A One-Time Attachment Ch.1 - Pt. 2

Deeply exhaling he entered the Bodega, corralling the very first waiter he could lay hand on. The handsome young woman instantly glowed with delight, chirping a cheerful greeting. She nearly crawled over her rostrum to beat Gwynn to any question he could ask, reciting the special dishes of the week, offering to take his jacket for him, asking him way too personal questions about the occasion of his visit, age...
The little blonde seemed so desperate it got creepy. Finally he simply told her that he wanted to meet his MALE date, which seemed to slow her down enough to let him ask his one and only question: Had she seen a gentleman deposit a red rose on his table?
Obviously she had, and measuring her pained sigh, he wasn't the only one who had turned her down that night. Still smiling (but not glowing anymore) she pointed further into the customer area. Along the left wall half a dozen booths held small, intimate bistro tables separated by beautiful wooden dividers decorated with ornamental plants.
"The one you're looking for is the fourth one on the left. You'll be able to see the rose about halfway." she said, again sighing deeply and smiling.
Winking Gwynn thanked her and went on. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him he already was late - again! -, but somehow he didn't feel like rushing anymore. Suddenly he felt giddy and nervous, knowing his target was only a few steps ahead. The drive to check himself in one of the decorative mirrors once again was like an itch in his head, so he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and strode ahead stubbornly. His first wife would have tumbled over laughing if she had seen him at that moment. The great Gwynn, Wildwalker, Lord of Misrule, Mother Nature's naughty little stepson, afraid like a little girl on her first Ceilidh.
With bated breath he passed the first tables, ignoring the passing faces of other customers, reducing them to decorative extras to his great entrée. Cold, panicky sweat trickled down his spine, and then he took the last step...

The man sitting in the destined booth was a dream come true. His face was beautiful in a way that almost was bizarre, inhuman, unearthly. Gwynn even had to stop to catch his breath and blink away the numb feeling he had fallen into right there. The stranger's graceful, delicate features were framed by long hair so black it had blueish-white highlights where the warm lights brushed his head. Kissable lips sat in his striking face, matching his calm demeanor, and eyes dark like storm clouds inspected the surroundings with highly visible attention. He seemed tall, taller than Gwynn, lean and refined like an artist.
Gwynn let out a low moan and hurried on, taking the last three steps to the table before anyone could get the idea he felt unwell. The red rose lay on the white tablecloth like a splatter of blood. The stranger looked up and into Gwynns face, and there was nothing but polite interest in his gaze. Of course, it was hard to compete with his level of beauty, so the lack of reaction was something Gwynn had reckoned. That man simply had to be a Narcissist, seeing himself in the mirror day after day. Still, somehow it hurt having his pride scratched that thoroughly. Inwardly recoiling Gwynn brought a quivering smile to his face. Better get this over with soon, and crawl back into his cave.

"Good evening. I guess you are my date?" he inquired, expecting a yes, or at least polite rejection.
"I..." the adressed frowned - his demeanor suddenly implying something was out of order. His gaze brushed the red rose on the table, then met Gwynn again. "I have an appointment with a lady. With..." those beautiful lips curved into a small smile, "...'Homo homini lupus'."
Gwynn's personal codeword. For a few seconds the demigod mused about fading on the spot. So that god made into flesh had no interest in men. Or maybe something had gone wrong? There still was a very slim chance that a woman had chosen the same code phrase and by coincidence waited in the same restaurant, slim, so slim... He had to make sure.
"You are not 'Chi fa da sé, fa per tre' then?" Gwynn croaked, fearfully smiling at the glimpse of hope.
"That's me." the cultivated voice purred, adding "We must have become victims of technology, then - or victims of fate." He seemed unfazed by the prospect of participating in the mismatched blind date. His voice hurt Gwynns ears, sounding like angel's trumpets to his love-sick mind. The words made him cringe, desperately trying to hide his disappointment with a mask-like smile. But instead of letting him - the wooed ninny - off the hook, the voice went on. "Don't be appalled, please. Would you like to have a drink with me?"