Waiting At The Bar: Write On Edge

All she could think about was getting to O’Hare, through security, and to the bar closest to the departure gate for LaGuardia. The spot.

Gabby was sitting on a stool, absorbed in thought as a fabulously dressed businessman asked, “Is this seat taken?”

Geeze! Not now, she thought.

Gabby never gave off the vibe of approachability. Yet it still happened. Only brave and secure men attempted to penetrate her aloof exterior. Those who made a genuine attempt were usually rewarded with a smile and simple conversation.

Ugghhhhh!

She wanted to spend these precious moments thinking about her plans but Joe, the businessman, kept pressing. “Where’re you going?” “Going alone?” “Why isn’t he here then?”

Gabby was getting a migraine. The Pinot Noir wasn’t helping and Extra Strength Tylenol wasn’t touching it.

Joe had a valid point.

Where the hell was he?

Nowhere in her practical and rational mind did she ever think they'd carry out this plan. Always playing around in an innocently suggestive manner. Scheming, putting together wish lists, bucket lists and everything close friends do.

Were they fooling themselves thinking men and women could truly be just that? Friends.

“May I buy you a glass of wine?” Joe asked.

Glancing at her watch, Gabby had 20 minutes before she was due to board.

“Thank you.” She said quietly. Proceeding to stare into the deep red liquid never raising the glass to her lips and never saying another word to Joe.

Every few seconds, she flipped her wrist to glance at the minute hand. Talk about moving at a snail’s pace. Her brain, however, was in overdrive working through the entire scenario of how she arrived here; on this stool, talking with stranger and waiting for a man who might never come.

It was his idea to tag along on her business trip then make a weekend out of it. He secured tickets to the hot new Broadway play, researched and made all the dinner reservations, planned their walking itinerary through Central Park to The Met.

And now HE’S the one chickening out? All along, he teased and accused her of being the one who would.

God! This is embarrassing. Being stood up by a “friend” no less.

Hearing, “Boarding all rows for flight #344.”

She swung her long legs off the stool, stood, and began her walk of shame to the gate. As she got closer, she glanced up and saw that familiar gait approaching her with his head hanging down.

“Hey you!” Gabby shouted.

Surprised, Will smiled broadly, “I waited at the bar over there for over an hour.”

“And I was at that bar.” Gabby pointed back laughing at her stupid doubt.