Chapter Text
Charlotte arrived early to the bistro. She wore a sundress, her hair was curled to perfection, and she had just enough makeup on to feel confident yet not overdone. She checked her phone -- 7:05 PM. Fifteen minutes before the agreed-upon time; early enough she regretted declining the hostess’ offer of bar seating. A glass of wine to calm her nerves would have suited.
She had recently matched with ‘Alex Colbourne’ on a dating app her friend Georgiana had strong-armed her into downloading months ago. It was the first in-person date she’d agreed to since then.
Digitally, Alex appeared to be a normal human man. Normal, that is, compared to the slew of perverts, casual fling finders, and unicorn hunters looking for a ‘third’ that clogged her daily feed.
Despite the app, Charlotte would admit she wasn’t truly equipped to thrive in this modern dating world. Her last -- and only -- relationship had lasted her teenage years and into early adulthood. She was twenty-four now, and had only ever known Ralph Starling.
Ralph had been… fine. A local boy from the next farm over, they’d fallen into dating, more or less, out of expectation from both their families. It had been a lukewarm romance from the start and hadn’t burned any brighter with time. In time, these circumstances were explained when Ralph had finally confided in his true preference to Charlotte one rainy evening a year ago.
That night, she had thought he was attempting to propose. He’d acted strange for weeks. So strangely, in fact, that her sister Alison had been dead convinced the ‘big question’ was on the horizon. Instead Ralph confessed to hiding a part of himself, that he was sorry, and that he couldn’t continue on with Charlotte any longer.
Instead of feeling heartbreak or betrayal, Charlotte had been awash with relief. She’d never wanted to marry Ralph. She’d never even wanted to be his girlfriend and had never had dreams of being his wife. But he had been a stable presence in her life, and, along the way, she had deluded herself into believing it was easier to be with him than without. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, of course, and the year she’d spent alone and single had been one of the best of her young life. In truth, Ralph had been an anchor weighing her down by the ankle. He’d been averse to adventure and fun -- at least, when his only option was to do it was her. (He and his boyfriend were currently backpacking through Italy, harvesting grapes for train fare).
But that year-long sabbatical had since wrapped, and Charlotte was ready to dip her toe into the dating pool. Or: cesspool, as Georgiana frequently called it. Navigating it all was headache inducing. Online profiles read as hook-up wanted ads, and she wasn’t the type of woman to boldly flirt at the bars or approach strangers at supermarkets or libraries.
Hence, careful curation on the app -- and now, Alex Colbourne. His profile was grammatically sound and consisted of thoughtful responses to the app’s icebreaker queries. (And yes, she could acknowledge her standards were so low they might as well have been in Hell). They’d matched and chatted back and forth. His lack of immediate sexual innuendos made agreeing to his dinner invite easy. While she wouldn’t say she had butterflies, she had faint hope of finally feeling that spark of attraction.
A few minutes later, Alex walked through the bistro doors.
“Oh,” he said, spotting her immediately. “Am I late?”
Charlotte noted the slide of his gaze down to her chest before it bounced back up to meet hers. “No, I’m early,” she replied, and gave an awkward wave. He looked the same as his pictures. A good sign. “Hi, nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Just a few minutes, not a problem,” she replied, smiling politely.
They didn’t wait long for the hostess to lead them to their table. After situating themselves, they picked up the menus and began to peruse.
“This place is wonderful,” he said, after a persistent and awkward silence. “My ex-wife used to love it here.”
Charlotte’s polite smile faltered. What could she say to that? His profile had mentioned a daughter, and so she’d assumed there had been a serious partner in his past -- but she’d also assumed broaching that subject would come at date three or four, not within the first three or four minutes of their acquaintance. “Awesome,” she said, for lack of a better response. “So, you used to… come here often?”
“Oh, yes, nearly every anniversary,” he replied. “It was her favorite place. She always said they served the best martinis and oysters. I hope they’ve changed the specials since then, though.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. The menu has a lot of options.”
Alex didn’t seem to notice her hesitation or discomfort. “You know, speaking of anniversaries, my ex and I had this tradition of ordering the same dish every year. It was kind of our thing. It's funny how traditions stick with you, even when the person doesn't."
“Um, right,” she replied, trying to steer the conversation away from ex-wives and anniversaries. “So, what do you do for a living?”
"Oh, I work in marketing. My ex-wife was in marketing too, so we had that in common," he replied without missing a beat. "She was really good at it, much better than me, honestly. We used to brainstorm campaigns together. But, you know, things change."
Warning claxons blared in Charlotte’s ears. Georgiana’s voice came over her internal monologue telling her to run, run far away. Instead, she (foolishly) tried again to engage: “Marketing, wow. So, um, do you have any hobbies?”
"I like to hike with my dogs. I got into photography a few years ago as well," he replied. "My ex-wife used to be my favorite model. She just had this natural talent, you know? The way she could pose without even thinking about it -- it was like art."
Charlotte couldn’t take it anymore. She needed to pull the plug. Clearly, this man was not ready to move on, and even the prospect of a free dinner couldn’t tempt her to stay. “Alex, I think--”
The waiter arrived with their drinks, interrupting her.
Before she could continue her escape plan, Alex raised a glass. "To new beginnings, right? Because, sometimes, you just have to move on and find someone else.”
She set the menu down closed and took a deep breath. “Yeah, about that. I think I’m going to have to… excuse myself. It really sounds like you’re not ready for anyone else in your life right now and-- anyway.” She stood, grabbed her bag, and offered him a tight smile. She didn’t need to explain herself any further. “It was, uh, nice meeting you. Good luck with… everything.”
Alex looked dumbfounded, but Charlotte did not stick around to explain that therapy probably should have come before Tinder.
She walked out of the bistro, relieved to have escaped what surely would have been the worst first date of her life. She toggled to the app and unmatched with Alex, then sent a quick recap to her girls group chat of the disaster.
“Dating,” she sighed, “who knew it’d be this hard?”
It was a pleasant evening and so she chose to walk home. The city wasn’t yet in the thick of summer, but heavy humidity lingered on the air and promised rain in short order. She sped up as the smell of ozone increased, happy to have foregone heels over her comfortable sandals. She made it to her apartment building in the nick of time, ducking under the protective awning as thunder cracked overhead and a heavy wet patter descended on the street.
A woman stood in the lobby, looking morosely out at the drenched curb.
Charlotte didn’t recognize the modelesque blonde as a tenant, but she had a sneaking idea of how she ended up in the building on a Friday evening. She could’ve walked by — maybe she should’ve walked by — but she couldn’t do it. “I have an umbrella in my apartment,” she told the woman, smiling cautiously. “If you wait a minute, I’ll bring it out to you…”
The woman’s expression switched to gratitude. Her eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, thank you, if you don’t mind-- I promise I’ll bring it back.”
Charlotte nodded. “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later, she returned to the lobby with her cheap little umbrella in hand. The woman profusely thanked her, and would not leave until Charlotte and she exchanged phone numbers.
“You really don’t need to bring it back,” Charlotte tried to protest, but the woman wouldn’t hear it.
“You’re so sweet, but trust me… it’s not all altruism on my end,” she said, a suggestive twinkle in her eye. “It’ll give me a reason to come back here. I’m Clara, by the way.”
“Charlotte,” she reciprocated.
With that, Clara walked out into the rain, and Charlotte made her way back up the stairs, suspicions all but confirmed.
Four flights up and down the hall she went. As she passed by her next-door neighbor, she felt the urge to knock -- and so she did. Loudly.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
“You’re an asshole, I just want you to know,” she told the man on the other side of the door.
Sidney Parker there stood, resplendently handsome and unrepentantly smug. He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “Ah, my weekly tongue-lashing. How I relish these little encounters of ours. What did I do now, Heywood?”
“You left your date in the lobby,” she replied.
“And? I’m not a concierge service or a ride share.”
“I actually think the latter description a rather fitting one for you.”
“Ouch.”
“There’s a monsoon out. The least you could’ve done was give her an umbrella to see herself out.”
His smirk intensified. “I would’ve done it, but you beat me to the punch. You little bleeding heart, you.”
She matched his stance now, arms folding across her chest in perturbation. “Were you spying on me through the peephole?”
“No, but why else would you knock on my door to berate me?”
“Perhaps I was in desperate need of butter or sugar.”
“You’re in desperate need of something, I’ll say.” He let the innuendo linger before continuing: “Manners, Miss Heywood. You’re desperately in need of some manners.”
“Manners, my ass. Might I remind you that last weekend you left your stupid playlist on all night? At full blast? Where were your manners then, hm?”
“Trust me, you wanted to hear the music instead of--”
She held her hand up. “Enough of that, thanks.”
He laughed. “I’ve been thoughtful since, haven’t I? Very, very respectful of your 8pm bedtime. The note you left under my door the next morning was particularly… illuminating.”
“I was going for rageful scathing at three in the morning.”
“Yes, that.”
“Maybe next time it’ll be a pleasant breeze-through,” she sniffed. “Maybe I’ll bring you good tidings and cheer.”
