After the movie picture, she pointed out this quaint, if not quirky, café off of a side street near her apartment. The café was unassuming but lively, with mismatched chairs and a chalkboard menu offering everything from flat whites to avocado toast. Jessica had insisted on this place, calling it “perfect for a afternoon tea.” I would have preferred something more traditional, perhaps a tea room with a sense of gravitas, but her enthusiasm was disarming.
As we approached the counter, I gestured for her to order first. She leaned in, her hair falling slightly into her face as she studied the menu. “I’ll have the avocado toast and a double espresso,” she said confidently.
I hesitated. Avocado toast sounded more like a concept than a meal. When the barista turned to me, I cleared my throat. “Earl Grey tea, please. And biscuits-if you have them.”
Jessica tilted her head, amused. “You mean cookies?”
“No,” I replied evenly. “Biscuits. Proper ones.”
The barista smiled politely, though I detected a flicker of judgment. Jessica suppressed a grin, ordering for us both to simplify matters. As we waited for our food, I followed her to a small table in the corner.
“You ever been to this kind of place before?” she asked, breaking a moment of silence as she unwrapped her utensils.
Her tone was curious, not mocking, but I still tread carefully. “I cannot say it is my usual haunt,” I admitted, glancing around the cozy yet unorthodox decor. “Though I am finding it… stimulating.”
Her lips quirked upward as she took a sip from her mug. “Stimulating. That’s one way to put it.” She paused, studying me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “So, I take it you’re something of an adventurer, then? I mean, you asked me out after our… interesting chat last night, and now here you are, willingly, in a place that looks like it could be a hipster’s living room.”
I hesitated, choosing my words with care. “Jessica, though our initial exchange was… spirited, I found your candor refreshing. You do not hold back, and while that startled me at first, it also intrigued me. Admittedly, I was already far outside of my typical comfort zone.”
Her brow lifted slightly, her amusement deepening. “Most of that ‘spirited exchange’ was me pointing out how different we are. But… I could tell.” She paused, as though weighing her next words. “I could definitely sense you were stepping outside of your comfort zone.”
I considered this, unsure whether to feel flattered or unsettled by her observation. “Indeed? And what, may I ask, led you to this conclusion?”
She leaned forward slightly, her expression softening. “Well,” she began, glancing at me from beneath her lashes, “for starters, you’re definitely not dressed for the Tipsy Beaver. Or for this cafe, for that matter-not unless they’ve recently added a ‘formal Fridays’ policy I missed. And let’s be honest, not every guy would ask a girl out after she’d been as… blunt as I was.”
Her voice carried a faint edge of self-deprecation, and I caught a flicker of vulnerability beneath her teasing tone. “You could’ve written me off completely after last night, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But instead, we attended a matinee for a show I’m guessing wasn’t your usual fare, and now here you are-sitting with me in a café I doubt you’d have even noticed before this afternoon.”
She paused, her smile softening as her eyes met mine. “I think that says something.”
I tilted my head, allowing her words to settle. “And what, pray tell, does it say?”
She smiled, the corners of her lips quirking upward. “That maybe you’re not quite as stuck in your ways as you like people to think. Or, at the very least, you’re willing to bend them when it matters.”
“Ah that does stand to reason, but I confess I found your candor a welcome reprise.,” I said, folding my hands. “You made your differences known with honesty. That, I find, is a rarity.”
She paused, seeming genuinely touched, though her grin returned a moment later. “Well, I hope my honesty hasn’t scared you off yet.”
“Not at all,” I assured her. “Though I must admit, I am navigating this encounter with some trepidation,” And, in what I’m sure was an obvious shift of focus away from myself, “Have you been here before?” I asked.
Her smile turned wistful. “Yeah, as you know it’s quite close to my flat, and I honestly do find the coffee here quite good,” She paused, “I used to come here with a guy I used to know.”
I nodded, sensing a story beneath her casual tone. “Used to know?”
Her eyes flicked to mine. “He was… complicated. Let’s just say he wasn’t great at defining things. Relationships, plans-anything, really. I got tired of waiting for clarity.”
She paused again, her fingers tightening slightly around her cup. “And it’s not just him, you know? It’s everyone these days. Everything’s so… disposable.” Her voice carried a sharper edge now, though she seemed to catch herself. “You meet someone, you swipe left or right, you grab a drink, and then… nothing. No substance, no effort. Just… endless options. Everyone’s so afraid of committing to anything, because what if the next person is better?”
Her words hung in the air for a moment, and I noticed the way her shoulders stiffened slightly, as though bracing herself. Then she took a deep breath, her expression softening again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to go on. It’s just… exhausting sometimes.”
“No need to apologize,” I said quietly, my voice steady. “It sounds… lonely.”
She blinked, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, there was something unguarded in her gaze. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice softer now. “It is. But I guess that’s why I’m here-with you.” Jessica glanced down at her cup, her expression thoughtful. “You know, last night at the bar… I wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be left alone-escape all of that for a bit.” She looked up at me, her lips quirking into a faint smile. “But then there you were, all formal and out of place. And… I don’t know. You don’t feel like everyone else. You don’t feel like someone who’s… waiting for the next swipe.”
