Page 22 of I see you Beauty

So I throw the blanket aside, reach for my cell phone, and google something. When I find what I’m looking for, I text my husband, asking him to take me to dinner on Saturday. The restaurant we used to love when we were a young couple is still open, and I think it would be a good idea for us to start anew.

I already know Thomas will turn up his nose when he reads the message because this cute little Italian restaurant no longer meets his high expectations. But back when we first met, neither of us had much money. This cozy restaurant around the corner was all we needed to spend a lovely evening. I want the feeling of that time back, the fun we enjoyed so much.

I fervently hope that Thomas will take the hint and agree. After a few minutes of nervously staring at my screen, he replies.

It would be my pleasure!

I read the message with a grin, then step out of my hiding place. I’ve spent enough depressing hours under the covers. Now, it’s time to get back to life.

I make up the bed with a small smile before showering to start the day. I look forward to seeing my husband tonight, but even more so to our dinner on Saturday evening. Because I know everything will change from now on. I will be happy again, as will Thomas. We will sort out our problems, and then everything will be fine.

“Are you ready, Cora?” Thomas asks from the bedroom while I get ready in the adjoining bathroom.

It’s Saturday night, and we’re about to go on our date, which I’ve been looking forward to for the last few days.

“Yes. But I’ll only come out if you promise me we’ll actually go this time,” I joke and join him in the bedroom.

Thomas shakes his head with a grin.

“Then you definitely should have worn something else, darling.”

I return his smile and take another look at myself in the mirror as I put on my stud earrings—white gold, matching my watch and wedding ring. I’m also wearing a black off-the-shoulder cocktail dress and matching high heels in the same color. For once, I’m wearing my brown curls down. My outfit is, therefore, not too chic for the small restaurant and yet chic enough to catch my husband’s eye.

I step up to Thomas to kiss him before taking him by the hand and dragging him out of our bedroom because we’re definitely going out for dinner today. Everything else has to wait until later.

On the way there, Thomas tells me about his day and something about his clients. Never too much, of course, although I am curious about one or two of them.

“Does the restaurant still exist?” he asks me as he turns into the parking garage to safely park his sacred Mercedes. After all, we’re not exactly in the best part of town, but he’s being a bit dramatic.

“According to Google, yes.”

A grumble follows, signaling that he’s already losing his good mood instead of enjoying our time together. Well, I guess I’ll have to be in a good enough mood for both of us, because I refuse to let anything or anyone ruin this evening.

But a few minutes later, when we stand in front of the closed restaurant door, things suddenly take a different turn. Jesus Christ!

“Wonderful. The shabby place is closed because of a burst pipe,” Thomas grumbles to himself and gives me an ‘I-told-you-so’ look.

I take a deep breath, realizing there’s no point in both of us being in a bad mood and snapping at each other.

“Then let’s look for another Italian restaurant. I’m sure there’ll be another one around here,” I encourage him and take his hand, smiling carefully, to pull him along with me.

He follows me reluctantly before he accepts his fate, and we stroll down the street to look for a suitable alternative. It’s a shame because this restaurant has a special meaning, at least for me. I don’t know how many times Thomas took me here to eat. Back then, it also had the best pizza in town, or maybe we talked ourselves into it, but I still have many fond memories of this place.

“What about this one?”

I point to a pizzeria. We stop in front of the window and look inside. It looks nice and is well-frequented.

Thomas nods, and I pull him inside, beaming with joy. Once inside, we encounter the typical Italian ambiance: soft music and the delicious smell of food wafting into our nostrils. A friendly server shows us to an empty table in an alcove further back. Thomas’s expression softens as we walk through the restaurant, and he begins to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere.

Suddenly, just before we reach our seats, Thomas stops and turns his head.

“Ha, look. Isn’t that our dear neighbor on a date?”

“What?” My voice comes out sharp, and I follow Thomas’s gaze to where he’s pointing.

Sure enough, I see him—a couple of tables away from us. Ezra is kissing a young, very young woman. They’re sitting in one of the alcoves slightly opposite ours so you can see their table perfectly. Ezra has scooted close to her, resting his arm on the backrest, and, much to my regret, is still kissing her senseless. My lips immediately tingle at the sight, and I don’t know whether I’m burning with longing or jealousy. God! No! I’m here with my husband to have a lovely evening. You won’t interfere with my plans!

“He seems to be having a nice evening,” I reply with a relaxed smile.

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