The Meet Cute: 50 Plates of Brunch III

(If you’re new to 50 Plates make sure to read Part I and II as well as the synopsis up top)

         Sidney was standing in the romance section at the local Barnes and Noble, perusing the titles–each more ridiculous than the last and debating on purchasing one as a good “pool read.” For such an activity, books that required no real brain work were much preferred. Distracted by one particularly ludicrous title and the hero whose flowing locks were longer than the half naked, fainting heroine on the cover, she failed to notice the other person walking hurriedly down the aisle. When she stepped back, shaking her head at the brief synopsis on the cover, she bumped into something–someone. She turned, an apology on her lips, crimson filling her cheeks and stared up into familiar blue eyes.
      “I’m so terribly sorry,” she stuttered, eternally grateful she wasn’t holding any of the books she had been perusing.
      “My fault,” he said with a brilliant smile.
      She thought she saw his eyes flicker with recognition.
      “Do I…know you?” he asked, his brows coming together over his perfectly straight nose as he looked down at her.
      “I eat at House of Brunch quite a bit,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat again, fully aware that it was not in the attractive, romance novel rosy sense, but the beet red of a particularly intense workout.
      “Oh of course! You always order Earl Grey tea,” he smiled again and Sidney felt a dangerous flutter in her stomach.
      “Yes. I love House of Brunch,” she said lamely, lamenting her lapse in wit.
      “Glad to hear it! I think we do a pretty good job,” he looked around. “Did I interrupt your shopping?” He raised an eyebrow at the shelves around them.
      “No, no,” Sidney panicked for a moment. “I was just walking through on my way to the coffee shop. I have a friend who always stops in this aisle and tries to find the most ridiculous title.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.
      “I see. Find any candidates?” he laughed.
      “Too many to count,” she smiled tentatively. She looked at the stack of books under his arm, several crime novels, a cook book, and a book on Ireland. “You look like you need a shopping cart.”
      “I will if I pick out anything else,” he smiled ruefully, shifting the books so that he had a better grip. He thrust out his hand. “I’m Damien.”
      “I’m Sidney,” she took his hand and wondered if she was the only one that felt the buzz of electricity as their skin touched.
      “Nice to meet you, Sidney.”
      “You too, Damien.”
      “Well, I’d better get going, I have to get ready for the dinner shift in an hour,” he sounded almost regretful. “Don’t get too attached to the coffee shop here, Sidney. I’d hate to lose you to a chain like this.”
      “Don’t worry, I won’t,” she said, far too enamored with listening to him say her name. “Have a good evening at the restaurant,” she said as he turned to leave.
      “Thanks, you have a nice night, too,” he grinned back at her.
     She stood in the romance aisle staring at his retreating back until she realized she had not moved for several minutes. Abandoning the lurid, brightly colored shelves, she walked purposefully towards the crime section. She had been meaning to read some crime novels and those would make appropriate poolside reads as well. The bright red lettering on the cover of a book displayed on the end-cap caught her eye. It was the same book Damien had been carrying. Well, it was by an author she recognized and it was on the New York Times Bestseller list according to the sign. Plus, one of the store employees–named Stan–had given it 3 stars out of 4. Really, what other endorsement could she need? She picked the book up and walked purposefully to the register, refusing to give the romance aisle another glance.

50 Plates of Brunch, Part II


The invitation to go to brunch was one Sidney couldn’t refuse, and when she casually suggested the House of Brunch and it was accepted, she was overjoyed.  She stood in front of her closet, discarded outfits scattered at her feet as she tried one shirt and then the next.  It was brunch, so she did not want to look too put together–that would be too obvious, but she definitely needed to improve over the bedraggled, hungover state in which she had made her previous appearance.  She finally settled on leggings, tall brown boots, and an oversized blue sweater.  She spent fifteen minutes perfecting the messy bun atop her head and wavered on whether to put in her contacts or leave on her glasses.  She knew her glasses made her face look thinner and she always got compliments on the frames.  Glasses it was.  The buzz of her iPhone on the dresser announced the arrival of Monica and Richard, her usual companions for the decadent meal between breakfast and lunch.  Sidney hoped Richard would be ordering the pitcher of bottomless mimosas today.  She slid into the backseat of Richard’s massive SUV and was acknowledged briefly before the two began arguing.  Sidney checked her twitter feed, nothing new.

They arrived at House of Brunch and Sidney swiftly scanned the open kitchen, looking for his wavy brown hair and gorgeous smile.  Her heart sank when she did not see him anywhere and she ordered her pancakes in a listless tone and couldn’t muster more than a half-hearted smile when Richard ordered the bottomless mimosas and grinned at her.  She sat twirling her fork as she waited for the food to arrive, not really listening to Monica as she complained about her three roommates in turn.  Sidney was used to the complaints; whenever one or more of them was present they would gang up on whichever roommate was absent.  She was watching a young couple leaning over their omelets and coffee to smile and murmur to each other when she caught sight of someone walking in the back door.  He was carrying a large ice-chest that was obviously heavy and she could see the tightening of his shoulder muscles under his butter-soft American Apparel v-neck as he hoisted it onto the gleaming silver table at the back.

“Ice is here,” he announced to the kitchen staff, running a hand through his coffee brown hair and smiling at his employees.

Sidney almost dropped her fork when the waiter appeared in her line of sight and set her steaming pancakes down in front of her.  She mumbled her thanks and tried to ignore the flush rising in her cheeks.  Richard splashed a generous portion of frothy, frozen mimosa into her cup and she took a gulp, feeling the slushy mixture of champagne and orange juice trickle down her throat.  She glanced back at the kitchen over the edge of her cup and watched as he took his place at the register. He was handing a customer their receipt when he caught her eye over the man’s shoulder. He smiled and gave her a slight nod of recognition.  Sidney told herself it was the bottomless mimosas that left her feeling weightless and giddy by the end of brunch, but she knew that was only partly the case.