The Tales of a Future Hockey Wife

Chapter 17: It's Not A Date

~Eleanor~

He shows up at the bookstore at five before five. Punctual, I see. Seeing him wait for me outside the bookstore makes me think about Ben and I's first date. After we spent the night talking at the bar after the game, he asked me out for dinner and a movie, a classic when you're 16. He took me to the Boston Pizza in Victoria. Since I had my license and he didn't, the adequate way to put it would be I took him to Boston Pizza in Victoria. I showed up in front of his parents' small bungalow right on time, my dad's van's dashboard indicated a quarter to six. I texted him to tell him I was in front of his house, but he didn't show up until five minutes later. He pretexted an argument with his father, but I saw him tie his shoes after buckling his seatbelt. He looked good, he was probably wearing a button-up shirt he usually wore on game night, but I didn't care. We were only going to Boston Pizza and he dressed up. How could I not fall for such a sweet gesture, I was only sixteen after all. Sasha's face brings me out of my trip down memory lane. She is waving her hands in my face to get my attention.

"It's three past five, you can go now. Have fun with the Harry Potter fan." So, she noticed too. I'm glad I wasn't the only one who looked at a stranger's socks. I go pick up my coat and my purse in the back store. I wave to Sasha before opening the front door. I greet him with a wave that he reciprocates.

"I thought we could go to Starbucks," I shake my head vigorously. No way am I going to Starbucks. "Or somewhere else if you prefer." He chuckles, his tone playful. 

"If you want coffee, we can go to Tim Hortons. You'll see, once you taste Tim's coffee, you'll never set foot in a Starbucks again." He rolls his eyes. I start walking in the direction of the closest Tim Hortons. Luckily, like in any town in Canada, there is a Tim Hortons on every corner.

"You're a true Canadian I see." If he wants to go there, I'll show him.

"It's not because I live in a tipi, use beaver skins to warm up during winter, and ride a dog sleigh that I am a true Canadian," I wink at him when he opens the café's door. "Where are you from anyway?" We get in line. There is only an old man in front of us. I listen to him ask the cashier about which between the Honey Cruller or the Boston Cream is the best donut.

"New York," My eyes widen, and I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it. "And before you ask, I am here for work." Work? Maybe I got his age wrong and this guy is a lot older than me even though he doesn't look like it. The old man decided on the Cruller for its funny shape. He hands her money, and after receiving his donut and his coffee, he sits at a small table where a woman is already sitting. I watch him split the donut and give half to the woman. She takes a bite and sets it on a napkin. I can't hear what he asks her, but she nods. He smiles at her and I recognize it even though I never met this man in my life because Ben looks at me the same way. His love for her shines through his smile. I find myself smiling too as I walk up to the cashier to order.

"I'll have the Apple Fritter and a small decaf with two sugars please." It's already five, so if I want to sleep tonight, I better stick to decaf. She turns towards Liam who ends up ordering a Canadian Maple and a latte. He winked when the word "Canadian" crossed his lips making me laugh. He pays, like a gentleman, even though I told him I could pay for my half. He brushed me off with a shake of his hand. We sit at a table close to the old couple. The woman is already done with her half, but she denies when her husband asks her if she would like to have his. They're so cute. I want to be like them when I'm older. I want to share donuts and coffees with my husband, is that too much to ask? I hope not. I try and think of the last time Ben and I shared something like a donut or a coffee, but I can't recall a time when he didn't want his own food. Maybe it is too much to ask after all. I hide my frown by taking a bite of my Apple Fritter.