My arms were filled with bread
, the first time I saw her, which was somehow appropriate
A restaurant is a hot and sweaty place, both literally and figuratively and with a staff turnover as high as anywhere there were always new faces to see.
I first noticed her hair. Not suprising as I tower a foot over her.
"You must be Matt"
How does she know my name? She looked up at me, dangerously pretty. I started to unload the hot loaves of sourdough and confirm my name. I'm already smitten.
She tells me her uncle used to be my boss at a bakery I worked in. This is how she knows my name.
I'm a little suprised at this point. Why am I so in awe of this girl? Yes, she's pretty, but so are dozens of girls who I manage to talk to without blushing and mumbling like a 14 year old girl meeting the Backstreet Boys. I feel defensive. She tells me her name.
She pronounces it to rhyme with teen, not Tyne.
I reply honestly,
"That's a beautiful name"
My flatmate floors me by inviting her for dinner at our house, and over noodles, sea bass (liberated from work) and tarte tatin (my trump card, I must like her), I discover that she...
I haven't seen this girl since 1999, but she is my girl on the Jersey ferry. This is the girl I named my company after.