, and my stomach flip-flopped.  Was she having second thoughts about tonight?

“Our table is ready, if you are?” I asked, holding out one arm hesitantly.  What if she turned and walked out?  

But she slipped a hand through my elbow, and I brought my other hand up to rest on top of hers, lightly, still asking permission. There was still a part of me that was that awkward teenager with constantly watering eyes and a red, drippy nose, the one all the girls thought ‘would be so cute if he wasn’t so gross.’  I stared at her hard, begging silently for her to be different. 

Then she glanced up into my face and caught me staring.  Her brown doe-eyes wide, I watched as her pupils dilated again, that strawberry-sweet mouth opening into a small surprised ‘o,’ and my heart fluttered.  She looked at me in a way no other girl ever had, especially after finding out about my ‘weakness.’  Maybe, just maybe… 

Slow down.  Let’s just see where this goes.

This particular restaurant was on the top of an office building with a stunning panoramic view of the city, and when I led her to the table she gasped and took a small step back. Oh shit.  I never even considered that she might be acrophobic.  A lot of people were. 

“Are you alright?” I asked, suddenly worried.  “You… you don’t have a problem with heights, do you?” Instinctively I stepped in front of her, blocking the view with my larger frame.  

But she breathed, “Oh, no,” stepping around me and going right up to the glass. The city lights were sparkling in her eyes, her heart-shaped face aglow. “It’s just… stunning.” 

I watched her in the reflection of the glass, and smiled.  Yes.  She was most definitely stunning. 

I let her enjoy the view for a few more moments, then held the chair for her when she was ready, pushing it in as she sat.  Settling across from her, I smiled, happy we’d made it to the table together.  “So, Beth. I’m glad you agreed to come.” 

“Well,” She blushed delicately but didn’t look away. “I… decided to take a break from driving for a while.” She took a drink of water.

“Is that the only reason you said yes?” I winked at her, unable to stop smiling. I'd been waiting for this date all week. “To get out of your contract?” 

“Oh no,” she rushed, setting the glass down too quickly and nearly spilling it. My hand shot out to catch it, closing around hers.  

“No?” I didn’t move my hand, feeling the contrast between the warmth of her fingers and the cool of the crystal. Unbidden, an image of her hand lightly running gentle fingertips down my bare back came into my mind, and things in various places on my body went hard and hot. I allowed my thumb to stroke her knuckles lightly, and then forced myself to withdraw. It was difficult, but I knew I had to. The look in her eyes was still that of a deer poised to bolt, and I needed to tread carefully. “Well, in any case, I’m glad.” 

The waiter arrived with menus, but I didn’t bother reaching for one; I knew it like the back of my hand.

“I…” I hesitated, wanting to be old-fashioned and romantic by ordering for both of us, but thought she would probably see it as a condescending or misogynistic gesture. Still, the urge was strong. “I know it’s kind of old fashioned, but… I know this place really well.  If you’d… like a recommendation?”

“Oh, sure, I’ll eat anything.” 

I watched as she realized what she’d said, eyes slowly widening and lips dropping open in dismay.  Once again, that adorable blush rose to the surface of her cheeks. I regarded her in silence, brows slightly raised and a small smile curling my lips. I wasn’t about to take advantage of her embarrassment, but it was impossible to ignore.  

“I mean,” she cleared her throat, but it didn’t quite disguise the wobble in her voice.  “If you’re asking if you can order for me, please do.  I’m sure I will enjoy whatever you choose.” 

This was a surprise.  “Are you sure?... You can take a look—”

“No, go ahead,” she looked at me and smiled, big and sweet and full of determination. It took my breath away.  “I like surprises. It’ll be an adventure.” 

Without taking my eyes from her, I addressed the waiter: “Nous commencerons par les coquilles Saint-Jacques, puis l'agneau spécial du chef, et finirons par la galette. Demandez à votre sommelier de choisir un vin pour chaque plat, s'il vous plaît. Et présente mes salutations à Pierre.”

She stared at me, clearly taken aback. “You speak French.” 

Now it was my turn to be flustered.  I hadn’t meant to show off… “I do." Okay, maybe a little… "And German.  And a little Chinese.”  

“That’s… impressive.” Now that her expression was clear of embarrassment and hesitation, her gaze was piercing. 

