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Language:
English
Series:
Part 3 of February Ficlets 2019
Collections:
February Ficlet Challenge 2019
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Published:
2019-03-01
Words:
404
Chapters:
1/1
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4
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200
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8
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Twenty Minutes

Summary:

Not the first time Eric's seen someone stood up in the café and it won't be the last, but it never gets any easier to watch.

Notes:

Prompt #4: "Blind Date"

Does it count as a blind date if they sort of meet online but don't really know anything about each other? Seems like it should.

Work Text:

Eric’s been keeping an eye on the awkward looking man in the corner ever since he walked in.  He keeps glancing between his drink and the door, as if he’s waiting for someone.  Not the first time he’s seen someone stood up in the café and it won’t be the last, but it never gets any easier to watch.  Twenty minutes is usually the time where he steps in, and the clock is just ticking over from nineteen.  He picks up an extra handful of napkins and heads over to the little table.

“You want a slice of pie while you’re waiting, hon?”

“Oh, I, uh…”  The stranger looks a little embarrassed.  “That’s too much sugar for me.”

Then why in the world did you agree to meet with whoever you’re supposed to be meeting in a bakery? Eric doesn’t ask.  He just keeps a bright smile painted on his face.  “Of course,” he says, turning on his heel to walk back to the counter.

“Do you have anything healthier?” Jack asks, bringing the good-looking employee around to face him again.  Maybe it’s rude—coming on a blind date and falling for the barista—but so is showing up twenty minutes late for said blind date.  The longer he’s been sitting here without so much as a peep from JJ_0, the less bad he’s felt about ogling the cute blond.

“Well, there are some protein bites,” the other man says, wrinkling his nose just a little.  “Not our nicest option, but we’ve always got some left over.”

“What would you recommend?” Jack asks.

“Seeing as you’re not interested in the pie—”

“Maybe a small slice?” Jack interrupts, which is probably even ruder.  This is not a good day for manners; he’s trying hard not to think about it.  The blond man arches an eyebrow.

“You’re Canadian,” he says.  “That accent.”

“As if you have room to talk, eh?” Jack asks, gently mocking him.  He hopes it’s gentle.  Flirting is not his purview.  Since the blond man smirks, he thinks it’s working.

“I’ve got just the thing for you, then.  What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Jack.”

John Johnson rises from the outside table at the diner across the street from the bakery he’d selected as the perfect meeting spot.  Sometimes you need to give someone a room, sometimes you need to give them a first meeting.  It all depends on what universe you find yourself in.

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