“If you must,” he replied. “Anyway, how was the date?”
“How did you--?”
“The sundress,” he said, head tilting to the side.
She looked down at herself, momentarily self-conscious about her choice of attire. But what did it matter what Sidney Parker thought of her or her clothes? He was a revolving door of flings who wouldn’t know chivalry or commitment if it bit him in the ass, bowled him over and hog-tied him to the altar. She’d lived next-door to him long enough to know that full well. Still, his insight on the male species could, from time to time, be helpful.
“It was awful,” she confessed. “We didn’t even make it to the appetizers before he started talking about his ex-wife.”
Sidney snorted. “Was this the one with the daughter--?”
“Yes,” she said, face reddening. Occasionally, if they met in the hall, Sidney would casually ask to see her phone and curate the list of her potential matches. It was his neighborly duty, he said, and Alex Colbourne had been a definitive no. Charlotte had eschewed his advice on account of the proper grammar and was kicking herself for falling for the deception. “And before you say anything, yes, I know: you told me so.”
“I did indeed -- and now look at you, having wasted a perfect Friday evening on a first date.”
It was her turn to snort. “And Clara was supposed to be what, if not a first date?”
“An afternoon,” he replied.
“Ugh,” she gagged. “I say again: asshole. She has my number and is fully intending on using it to return my umbrella -- though I daresay she is more concerned with seeing you than seeing my property safely returned… can’t imagine why…”
“Use your imagination.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Look, say what you want about me -- but I am honest, Heywood. Possibly the only honest man in this god forsaken city of ours. I am nothing but upfront with what I can give, and what I want. I told her I do not want a relationship. I won’t be sending her ‘you up?’ text messages in the middle of the night, or taking her out to restaurants to meet my friends while refusing to call her my girlfriend -- and if Clara chooses to ignore everything I’ve said, I’m sorry, but that is not my issue.”
Every fiber of Charlotte’s being revolted at Sidney’s words -- that a person could be so diametrically opposed to being with someone in a loving, romantic sense they basically came with a warning label and an onboarding packet emblazoned with the words: DO NOT FALL. But he was right. If he really was open and honest… who was she to judge his hedonistic lifestyle?
Looking in the proverbial mirror, she wasn’t any better. She was a perpetual people pleaser -- hell, she stayed in a middling relationship with a man because there hadn’t ever been a reason to leave! Until he chose to leave. She’d even given one of Sidney’s flings her own umbrella because she’d felt bad!
“You’re right,” she sighed, arms falling to her sides.
His expression was that of a man slapped across the face with a dead fish. “I beg your pardon? I’m certain I misheard you.”
“No, really,” she said, “it must be nice to have your priorities all set, and know exactly what you want in life. I don’t think I’ve had a clue about what I really want, ever. I’m jealous, really.”
Sidney’s eyes softened for a moment before he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ve had enough of this sad, lonely shtick of yours. Your entire aura is, for lack of a better term, bumming me the right hell out. You’re going out tonight.”
“But--”
“With me.”
Charlotte shook her head, spluttering. “What? With you? I just got home!”
“You’ve not yet crossed the threshold into your apartment,” he said. “Come on, Sundress. Live a little.”
“I am living, thank you very much,” she replied. Granted, her evening plans had died on the vine before they’d ever had a chance, and the remainder of her plans involved re-watching romantic period pieces. But he didn’t need to know that. “Plus, I barely know you!”
All their interactions had been conducted exactly where they now stood: across the hall from one another by their respective apartments, with the occasional passive-aggressive note taped to one another’s door consisting of noise complaints (Charlotte) and retaliatory observations of the other person (Sidney). Sometimes they met in the lobby getting mail or brushed past one another in the stairwell. It was an unusual quasi-friendship that started the day Charlotte had moved in that vacillated between outright fury and détentes. Clearly, they were now in the throes of an armistice.
He held his hands up. “Fair enough. I won’t twist your arm -- except to say I promise it’ll be fun. Still, I’d choose the bear too,” he replied. “If you change your mind, I’ll be heading out in an hour… and you’ll know where I’ll be.”
With that, he retreated inside his apartment. So did Charlotte.
Inside, she leaned back against the door, heart in her throat. What was she to think? Did she really exude such pathetic singledom that the guy next door couldn’t bear to see it in all its glory for a moment longer?
Maybe it was time to take a page out of Sidney’s playbook and live a little. Clearly, he knew what he was doing; and, more clearly, she really did not. What was the worst that could happen? She bit her lip, and went to change out of the sundress.
She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.