I felt my cheeks getting a little warm, and looked down at the table setting in front of us.  “Well, it’s kind of necessary in my line of work.  If I really wanted to move up into the corporate levels I would speak Japanese and Chinese fluently.  But, I discovered that … Chinese is damned hard.”  We both laughed a little at that, but I really didn’t want to spend the evening talking about my work. “So, what are some of your hobbies?  Interests?”

“Well, I enjoy listening to music, like everyone does.  Pretty much every genre, every style.  I don’t have a particular preference.  But my true passions are cooking and painting.”

“Cooking? And painting?” I repeated.

“Yes.”  She seemed much more calm and confident now.  “Both are forms of art, and I like to think of cooking as ‘the one art we can’t live without.’ Literally. Although I have some artist friends who probably would lay down and die if they couldn’t paint anymore. What about you?”

“What’s your favorite thing to make?” I didn’t want to hear myself talking right now.  Her voice was rich and soft, lilting, not high-pitched and thin like so many of the girls I’d dated before. I could listen to it for hours. 

“Risotto,” she replied, leaning a downy cheek into her hand and smiling into the distance. “It’s … so simple. It just takes time.  But… I like the calmness of it. The repetition.  The process. I often make it after a hard day at school… or a rough weekend at the restaurant or driving. It soothes me.” 

I suddenly decided that risotto was my favorite food of all time.

“What about you?” she pushed, leaning forward and placing a hand near enough to mine that I thought about reaching out to take it.  “What do you like to do when you’re not at work?  And I never asked what ‘C.B’ stands for.  Do you go by C.B?  I’m assuming you go to the gym, but do you…” She trailed off, that blush once more staining her cheeks. 

“Cyrus,” I replied quietly.  “Cyrus Blake. It’s a family name,” I glanced down, praying she didn’t ask me about my family.  “But... it’s a little too ‘southern’ for corporate life, so my colleagues all call me C.B. My mother called me Cyrus Blake. Most of my friends call me Blake.”  

“What do you like to be called?” 

Her question made my head snap up. Nobody had ever asked what I wanted to be called; they just blindly picked a name and stuck it to me, like a ‘tail-on-the-donkey’ game.  It was suddenly so important what she would choose, and I knew that whatever name she chose for me would be the one I would want for myself, as if she could read my soul like a crystal ball.

“What would you like to call me?”  My hand moved of its own accord to reach for hers, and I had to clamp down hard to stop it. 

She turned away, and I could almost see the thoughts swirling about in her head like ribbons dancing.  When she finally spoke, the word hung in the air like soft mist, shimmering and ethereal.

“Cy.” There was a silence, and then she turned back to spear me with those mesmerizing eyes. “I think I’d call you Cy.”

Edited August 4, 2021 by starpollen

[Serendipity]

Aw, these two are so adorable ☺️Can't wait for more!

[rockbell]

^^ seconded! 

[HideAndGoSneeze]

I... Am... Addicted. 

 

Your writing is so amazing, and I love these characters so much!!! I can't wait to read more!!! 

[Tassielli]

Gosh darn they’re cute 

[Ariel]

On 6/3/2021 at 11:48 PM, starpollen said:

Thanks, guys.   @Ariel I don't know what a wattpad novel is?... I'm kind of... old.   Sorry.

Hope you like the next part. 

--- --- --- 

The Date - Part 2

“What would you like to call me?”  That piercing gaze intensified, and his hand moved like he wanted to reach for mine... but he didn’t. 

I turned away and thought for a moment.  Then, I decided.

“Cy.”

There was a silence, and then I continued more softly. 

“I think I’d call you Cy.” 

He reached for my hand then, long fingers closing around mine and giving a gentle squeeze. “I like it,” he murmured, looking down at our joined hands and swallowing hard.  “N- No one has ever called me that before.”  He cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat a little, for the first time all night reluctant to meet my gaze.  “And I… I like to drive.” 

“Drive?” my voice was unnaturally high for some reason.  I took another drink of water to cover it.

“Yeah,” he released my hand and sat back. My fingers immediately missed the warmth. Running a nervous hand through his hair, slightly mussing those tawny waves, he continued. “I love that feeling of freedom, when it’s just you and a stretch of road, some good music… holding someone’s hand…”  Those blue, blue eyes once more locked on mine, and I found myself breathless in their gaze. 

The waiter arrived then with a bottle of wine, and Cy glanced at me nervously, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his sculpted brows.

