A gust of cold air wrapped around my cheeks as I pushed the lobby door open. Waiting in front of the door and leaning against his black car was a trim and polished looking Jackson in a dark blue button down shirt and black pants. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, but he soon straightened his posture as he saw me walking towards him.

"Hey," He greeted with a smile, walking around his car to open the door for me. He was perfect.

"Hey," I parroted, grinning at him. "Thank you," I stated as I slid into the car, tugging my dress down my thighs. I smoothed my clammy hands down my legs. What if he wants to hold my hand? I smoothed them one more time for added measure.

Jackson walked around the front of the car and slid smoothly into the driver's seat. He turned the ignition and swiftly drove off.

Then came the worst part. Dead. Silence.

My mind was racing. What do you talk about with people on a date?!

What do you talk about with people in general?

"I like your car," I blurted out.

Jackson smiled, "Thanks. Do you know anything about cars?"

"Oh yeah. A ton. I love them. All of them. I mean, the limited time ones most obviously, but old is cool too. You know, like vintage. Second hand. That's pretty cool." I cleared my throat, begging my brain to stop my mouth, but apparently the connection was currently severed. "I can just tell that your tires are in great condition. Oh and the engine. That's what I know a lot about. Your engine sounds... crisp."

"No way," Jackson mused. "Max just told me I'd probably have to fix the engine soon. I'll let him know."

I nodded, "Oh for sure. I'd give it another five years, minimum. And you can take that to the bank." SHUT UP, MABEL.

I clamped my lips shut and bit the inside of my mouth.

"So, uh," Jackson continued, "do you like Italian food?"

"Mmhm," I murmured, trying to keep my verbal vomit from spewing out and landing all over my date/future husband.

"Yeah. Me too."

And that was all we said the entire ride to the restaurant. Literally. I was nearly crying by the time he parked from all the random info I wanted to blurt out and the sheer awkwardness that was me.

Jackson opened my door for me and led us into the restaurant where we were seating in the back. He sat on one side of the booth and I sat on the other and I couldn't help but think that was very gentlemanly of him (obviously that didn't surprise me).

"So, are you going into football? I mean, obviously you like football, but as a career?" I asked.

"Yeah," he trailed. "I like football, don't get me wrong, but I have a couple other things in the works."

"Like what?" I asked curiously. Jackson had always been a football buff since I had first known about him two years ago.

He scratched his head and looked oddly reluctant to answer just as the waitress appeared. "What can I get for you two tonight?"

Jackson glanced at me one more time before flipping the menu open and ordering some kind of steak and pasta dish.

"Is John in today?" Jackson asked the waitress, handing his menu back to her.

She nodded, "Yup. You know he never leaves his baby."

He smiled, "True." He glanced at me, "My uncle is the chef here."

"And the owner," The waitress chuckled.

"That's amazing!" I glanced down at the fancy menu, feeling pressured to choose a dish. The waitress stood, waiting. Jackson paused, staring. I sat, sweating. "I'll have what he's having!" I swiped the menu closed, moving to hand the menu to the waitress and proceeding to spill the entire glass of water that was on the table. I watched in horror as the water leaked from the table and onto Jackson's lap.

He jumped up from his seat abruptly, "Shit."

"I'm so sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" I squealed, taking my napkin to the top of the table, wiping what I could of the spill on the table, knocking over Jackson's glass in the process. He let out a grunt from the shock of ice water being dumped down his frontside.

Let me take a moment to make a few mental notes:

- Never reach across the table when nervous.

-In fact, never open your mouth when nervous (maybe ever? Google how to shut the hell up).

- You were in no way prepared for this date, Mabel.

"What's the commotion?" A gruff voice suddenly spoke and I looked up to see a man with greying hair and a chef's hat. Jackson's uncle. Currently witnessing me stretched across the table, boobs wet from the water spilt on my end as I attempt to wipe the water on Jackson's end (this event will further be referred to as 'Watergate').

"Uncle John!" Jackson interrupted, moving towards the man to shake his hand enthusiastically. "Sorry, just on a date. This is Mabel." He gestured to me and I just realized I was still chest down on the table.

I jumped up, whipping the soaked napkin in the air, flicking water on John's face in the process.

He used a finger to wipe a drip on his face, "Er, nice to meet you, Mabel."

"You too!" I nearly cried out reaching a wet hand for his.

He shook my hand tentatively before wiping the residual wetness on his chef's jacket.

"I'll just grab a towel," the waitress who I just realized was still staring at Watergate said.

"Thank you," I replied sheepishly. I looked at John to see him still looking at me curiously so I decided to continue (at this point how could things possibly get worse?) "Did you know the folds on a chef's hat symbolizes the one hundred ways to cook an egg? It's, uh, a great accomplishment, sir."

He smiled at me slightly before looking at Jackson who was oddly quiet. "Yes, actually. I did know that. Are you going into culinary school?"

"I would love to!" I paused, "But no."

"Well, we should get back to our date uncle John. It was nice seeing you," Jackson hinted at his uncle who seemed to get the message before waving at me with a 'nice to meet you' as he walked back to the kitchen, shaking his head.

I sat back down at the table feeling utterly exhausted. Watergate really took a toll on me.

Jackson would never want to be with me now.

How do you let go of dreams you've held onto for so long?

"Can we start over?" Jackson interrupted with a chuckle. "I'm a bit nervous," He stated, wiping his chest with a napkin.

And I stared at him like an idiot. "You're nervous?" I asked incredulously. How this confident man could be nervous about a single thing going on a date with me was the shock of the century.

"Of course I am," He shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't really date often."

I laughed, "Well I think you've met your match."

"Maybe I have."

>>

Sorry this took so long! I was enjoying time off with my family and friends and decided to unplug for a bit.

Side note, you know you're writing on Wattpad too much when 'abs' is no longer auto corrected to 'and'. Not my proudest moment.