A coffee date

I answer your messages to meet you at a coffee shop. You are dressed well without looking formal. The clothes you are wearing fit your style. Our mutual understanding is to just have a chat in a neutral location. I order a hot caramel macchiato. You order a hot coffee latte. Afterwards, we find a spot in the corner at a bar stool table. At first, I am nervous about talking, but you make it so easy to feel good. It almost feels like a date. Maybe it is. My friends have been pushing me to just go have a social life.

You are a Financial Controller at a software company, which I only realize at this meeting. As successful as you are, you clearly made efforts to downplay the role in your company during our messages, demonstrating your confidence without needing the superficial admiration from others. As a matter of fact, your demeanour suggests to me that you don't hold money above other people. I appreciate that though. On the contrary, I am wearing a nicer looking blouse and a skirt combination. As someone who did not grow up rich, I made it my priority to dress nicer than my actual status.

I drink my coffee as I am listening to your answers to my questions. I am observing your every expression, like I am assessing you. Despite the fact that you probably see me doing this, you continue being casual, which impresses me. However, as I stay here longer with you, I begin to feel my insecurities creeping in. No matter how much of a front I put up, I begin to doubt whether or not I am even good enough to talk to someone like you.

When you ask me questions about who I am, I muster as much pride as I could muster. I decide to disclose that my husband is cheating on me. I describe to you the answering machine calls, the emails, and the perfume smell whenever he comes home. Despite this, you listen to me seemingly without judging me. By the time I had revealed almost everything about me within three minutes, you tell me sternly that you're looking to have fun with someone, but not if I make myself unavailable. Afterwards, you kiss me on the cheek and turn to leave. That's when I stop you and look into your eyes, pleading you not to leave. I feel so **** at this point. Maybe that is your plan and I am playing right into it, whether I want to or not.