Louise held her head in her hands as she sat in the toilet of the Italian restaurant. The date had gone badly. She’d spilt wine over his shirt, accidentally insulted him in the process, choked on a mushroom and tripped over a waitress- all in the first ten minutes.
He had spouted some lousy excuse about twelve minutes into the date and practically scampered out of the door after another two.
Life was not going well for Louise. This was the sixth time in three weeks that she’d ended up in the toilet of ‘La Fontana’, lost for words at how unhappy she was.
Truth be told, she’d only noticed the number -07950178465- scrawled across the wall, in red sharpie, after the third time she’d found herself in this cubicle.
She hadn’t even thought of calling it. Why would she? But by that sixth disastrous date, temptation got the better of her. Why bloody not? Her night really couldn’t get much worse anyway, call it!
Dialling the numbers, she sighed, unsure why she was even bothering, and lifted the phone to her ear.
After just one ring, there was an answer.
“Are you in the restaurant? I’ve been waiting for your call.” asked a man’s voice.
“What? Yes. How did you-”
“There’s no time for that, just come outside. They’re all waiting!” said the man, insistently.
Louise hung up, and walked- speechless- out of the cubicle, through the restaurant, and into the street.
Gasping as she saw the man, phone in hand, sitting in his silver convertible, she had a thought. Maybe this would be an interesting night after all...
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