“I should hope not,” I replied, managing a small smile. “Though I admit, the concept of ‘swiping’ eludes me entirely.”
That earned a quiet laugh, her mood lifting slightly. “Don’t worry,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not missing much.”
Her openness caught me off guard. It wasn’t just the content of her words but the ease with which she spoke them. I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name-a mix of admiration and an odd yearning for her confidence.
“Well,” I began, lifting my tea, “I hope this outing provides no such ambiguity.”
She laughed. “Oh, you’re refreshingly straightforward most of the time. But you’re also a bit of a mystery—the suit, the phone, the way you talk. It’s like you’re from another era.”
I stiffened slightly, but her tone was curious, not accusatory. “I suppose one could say I find solace in tradition. There is a dignity in adhering to values that withstand time.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, “but why? What’s so scary about modern things?”
Her question was simple, but it felt like a crack in my armor. I fumbled for an answer, not wanting to betray too much. “Modernity,” I began cautiously, “is often transient, frivolous even. Tradition, on the other hand, provides a foundation-a sense of stability.”
Jessica’s gaze lingered on me, searching for more. I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her scrutiny.
“And stability’s important to you?” she pressed gently.
I hesitated, the air between us thickening. For a moment, I considered telling her about the relationship that had left me grasping for control, about the person who had favored freedom over loyalty. But I couldn’t bring myself to speak of it-not yet. “Let us just say,” I offered, “that I find it preferable.”
Her expression softened, though I could tell she wasn’t entirely satisfied with my answer. She tapped the edge of her espresso cup thoughtfully, then leaned forward, her voice taking on a playful tone. “You know, Percival, you really should get a smartphone.”
I tilted my head, feigning mild curiosity. “Oh? And why, pray tell, would I need such a contraption? I have navigated life quite well without one.”
Her smirk widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Because I think you’d find it… useful. For one, you could call me directly.” She let the words hang in the air, her smile teasing. “I might even answer.”
I raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to take her seriously. “Indeed? And what purpose would such calls serve?”
She shrugged, though the mischievous glint in her eyes remained. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps to ask me out for more coffee-or tea, if you insist. Or maybe just to hear my voice. Or, you know, to allow me to call you if I ever want to hear yours.”
Her words were lighthearted, but the subtle undertone sent a faint warmth rising to my cheeks. I adjusted my tie, willing my composure to remain intact. “I see. A smartphone, then, as a tool for courtship. In the meantime, please feel free to call my home anytime.” I slid my card across the table to her.
“Courtship, exactly!” She laughed softly, the sound warm and lilting. Her gaze lingered on mine as she scribbled something on the back of a napkin and slid it toward me. “And here’s my number-for when you decide to catch up with the rest of the world.”
I allowed myself a small, conceding smile as I pocketed the napkin. “Well, Miss Whitaker, you make a persuasive case. I shall give the matter some consideration.”
“Good,” she said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because I think you’d do just fine in the twenty-first century. Think of all the Prime Day deals you’re missing on bow ties and cufflinks.”
Her teasing tone coaxed a quiet laugh from me, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I found myself genuinely considering her suggestion. Perhaps there was more merit to the twenty first century than I had allowed myself to admit.
The conversation lightened after that. She told me more about her life in Boston, her parents, and her dream of making it on Broadway. I listened intently, charmed by her enthusiasm. Her openness was disarming; I couldn’t imagine sharing so much of myself so easily.
She spoke of her family and upbringing, painting a picture so vastly different, so utterly foreign to my own, that any attempt to draw comparisons felt futile. Yet, despite the unfamiliarity, there was a warmth and a sincerity in her words that stirred an unbidden pang of envy within me. Her tales carried the kind of affection and openness that, to my ears, seemed almost unattainable.
In my own youth, propriety and decorum were the unyielding pillars of our household. Emotion, while not explicitly forbidden, was regarded as a private indulgence, not to be paraded in public view. Vulnerability was a liability, not a virtue. And yet, here was Jessica-candid, unguarded, her words imbued with a disarming honesty. As she spoke, I found myself captivated, not merely by the content of her revelations but by the manner in which she laid them bare.
It was in that moment, as I listened, that I became acutely aware of something profound. There, in her openness, I discovered emotions stirring within me-feelings so unexpected, so uncharted, that I scarcely recognized myself. Jessica was not simply recounting her life; she was awakening within me a part I had long since thought dormant, a part that yearned not just to understand but to connect.
Her laughter was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite my reluctance. Perhaps there was merit in exploring her world, even if it felt entirely alien to mine.
As we left the café, she looped her arm through mine. “This was nice,” she said, her voice soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you, Percival.”
“And I dare say, Jessica,” I replied, glancing at her with a rare sense of ease, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”
For the first time in years, I felt a glimmer of something I couldn’t name-something both unsettling and exhilarating. Perhaps tradition and modernity weren’t mutually exclusive. Perhaps, if I dared, they could coexist.