The next couple of minutes are spent with the cashier battling with my card and the , which I consider to be at fault, until I can no longer sustain the anxiety and . Well, it seems like she got fed up with forcing the card on the stupid machine , because she spoke before I did.
"My apologies for this, Miss Riccaford, but it is not working either."
Shoot! What now?
"You can pay in cash, miss." She adds, handing me my card, which I take humbly, it for a brief moment.
Gosh! I do not have any cash. I was never used to carrying cash all my life.
"Ahh, you see, I..." Shit! what do I tell this fool? I am sure she is already doubting I am truly Miss Riccaford! What kind of embarrassment is this one now?
"Is anything the matter?"
Double shit! That voice!
I turn around to see Damian towering over me from behind, and I try to swallow my .
"Her cards are not working, sir." The cashier does the honors of elucidating my , grinning broadly at Damian, and swaying her bosom from side to side.
What a cheap flirt!
I was about to snap at her that it is their fucking machine that is not functioning; it be old, hence the malfunction, but Damian beat me to it. "It's alright. I'm with lady. We will pay with mine." He says, fishing out his card from his wallet and it to the cashier, whose flirtatious gestures have halted, while I toss mine in my pulse, albeit with embarrassment.
This is just the height of it. I mean, I brought him out for the treat, and he ends up the bill? I have been flaunting to him how loaded I am, and now I can't even for a simple meal. Goodness! What the hell happened to my cards?
"Please input the pin, sir."
As the cashier gives Damian the go-ahead, I arch my brows and feel a tingle of run down my spine. That means that his card worked, huh? What, in the of God, is wrong with mine then?
As I wait for him to complete the transaction, I sigh and cast my eyes around the , not really paying any attention to anyone in particular. I feel awful. The bank to be ready for my yelling tomorrow.
"Let's go." Damian whispers, holding my hand and leading me out of the hotel.
I am so dead quiet as we amble and hop into his car. The night is screaming with a -tickling sound that I don't want to hear. It's making my ears itch.
"Are you okay?" he asks, concern flickering in his eyes as he twists the key in the .
"How can I be?" I snap, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.
"Calm down. I'm sure the problem will be sorted out tomorrow once you talk to your ," he consoles, his hand reaching out to comfort me, resting gently on my thigh.
"Sure. But this was my treat, and I embarrassed you. It's so humiliating, you know," I , feeling the weight of disappointment settle over me like a heavy blanket.
"It's alright. There's always next time, Ellie," he reassures, his voice steady and .
"Okay," I say, exhaling deeply, trying to let go of the embarrassment and frustration cling to me like stubborn shadows.
"So, are you ready for the third cooking lesson tonight?" he asks, a playful glint in his already steering the conversation towards brighter prospects.
Aaaw! The lessons are superb. In the two days we have spent in his home tinkering ingredients and creating delectable meals, I have developed a passion for . Yes, I preferred cooking over his other insane proposal, and I'm pleased I . I can't help but be lured by the delicious aroma of the ingredients and dishes we prepared.
"Sure. What are we making tonight?" I ask joyously, almost leaping from my seat excitement, and he smiles.
"Mmh. How about a cake?"
"A cake? Wouldn't that take a whole night?" I ask with concern, and his chuckles echo a hoarse but faint sound in this Lamborghini.
The smile, huh? The dimples have it tonight! "Not really. A maximum of one and a hours from the mixing to the baking, and we will have our cake smiling at us. We do the icing tomorrow if you want." He explains, and I smirk at my obliviousness.
Such a dumbass I am!
I thought cakes took hours to prepare. I can't wait to be proven wrong. "I? It should be . I mean, you will be up early for work tomorrow." I state.
"Naah. I'm a good night runner."
Ah, I see!
"Alright. Let's go, then. I still think you should get enough sleep. You are not a robot!"
I state, and he grins as we pull out of the parking lot with some Crystal Gyles buzz. I 't want to lose you, love, playing in the stereo. Weird! Of all the songs in the , we should not be listening to this one, but I make no complaints about that.
Matters of the heart suck right now, though! I would circumvent hearing even that alone for now if I could. But I don't have a choice, because love is everywhere.
You see couples on the roads, on TV, and on the internet; there is just no way of things that will remind you of love. All I can do is lament inwardly, feeling I am drowning in a sea of romantic reminders.
His hand hugging my thigh brings my mind back, and I grin at him, resting my hand the top of his to reassure him that I am alright. Together, we hit the road back , escaping momentarily from the relentless onslaught of lovey-dovey imagery embracing our own unique brand of companionship.