When I moved over to England, I was ecstatic. I had lived in Romania for most of my life, but I was finally ready to take the leap. I wanted to take my career to the next level, and while everyone around the world needs art in their life, Romania wasn't really cutting it for me. So when I got the job offer to work as an art teacher up in Newcastle, I was over the moon. I packed my bags, said my farewells to my family and hopped onto the next flight out.
Everything seemed new and exciting when I got there, and for the first time in a long time, I felt content. In the morning, I'd wake up sip my coffee out on the balcony and then cycle to school where I would teach around 4 classes a day. The kids were in their teen years, so definitely not the easiest age to deal with. But most of them seemed to enjoy art class, and the rest of the staff were pretty nice too. After school, I would go back home where I would spend the rest of my day making art, tending to my plants and cuddling my cat.
I'd occasionally go out for dinner with my friends from work, and I went to yoga classes twice a week too. But two years later and a couple of months into the pandemic my not so boring life became rather dull. I tried a bunch of things, I started reading more, binge-watched some series and even took up embroidery, but they just weren't doing it for me. There was one thing that was missing in my life, and I knew exactly what it was.
I was looking for a guy.
Not just any guy though. He would have to independent and have his own things to do, cause I wanted to continue all of my hobbies. I didn't want someone who would come and take over my life, but someone who could accompany me through it. A guy would respect me for who I am. Someone that I could have a proper intellectual conversation with other than discussing the latest trend on social media. Ideally, one who liked to read books, because readers always have colourful minds, and exciting things to say. He wouldn't have to be athletic, but would definitely need to have enough stamina to keep things interesting in the bedroom. And ideally taller than me, that would be a plus.
Over the past couple of years, I've always told myself that I am independent and don't need a man. But the truth is that I want one in my life, and I've had this little voice in me pushing me to get back into the dating scene. So when I saw the new Math teacher Mr Jake, I couldn't help myself but daydream.
Ooh, la la. I mean, really though. A girl can dream. Honestly, Mr Jake is the definition of the perfect guy for me. He's fairly tall and well built, not too much but certainly works out. He's got soft brown curls with a clean shave, and a pair of brown eyes that could instantly turn anyone into jello. He always wore a button shirt, neatly tucked into his pants and slightly rolled up at his sleeves. Just enough to show off his sexy forearms and manly hands which now that I think of it do not really match those of a Math teacher. His fingertips were always lightly stained with a dark shade, he was probably into cars on the side.
When I moved to England, I used to find myself captivated by their sexy accents, especially the posh ones. But nothing sounded as good as Mr Jake.
His deep voice had a gentle flow to it, allowing his word to roll over the tip of his tongue, through his pouty lips. Making it seem like the world was on pause whenever he spoke to me. I remember the first time we talked to each other was at the coffee bar.
He came up behind me in the line and mumbled "All these strange names for coffee. I never know what to order. I'm just looking for a normal black coffee, any idea which one I should get?"
I turned around and found this fuzzled up man behind me, his eyebrows all scrunched up as if he was trying to solve some equation. He had one hand behind his neck, and the other one tucked away into his back pocket. He didn't have a briefcase or anything of the sort, so I wasn't entirely sure what to think of him. He looked like a cross between a very well dressed alumni student and a teacher. If I had to guess I'd say he was in his early thirties and truthfully, I wasn't that far off because I later found out that he's 36 years old.
"Well, you should ask for a Tall Americano then," I said, smiling at his still confused expression. "It's black coffee, in a medium cup. It's what you want to get. Trust me".
And with that, I twirled my skirt away, picked up my coffee and walked off to the closest bench. I closed my eyes and leaned slightly backwards, taking in what little sun England had to offer.
"I'm sorry, may I sit next to you? Ms... Uhm. Rebecca?"
I opened my eyes and found the same gorgeous quizzical face staring back at me.
"How'd you know my name?" I asked, squinting and placing the palm of my hand over my forehead to create shade.