“Oh, I … I should have asked if you—” 

“No, I love wine,” I replied, thankful that my weekends at Olive Garden had given me a taste for it. I gave him a wide smile, and his gaze deepened.  “Thank you.”

My date took the tasting sip and nodded, then the waiter poured us each a glass before leaving the bottle in a silver ice bucket on a stand nearby.  

“Cheers,” Cy said, holding his glass between us. “To an evening with a beautiful woman, and enchanting conversation.” 

The faint chime of crystal echoed as we drank. It was a light white, slightly acidic.  A glance at the bottle told me it was a Grenache Blanc/Viognier blend from France.  

Cy suddenly set his glass down and raised his napkin in both hands. “... hegt--SCHgtT!! … excuse me.”

“Bless you,” I breathed, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Sorry,” he blushed again, pinching and wiping downward.  “Wine… sometimes makes me sneeze.”

Was this man for real? 

The waiter returned with two plates of gorgeous diver scallops, which saved me the embarrassment of my mouth hanging open in shock.  I quickly took a bite... then closed my eyes in bliss. The scallops were buttery, and the lemony sauce complemented the wine perfectly. 

We spent the time between bites talking about our respective college experiences, trading stories of midnight escapades and dorm room pranks.  He asked me about my family but - other than the mention he had made of his mother earlier (past tense, I had noted) - he didn’t offer any details of his own.  I had a feeling that I shouldn’t press that tonight.

After the scallops was a perfectly seared duck breast, paired with a fruity Pinot Noir from Oregon. Once again, after the first drink Cyrus snapped into his napkin with a wet, “... hg’zCHHt!-... pardon.” 

More conversation about our jobs, and he encouraged me to tell story after story of my students’ antics.  He waved off most inquiries about his job, claiming that IT consulting was pretty boring.

Finally the waiter set down a gorgeous pear galette.

“Traditionally this is served with port,” Cy explained. “But if you prefer coffee or tea?” 

The two glasses of wine were already making my head swim ever so slightly. “Coffee, please.” 

An elegant silver coffee service was brought out, with delicate white porcelain cups.  Dosing mine liberally with a tooth-aching amount of sugar and cream, I watched as he only took one small cube of sugar with the silver tongs. 

‘Two things one should always know about their significant other,’ my mother’s voice rang in my head. ‘How they take their coffee, and their favorite Subway sandwich.’

“Subway sandwich?” I blurted out.

Naturally, Cy looked at me quizzically, cup pausing halfway to his lips. “Pardon?”

Flushing slightly, I clarified, looking down as I stirred. “What’s your favorite Subway sandwich?”

“Meatball,” he replied without hesitation. “On Italian herb, toasted, with extra provolone, green peppers, and pickles. Yours?”  He finished taking the sip.

I suddenly realized how silly this was: we’re sitting in this incredible, expensive restaurant and I ask about Subway sandwiches?  Blushing deeply, I took a long drink of my coffee. 

“Sorry,” I said, setting the cup down on its saucer with an awkward clink. “That was a random question.” 

“No, Beth,” he breathed, leaning forward and once more taking my hand. “Your mind, it-... I love how it works.” he smiled softly and gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.  “I never know where it’ll take us next.” 

Us.

My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. “Turkey,” I whispered, staring into his sapphire eyes and still feeling like this was the stupidest thing in the world we could be talking about. “On honey oat. Lettuce, tomato, cucumbers, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper…” 

“No cheese?”  Our eyes were still locked.

“No cheese.” 

“Toasted?”

I shook my head ‘no.’

“Interesting,” he was staring at my mouth, as if he was imagining… I don’t know what.  I licked my lips, and he did the same. 

“Excuse me,” I pulled my hand from his and stood.  He stood, as well. 

“Is everything all right?” that wrinkle was back between his brows as he looked at me with gentle concern.

“Yes, I just… um… the ladies’ room?” 

Cy smiled and gestured to the left, and I went weaving my way through the tables.  Somehow I hadn’t noticed the other diners before, couples of various ages.  All elegantly dressed making quiet conversation. 

There was an attendant by the sinks, replenishing a stack of neatly folded white towels.  No cheap paper for this place. 

I locked myself in the gorgeously tiled stall and leaned against the full-length door, taking deep, steadying breaths.  What was I doing?  What was he doing?  How was it possible that this gorgeous - and apparently rich and successful - man was interested in me?? 

I didn’t know if I could do this. 

