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Later, I spend an hour shopping, buying a couple of sweaters, a cute pajama set, a new blanket, Christmas-themed socks, and two boxes of chocolates.
I deposit my shopping bags in the car and instruct the driver to take me to a hotel not far from Fifth Avenue.
It’s the same place where Francisco, Alejandro, Kai, and I had lunch after our adventurous helicopter ride over Manhattan before spending the afternoon in Alejandro’s hotel room and concluding the evening with a kiss in front of the entrance and a bouquet of roses in my arms.
Why have I chosen this spot of all the nice places in Manhattan?
I have no idea.
A random thought, maybe? I don’t know how random it is. Maybe it has to do with the pang of nostalgia that has coursed through me the entire afternoon.
It’s seven o’clock when I sit at the bar and order a drink.
I left my coat in the car and only took my bag and my phone with me.
Usually, this would be a busy time of the week, but things are a bit different tonight.
Regardless, the atmosphere is pleasant, the magic of the season alive in the little details painting a peaceful, calming, soothing evening.
I have a view of the tables and partly the lobby.
And if I crane my neck, I can even glimpse the ghosts of snow fluttering across the windows.
The first sip of alcohol gives me a quick rush, warming my cheeks and reminding me that I need to eat something too.
I’m not ready to have dinner as I am still dragging my gaze around the place, taking it all in.
Two couples sit at a table. They haven’t ordered food yet, still nursing their drinks. They look like married couples and remind me of my parents.
Farther away, I spot a group of women. They are the loudest in the room and seem carefree, and overly excited––thoroughly entertained. They look like they’re having the best time of their life.
I can’t blame them.
I notice a few single men too. Like me, they have no company and are not interested in having one.
They keep their eyes trained on their phones, and one of them smiles at something flashing across his cell phone screen.
I can’t obsess over my phone. There is nothing I can check right now other than some strangers’ pictures.
As the minutes pass, more people enter the hotel.
People start ordering food, and it’s getting busy at the bar.
I should consider moving to a table or ordering a snack when a group of men makes an entrance.
It’s not a figure of speech.
Cars pull up in front of the hotel, and the parking valets get busy directing the traffic and moving the vehicles.
The guests don’t wear coats––like me––and one of them catches my eye.
No way.
My hand freezes on my cocktail.
What are the odds?
I’m caught in a moment of indecision, unsure whether to leave cash on the counter, forget about eating here tonight and sneaking out of the hotel, or just sit here, hoping he won’t see me.
