I'm CHAPTER SEVEN
1411 Words
"Why Belfast?"
*A pause.*
"What do you mean?" Chris asked.
"You said the band travels. Cork, Galway, London, Amsterdam." She traced a small pattern on her duvet. "Why did you keep coming back to my café specifically?"
Silence.
Not uncomfortable. Just honest.
"I saw you through the window," he said finally. "The first day. Before I even came in."
Irene stilled.
"You were wiping down a table. You weren't smiling. You looked like you were somewhere else entirely." A beat. "I don't know. Something about that stayed with me."
She didn't say anything for a moment.
"That might be the strangest reason anyone has ever walked into a café," she said quietly.
"Probably," he agreed. "Worth it though."
She closed her eyes.
Stop it, heart. Behave.
They said goodnight sometime after midnight.
She fell asleep faster than she expected.
Monday came in faster than a hurricane and set the tone. The café was its usual chaotic self — difficult customers, endless orders and a manager who communicated mostly through eyebrow raises. But somewhere between the chaos, her phone buzzed in her apron. She checked her phone and it was Chris who had texted her and suddenly the shift felt lighter.
Chris: How's Monday treating you?
Irene: Table three just complained that his eggs were too warm.
Chris: Warm eggs? That's ridiculous! Walk away slowly and don't make eye contact.
She laughed so suddenly her manager Tom and her co-worker Eva both looked up from across the counter. She turned away quickly biting the inside of her cheek.
"Stop smiling at your phone Irene" she told herself.
Tuesday and Wednesday were more of the same.
Work. Texts. June calling dramatically for daily updates like she was personally invested in the outcome of Irene's love life — which she absolutely was.
Thursday arrived grey and drizzly — Belfast doing what Belfast did best.
The café was packed with miserable weather refugees all ordering hot chocolate at once. Irene ran the whole shift on autopilot with her co-worker Eva who always tried to keep a smily face even though she hated it there. Her mind somewhere between the steam of the coffee machine and Saturday evening.
At half past six her phone buzzed.
Chris: Saturday still good for you?
Irene: Depends. Are you telling me where we're going yet?
Chris: No.
Irene: Then I can't confirm.
Chris: Wear something you feel good in. A beautiful dress. That's all you need.
Irene: That is not helpful Chris.
Chris: 7pm Irene. I'll pick you up.
She stared at the screen.
Irene: Fine.
His reply was immediate.
Chris: Great.
She screenshot it before she could stop herself.
Felt ridiculous about it for approximately two seconds.
Then sent it straight to June.
June replied with a voice note.
It was just screaming.
Twenty five seconds of pure unfiltered screaming.
Irene played it twice and went to bed grinning.
Friday night came and June called before Irene had even taken her coat off.
"SATURDAY IS TOMORROW." June announced. As if Irene was somehow unaware.
"I know June—"
"Outfit. Talk."
"I was thinking the black—"
"No."
"You didn't even let me finish—"
"Is it the safe dress?"
"...It's classic."
"IT'S THE SAFE ONE." June's voice hit a whole new octave. "Irene I know every item in your wardrobe by emotional category. What else do you have."
"The burgundy wrap dress—" Irene said.
"THAT ONE."
"June I literally just said two words—"
"Burgundy. Wrap dress. Your figure. YES. Hair?"
"Down—"
"Down. Natural. Don't overdo it. Shoes?"
"Nude block heels—"
"Perfect. Makeup?"
"Natural with maybe a—"
"Berry lip. Not too dark. Just enough." June exhaled with deep satisfaction like she'd just solved something complicated. "You're going to look stunning. He's going to forget how to speak.
Irene leaned against her wardrobe quietly smiling.
"June."
"What."
"Thank you."
A pause. Then that rare softness crept into June's voice — the one hiding underneath all the noise.
"You've been alone for a long time Irene. Not because you had to be. Because you were scared." A beat. "Just let someone in this time. Okay? Just try."
