Regular Wednesdays.

Emily, 36, Female, Brisbane, Australia. Lover of poetry, romance novels and horoscopes. Seeks Male with a stable career, psychologist on the payroll and cheeky smile for the role of partner in crime forever and always.

Perfectly curated with the least amount of words about herself; portraying the least amount of required fuss; not taking herself too seriously, not scaring them off with her career success. Just as her best friend had instructed. “No one wants to know more than they need Emily. