Find Me Alastar

At 9:00 a. m, Mark knocks on the door and I answer excitedly. I’m thinking that perhaps I was just tired

last night and today he’ll be much more attractive and won’t grate on me.

“Ready to sight see, Miss Mathews?” he asks cheekily.

I smile broadly. “I am.” I stand back and he waltzes past me and into the apartment.

“Thank you for having the day off to show me around. It’s very nice of you.”

His eyes hold mine.

I swallow and grab my coat and bag. The thing is, I know I liked Mark from all the texting, and we did

have a long distance chat thing going on, but the insta-love isn’t happening for me just yet. I need a bit of

time, and Brielle is right, I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to have fun with good friends but I know

from when he tried to kiss me last night that he has other ideas. I kind of hope he grows on me.

The day has been action packed, we have been to Big Ben, The Library and Westminster Abby. We’ve

driven past Buckingham Palace and Mark has promised to take me back there. We have just arrived at aPlease check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

pub for lunch.

“This way.” The waitress shows us to our seats.

“Thank you.” I smile as she pulls my chair out for me and hands us both menus. The pub is old and

rustic with an open fire burning in the corner. It is so good to finally be here.

“What would you like to drink?” Mark asks as he peruses the food choices.

I would kill for a wine. No, I have stuff to do this afternoon, wait until tonight, I remind myself. “I

will just have a diet coke, please.”

“I will have a lager, thanks,” he replies.

The waitress nods and disappears to the bar.

Marks eyes drop to my hands and I quickly pick up my menu, my heart sinking at the same time. I have

been doing this all day, making sure my hands are full so he doesn’t try and hold my hand. What’s wrong

with me? He’s nice and we have been chatting online for over a year and gotten on famously. I’m just not

feeling it in the flesh. Damn it.

“Have you been here before?” I ask.

“Yeah, I come here often.”

“What are you having?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes as his eyes stay fixed on the menu. “Spaghetti marinara.”

I nod. “Good choice. Hmm, I’m going for the chicken schnitzel.”

The waitress comes back with our drinks.

“We are ready to order,” he tells her abruptly.

I drop my head. Jeez, he doesn’t have to snap at her.

“I will have the spaghetti marinara. But I would like my prawns double deveined.”

She looks up from her pad. “All of our prawns are deveined.”

“Well, I want mine double deveined, and I would like extra chili and half the garlic. I don’t want any

muscles, but put in extra calamari,” he instructs sternly. “But make sure the calamari is not overcooked.”

The waitress looks at him blankly. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want any onion at all,” he adds.

“The onion is in the sauce already, sir, you know this.” She scribbles on her order pad, and I swear

she’s writing the words pain in my fucking ass.

“Yes. I do know that. I want the chef to make me a new sauce. I am paying for a freshly cooked meal,

you know.” He lifts his chin as if proud of himself.

The waitress looks up at the ceiling and I drop my head to hide my horror. Oh my God.

He’s always a pain in the ass-it’s obvious she knows him. How embarrassing?

“Anything else… sir,” she asks begrudgingly.

“Yeah, I want it hot. Last time it came out not as hot as it should. I won’t be paying unless it’s at the

right temperature.”