First Date

Things weren't off to a great start. Edward could feel cool beads of sweat surfacing on his brow. He chuckled nervously and looked into her distant, glassy eyes. His stomach churned and he felt as though he were falling, his arms and legs flailing as he desperately sought to catch himself.

"I'm really glad you're here with me," he said haltingly, watching her eyes for any indication of reciprocation or even understanding. It felt as though an elephant was standing on his chest and his mind was racing, frantically searching for any possible way to break the ice, thaw her out, or get things moving.

She sat rigid, her back stiff and her hands closed in tight fists at the edges of the arm rests of her chair. From the moment he'd seated her at the table she'd hardly said a word. But by god she was beautiful. Edward stared, captivated by the individual strands of her golden, shimmering hair, marveling at the way the candlelight danced and sparkled off the silky river that flowed down from the crown of her head and over her shoulders, spilling onto her perfect breasts. Though he couldn't lock eyes with her, he could still gaze deep into the rich blue sea around the dark wells of her pupils, falling into the abyss in hopes that he'd never have to return. Even her lips, which were currently dry and unmoving as she hadn't uttered a word all evening, were so enticing and succulent that he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to resist them, longing more than anything for a kiss.

The date had been a long time in the making. The expenses alone had been astronomical. She was not a cheap date. Edward laughed uncomfortably as he recalled the price he'd paid just to get to this one moment. He'd spent countless nights lying awake in bed dreaming of her, and here she was, finally with him and she looked miserable.

"Maybe you don't like Vivaldi?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the stereo. "I can switch to something else, or just turn it off." She stared right through him, unblinking and impassionate. He sucked in a long, wavering breath, wanting desperately to make her comfortable and happy. "You know, conversation is generally easier without music," he said, smiling weakly. In just three bounding, stumbling strides he was at the sound system turning it off before hurriedly throwing himself back into his seat opposite his date, wondering if the train wreck could be recovered.

The oven timer beeped and he let out a tense sigh through a weary smile. "Dinner is almost ready," he offered, trying to sound excited. "I had better go tend to it. Will you be alright alone for a moment?"

Nothing. It almost looked like she was clenching her jaw. But no, she couldn't be, right? He groaned internally and pushed off the table, quickly evacuating the disaster zone. He almost felt like a kid in high school again, rushing away from an intense, difficult class when the bell rang.

He muttered to himself as he worked. "Maybe she's just really hungry," he considered, turning the oven off and throwing it open. "Or maybe she just isn't great at conversation," he mused, donning an oven mitt and pulling out the foil lined baking sheet. The blackened edges of thin plastic didn't look very appealing, but it never did. He peeled it away, revealing the sliced turkey in gravy with steamed vegetables. Even the little brownie had cooked up nice and plump where he'd been instructed to cut away the plastic film. He plated it all up neatly, taking great care to scoop the brownie out without leaving much of the delightfully moist bits in the partitioned plastic tray, then dumped the evidence in the trash bin. She didn't have to know they were having frozen dinners. "Just a minute," he called out from the kitchen, hoping she wasn't getting impatient. Of course, at this point a little impatience over dinner was the least of his concerns.

Carefully, he carried the plates and set one in front of his date. She didn't even look at it, and his heart shattered. Wincing, he set his own plate down opposite hers and sat down. "Well," he said. "Feel free to dig in. I hope you like it." He cocked a nervous smile and stared at her, waiting. He searched the scene, trying to figure out what was wrong. Surely she was hungry. He knew for a fact she hadn't eaten anything in at least six hours.

Then it hit him. He jumped to his feet feeling incredibly ashamed of himself and dashed back to the kitchen. "Silverware," he muttered, exasperated with himself. He rushed back, then quickly turned back around to tear off a couple of paper towels for napkins. He folded one of them, gently set it by her plate, and set the fork down on top of it.

Smiling shamefully he sat back down and took a deep breath. "Look," he said, oozing desperation. "I'm really sorry. I know I haven't been the best host, but I'm really trying. I screw things up, I'm not very good at cooking, and it turns out I'm not the best conversationalist. But I really like you. You are so beautiful. Gorgeous actually. And if you can find it in your heart to give me a chance, I promise I can make you happy. Is there any way you can look past my flaws and try to enjoy the evening with me?"

She just kept looking right through him with that thousand yard stare. He searched her face for any sign that he was getting through to her, but she was stone cold. His broken heart sank. His shoulders slumped, his gaze fell, and he deflated like a flat tire, all of his breath hissing out through his nostrils in defeat.

"Oh my goodness!" he cried, slapping his forehead. "I am such an idiot!" He got up and walked over to her, laughing pitifully and reaching behind her head while she struggled against the ropes keeping her in the chair. "I can't believe I expected you to eat with that gag in your mouth!"