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I hesitated, feeling a familiar flutter of nervousness. “I don’t know, Zara. What if…”
Zara interrupted, her voice firm yet encouraging. “No ‘what ifs’. Remember, ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ Go for it, girl. I’ll be right here cheering you on.”
“Fineeeee… If you insist,” I muttered, and Zara winked in my direction.
Taking a deep breath, I mustered my courage from somewhere deep down inside me. I could do this. Pulling back my shoulders and lifting my chin, I slid off my stool, smoothed down my dress, and took a tentative step towards the stranger.
With as much confidence as I could muster, I walked up to the man, my heart pounding in my chest. He looked up from his drink, his smile broadening as I approached.
“Hi,” I managed to say, trying to sound more self-assured than I felt.
“Hello,” he replied, his voice warm. “Can I help you with something?”
Taking a deep breath, I introduced myself. “I’m Morgan. I just… thought I’d come over and say hi.”
He chuckled, a sound that was both friendly and disarming. “Well, hi, Morgan. I’m Ethan. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me?” I asked, trying not to paint my hope into every syllable of my voice.
“No disrespect, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly my type…” he answered, his face looking a bit uneasy.
“Your type?”
“My type is… well… men,” he said, flinching a little as he spoke.
“Oh, my bad! Enjoy your night then!” I squeaked, my cheeks flaming with heat.
Quickly, I retreated back to Zara, a wilted smile on my face.
“What happened?” she asked, her eyebrows raising with curiosity.
“So, Mr. Potentially Perfect is indeed perfect,” I began, catching Zara’s expectant gaze, “but for another man.”
Zara’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she let out a hearty laugh. “You’re kidding! My gaydar must be officially on the fritz!”
“Hey, there’s always the next guy,” I said, scanning the room. My eyes landed on someone who seemed promising. “What about him?” I nodded towards a man who appeared to be alone, nursing a drink at a nearby table.
Zara squinted, assessing the new prospect. “Hmm, Mr. Mysterious Solo? Why not? Go for it, Morgan.”
Encouraged by her enthusiasm, I approached the man, hoping this interaction would go better than the last. “Hi, I’m Morgan,” I said with a friendly smile.
The man looked up, his expression unreadable. “Hello,” he replied curtly, not offering his name in return.
Undeterred, I tried to start a conversation, asking about his drink choice. His responses were short, his demeanor cold. It quickly became clear he wasn’t interested in chatting. After a few awkward attempts at conversation, I excused myself and returned to Zara, feeling a bit deflated.
“Let me guess,” Zara said, seeing my expression, “Mr. Mysterious Solo was more Mr. Ice-Cold Hermit?”
“Yeah, something like that,” I sighed, taking a sip of my wine.
“You know what we need? A change of scenery. This wine bar is classy, but it’s not doing us any favors tonight. How about we hit a nightclub and go dancing instead?”
I hesitated for a moment, the comfort of the wine bar’s mellow atmosphere appealing to my more introverted side, but then, the image of us letting loose on a dance floor and forgetting my failed attempts at flirtation seemed like the perfect remedy to close out the night.
“You know what? You’re right,” I said, finding a newfound enthusiasm bubbling within me. “Let’s do it. Let’s go dancing!”
Zara’s face lit up. “That’s the spirit! There’s this new place I’ve been dying to check out. Supposedly, they have the best DJ in town and a dance floor that’s out of this world.”
“Who knows,” I said, embracing the unpredictability of the night, “maybe my luck will turn around.”
