Last Saturday, I arranged to meet Petra at two o’clock at the Rockwood Bakery to talk about a possible relationship. Based on comments she’d made before breaking up with Byron, I believe she and I may have similar views.
I arrived a little early, ordered a drink, and found a secluded table. At 2:20, Petra still hadn’t shown. I didn’t think she’d stand me up, and she lives so close to the Rockwood Bakery. I wondered what was up. I pulled out my phone, and could’ve kicked myself. I forgot to charge it.
After more than a half hour of waiting, I left. As I was walking home, a fellow Flying Irish Running Club member, Gerry Manfred, happened to drive past. He honked, pulled to the side of the road and rolled his window down.
“Jim, what are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m headed home. Why?”
“Petra’s sitting all alone waiting for you.”
At the Rocket Bakery on 14th. She’s been there since two o’clock. She tried calling you. What’s wrong with you?”
“I thought we were meeting at the Rockwood Bakery. May I borrow your phone, Gerry?”
I got hold of Petra and found out I’d said Rocket Bakery when I meant Rockwood Bakery. She told me she’d be right over. Gerry had stopped at The Rocket for coffee and even though he had briefly talked to Petra just once months ago, he recognized her, and they ended up having a lengthy chat.
“Thanks, Gerry,” I said, returning his phone. “You saved the day.”
“Listen, Jim,” Gerry said. “Do the right thing – treat that girl well. She’s a darling.”
“You’re right – she is a darling. I’ll do my best, Gerry.”
He gave me a wave as he drove off, and a few minutes later, Petra arrived.
“Sorry, sweet pea. Totally my bad,” I said.
“It’s all right, oh injured one. Let’s get something to eat.”
In next week’s post, I’ll give details about our conversation.