Amazing as always 😁 Wattpad is a platform where you can write your own friction. I can so see this there 😂

[Juto]

On 6/7/2021 at 5:29 AM, starpollen said:

Our table is ready, if you are?” I asked, holding out one arm hesitantly. 

This man!! 

[starpollen]

 

The Date - Part 4

Cy

My hand once more took on a life of its own and reached for her, closing around her slim fingers and giving a gentle squeeze. I was powerless to stop it. “I like it,” I managed to murmur, looking down at our joined hands and swallowing hard.  “N- No one has ever called me that before.”  And I didn’t think I would allow anyone else to call me that, ever.  It was hers, as my heart was quickly becoming.  I cleared my throat and fidgeted in my seat a little, suddenly feeling afraid of how quickly I was falling for her, how much I wanted to kiss her, and how easily this could all fall apart. I needed to change the subject.  “And I… I like to drive.” 

“Drive?” 

“Yeah,” I released her hand and sat back, running a hand through my hair and only afterwards realizing I might have mussed it a little. Nervous habit. “I love that feeling of freedom, when it’s just you and a stretch of road, some good music… holding someone’s hand…”  I looked at her, then, and our eyes locked.

The waiter arrived then with a bottle of wine, and I suddenly realized I had not asked her if she drank.  Talk about presumptuous and misogynistic...

“Oh, I … I should have asked if you—” 

“No, I love wine,” she replied. Once more her mouth curved into a wide smile, and it lit her face like a ray of sunshine  “Thank you.”

A glance at the bottle told me it was a Grenache Blanc/Viognier blend from France, which I knew would be light and slightly acidic, the perfect complement to the buttery scallops. The waiter poured me the traditional tasting sip, and I nodded to confirm the quality. Then he poured a glass for each of us before leaving the bottle in a silver ice bucket on a stand nearby.  

“Cheers,” I said, holding my glass between us. “To an evening with a beautiful woman, and enchanting conversation.”  The faint chime of crystal echoed as we drank. It was a particularly good bottle. 

But then I felt a familiar tingling in my sinuses.  

As quickly as I could, I set my glass down and snatched the cloth napkin from my lap, stretching it between both hands and burying my face in it. Just in time. “... hegt--SCHgtT!! … excuse me.”

“Bless you,” she said softly and politely.

“Sorry,” I felt myself blushing, pinching and wiping downward with the cloth to relieve the lingering tickle and ensure that my nose was clean.  “Wine… sometimes makes me sneeze.” Wine and about a thousand other things… I couldn’t help but wince.

But she didn’t look disgusted, simply took another drink of wine. The tell-tale flush of her cheeks was the only indication I had that she had some sort of reaction to my display.  Something made me feel like it wasn’t a negative one.  

The waiter returned with two plates of gorgeous diver scallops. I waited and watched her take a bite... then closed her eyes in bliss. I marveled at how her face was so expressive, nearly all her emotions played there as if on a stage.  

We spent the time between bites talking about our respective college experiences, trading stories of midnight escapades and dorm room pranks.  I asked about her family, listening politely as she described her parents and siblings, but didn’t offer any details of my own.  My family definitely wasn’t first date conversation material, and I was thankful that she seemed to pick up on my omission and didn’t ask. 

After the scallops was a perfectly seared duck breast, paired with a fruity Pinot Noir from Oregon. Once again, after the first drink I felt that fizzling, bubbling sort of tickle in my sinuses, and snapped into my napkin with a wet, “... hg’zCHHt!-... pardon.”  I was taking each glass slowly, not quite finishing it, trying to keep my allergic reactions to the bare minimum. 

More conversation about our jobs, and I encouraged her to tell story after story of her kindergarten students’ antics.  I waved off any inquiries about my job: “IT consulting is pretty boring. Lucrative, but boring.” 

Finally the waiter set down a gorgeous pear galette.

“Traditionally this is served with port,” I explained, taking note of the slight shine to her eyes that told me the two glasses we’d had were already making her a little tipsy. “But if you prefer coffee or tea?” 

She looked at me gratefully, seeming to know that I had picked up on the fact that she’d reached her limit.  “Coffee, please.” 

An elegant silver coffee service was brought out, with delicate white porcelain cups.  She dosed hers liberally with a tooth-aching amount of sugar and cream, and I smiled to myself to see it.  I dropped one cube into my cup and stirred.

“Subway sandwich?” she suddenly blurted out.

