The Ex

CHAPTER ONE

New York is the city of contradictions. Thrilling and exhausting; overwhelming and inspiring. Having lived here my whole life, I cannot imagine living anywhere else in this world. I admire the beautiful view of Madison Avenue in the floor-to-ceiling window before me. In the distance, the Saturday evening traffic snakes up the busy street. From my high vantage point, tiny individuals walk with purpose while bright lights enrich the lively thoroughfare.

Looking up, my gaze catches on the reflection of my vibrant emerald evening dress. Brushing a strand of my chestnut hair behind my ear, I swallow hard when my attention stills on my lifeless brown eyes. My blank stare reminds me that the contentment in all aspects of my life is at odds with my need for excitement.

"Charlotte, how's the pinot noir?"

Turning my head in the direction of the voice, my immediate surroundings come back into focus. I smile warmly at my boyfriend, Paul, who sits opposite me in the dimly lit corner of one of our favorite restaurants, Le Petit Chateau. "It's perfect, babe."

"How was your day?" he asks between mouthfuls of chicken confit.

I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath, feeling satisfied after overindulging on one of my favorite meals, boeuf bourguignon. "It was very productive. The new menu has been finalized."

Paul wipes his mouth and drops the napkin into his lap, "that's great news."

"I have to go in early tomorrow to organize a few last details of the renovation. Can you believe the grand re-opening is only two weeks away?" I reach for my wine and take a large sip.

"Time has flown. When we first met you were a junior chef with the dream of owning and running your own restaurant. Now look at you..." he waves his hand in my direction.

I grin widely, "my dream has finally come true."

"And I am so proud of everything you have achieved, Charlotte."

I reach out over the table and hold his hand, "thanks, babe."

Removing his hand from mine, he takes a large sip of wine. The movement prompts a golden lock of hair to fall over his light blue eyes. His normally calm demeanor is non-existent as he fidgets with his navy tie and gazes out the window, seemingly deep in thought.

"Is everything alright? You seem flustered," I say, voicing my concern.

I see the shadow of anxiety in his eyes as they meet mine. He quickly replaces the grim line of his full lips with an easy smile. "Of course. I just had a big day at work."

I flash an encouraging smile in the hopes of coaxing him into voicing his worries, "did you want to talk about it?"

"All I want is to enjoy a lovely dinner with my beautiful girlfriend."

My intuition tells me something more than work is concerning him but I don't want to ruin this wonderful night. I make a mental note to bring this up with him later and return his smile.

With me owning a restaurant, and Paul working as a financial adviser at a large corporation, we have very little time for ourselves. Communication between us has become almost as non-existent as our sex life but we appreciate the little time we have together. Predictable is a word that can be used to describe Paul and me perfectly. Predictability is a good thing though, isn't it? Our almost four-year relationship may not be filled with an all-consuming passion and the way we live separate lives concerns me, but we are comfortable. Comfort is all I need. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

My thoughts are interrupted by the waiter who approaches our table, "Monsieur and Mademoiselle, can I get you anything for dessert?"

"Can we please have the chocolate soufflé?" Paul answers immediately, ordering my favorite dessert to share as we have done countless times before. "Would you like anything else, honey?"

"That sounds perfect, thank-you" I say with an approving nod.

The waiter grins and briskly walks away. My attention shifts from our easy conversation to the live band that begin to play romantic French music that usually accompanies a marriage proposal. After witnessing numerous restaurant proposals over the course of eleven years in this business, the novelty has completely worn off. The accordion, guitar, and French horn players begin to make their way through the restaurant.

"It's my favorite part of the evening when an unsuspecting woman gets to live out one of the most memorable moments of her life with a room full of strangers." I continue after a sip of wine, "how embarrassing would it be to spend such a private moment in front of all these people? And do not get me started on the originality of it all."

I start to giggle and look over at Paul whose already fair skin tone has gone as pale as the white tablecloth set before us. A look of humiliation sits on his face. The shadow cast by the candlelight positioned in the center of our small table emphasizes the tension in his every muscle. The carefree smile I wore only seconds ago disappears as I stare at Paul in confusion. The realization hits me at the same time that the band of men stops directly before us. The feeling of pure delight that usually accompanies the delivery of a scrumptious souffle is replaced with uneasiness when I look down and see a little black box placed beside it.

Maybe predictable isn't the right word to describe us after all.

Thank you for taking the time to read The Ex: Chapter one!

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