Irene looked at the burgundy dress hanging in her wardrobe.
The heels on the floor beneath it.
Saturday. Seven o'clock.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I'll try."
"Good." June sniffed. Loudly. Dramatically. "Now SLEEP. I need you glowing tomorrow not exhausted—"
"Goodnight June."
She hung up.
Smiled at the ceiling.
Went to bed earlier than she had in weeks.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
And for once…
She was completely ready.
Saturday morning arrived quietly.
Irene lay in bed for a full five minutes just staring at the ceiling letting the realisation settle slowly over her.
Today was Saturday. Day of her date.
Her phone buzzed before she'd even sat up.
Chris: Good morning miss. How'd you sleep?
She smiled before she could stop herself.
Irene: Better than usual. You?
Chris: Barely. Someone kept occupying my thoughts.
She stared at that for a moment.
Irene: That sounds like a personal problem.
Chris: It really is. I'll talk to you later.
She put the phone down.
"Get up Irene" she said softly.
She spent the morning moving through her flat with a quiet kind of energy she hadn't felt in a long time. Laundry first. Then a proper breakfast — eggs, toast, orange juice, because June had specifically ordered her to eat a real meal before the date.
"You're not showing up hungry and making decisions based on low blood sugar Irene I will not allow it."
She ate her eggs smiling at nothing.
By 11am Chris texted again.
Chris: What are you doing right now?
Irene: Laundry.
Chris: Domestic. I like it.
Irene: Don't.
Chris: What are you cooking for lunch?
Irene: Haven't decided.
Chris: Sorry gotta go, I'll hit you up later...
The afternoon moved fast.
She mopped the kitchen floor while music played low from her phone. Tidied the sitting room.Sat by the window watching Belfast do its grey Saturday thing outside — couples walking, kids on bikes, the distant sound of someone's music floating up from the street below.
Her phone buzzed at 2pm.
Chris: Band rehearsal just wrapped. Liam nearly broke his wrist punching a wall over a chord progression.
Irene: Is he okay?
Chris: Unfortunately yes. He's dramatic.
Irene: Sounds like someone I know.
Chris: I'm not dramatic. I'm expressive.
Irene: You ordered two coffees to get a woman to sit with you.
Chris: That was strategic not dramatic.
Irene: Mmhm.
Chris: Are you ready for tonight?
She looked around her flat. Half tidied. Hair still in a messy bun. Currently in an oversized hoodie and mismatched socks.
Irene: Um, not yet.
Chris: Go get ready Irene. I'll see you at seven.
At 4pm, June FaceTimed.
Irene answered on the third ring.
"GIRL WHY ARE YOU STILL IN THAT HOODIE." June pointed at the screen accusingly.
"It's only four—" Irene replied.
"IT IS FOUR O'CLOCK IRENE. You need to shower, do your skin, your hair, your makeup — how are you this calm right now—"
"June I have three hours—"
"THREE HOURS IS NOTHING." June shouted.
Irene laughed and went.
By 5pm she was fresh out of the shower, skin done, sitting in front of her small vanity mirror in her robe.
June called again. She was propped up against the wall on video call offering a running commentary on everything.
"Okay moisturiser first — yes good — now the primer—"
"June I know how to do my own makeup—"
"I KNOW you do but I'm nervous and this helps me so please just let me have this."
Irene met her own eyes in the mirror and smiled quietly.
She let June have it until she was completely dressed and ready to go.
"Thank you June," she said quietly.
"Don't you dare cry and ruin that makeup—" June said.
"I'm not crying—"
"I might be crying a little—"
"June—"
*A knock on the door.*
Both of them froze.
"IS THAT HIM?" June whispered loudly.
Irene's heart skipped a beat.
She checked the time. 6:50pm.
Of course he was early.
"June I have to go—"
Okay, have the best night sis!—" June shouted.
She hung up.
Grabbed her small bag. Took one breath.
She opened the door...
- Writer