Naturally, I looked at her quizzically, cup pausing halfway to my lips. “Pardon?”

Flushing delicately for the hundredth time tonight, she looked down as she stirred her cup. “What’s your favorite Subway sandwich?”

“Meatball,” I replied without hesitation. “On Italian herb, toasted, with extra provolone, green peppers, and pickles. Yours?”  I finished taking the sip, wondering what train of thought had brought up this topic.  Her mind was fascinating to me. 

Blushing deeply, she took a long drink of coffee before setting the cup down on its saucer with an awkward clink. “Sorry,” she mumbled, definitely embarrassed, “That was a random question.” 

“No, Beth,” I breathed, leaning forward and once more taking her slender hand. “Your mind, it-... I love how it works.” I smiled softly and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze of encouragement.  “I never know where it’ll take us next.” 

Us.

The word hung in the air.

“Turkey,” she whispered, staring into my eyes without blinking. I felt like I was falling into a deep, warm pool in the shade of a tall tree. “On honey oat. Lettuce, tomato, cucumbers, oil and vinegar, salt and pepper…” 

“No cheese?”  Our eyes were still locked.

“No cheese.” 

“Toasted?”

She shook her head ‘no.’

“Interesting,” I was staring at her mouth, imagining kissing her for the hundredth time tonight. She licked her lips, and I did the same. 

“Excuse me,” she pulled her hand from mine and stood.  Instinctively, I stood, as well. 

“Is everything all right?” 

“Yes, I just… um… the ladies’ room?” 

I smiled and gestured to the left, watching as she weaved her way through the tables.  Somehow I hadn’t noticed the other diners before, couples of various ages.  All elegantly dressed making quiet conversation. 

I gulped the rest of my Pinot Noir in one go, napkin at the ready in my other hand for the inevitable, ““t’SCHmp--g’SCHHm!” that followed.  Sighing, I poured a second cup of coffee and waited for her to return. 

The table nearest ours had been occupied earlier by a couple in their late thirties or early forties, with the man seated closest to us.  That couple had left maybe twenty minutes ago, and now a new couple had come to be seated: an older lady and gentleman, somewhere in their seventies. The waiter helped the lady to her chair - the one closest to me - and I was suddenly swallowed by a cloud of intense, cloying, floral perfume.

The reaction was immediate.

“heh-heHH?...”

Ants, bees, centipedes, all kinds of prickly, tickly, crawly things had stormed my sinuses, burning so badly that my eyes immediately filled and my breath spiraled out of control.  Certain perfumes would send me into prolonged fits, and - based on the speed of this reaction - I could tell that this woman’s was on the list.  My instinct was to go immediately to the men’s room where I could sneeze it all out in relative private… but I was torn.  I didn’t want Beth to come back to the table and find me gone.  But neither did I want her to return and find me a helplessly sneezy wreck.  

“heHH?...snffl---hHehH!--...”

Clutching the napkin hard to my twitching rebellious nose, I tried to use it to filter the air and willed myself not to sneeze. Once I started, it would be hours before I stopped... 

---

Okay, guys.  Does he stay at the table?  Or does he run to the men’s?  (She’s going to find him either way, so… )

 

Edited August 6, 2021 by starpollen

[alicex]

ahhhh :) i say stay at the table

[rockbell]

ahhh what a hard decision to make! I wanna say stay at the table...I feel like he'd tough it out to make sure Beth knows he wouldn't leave her  

[sneezygirl97]

He should definitely stay at the table but when she comes back and apologise and say he didn’t want her to think he left 😍

[Juto]

With his overprotective nature of course he wouldn’t leave! <33 He would rather suffer until he could be sure she was okay. 
 

great chapter as always 🥳 

[dragonko]

Oh so excited to read what comes next, this is fantastic so far! I agree with everyone above, he should stay at the table.

[HideAndGoSneeze]

Knowing him, he would try and stay.... But I vote making a quick run to the men's room! Lord knows I've been there when an allergy attack hits! 

 

Love the update! The hitchy breath at the end is my, uh, personal favorite - - - NO I'M NOT BLUSHING, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!  XD

I love it all! I can't wait for the update! 

 

[glitter_]

Can't wait to read more! I'm utterly in love with these two <3 

[Tassielli]

He gives me such stoic vibes I feel like he’d stay but also I’d really love it if he got flustered and ran. Either way this is just *chefs kiss*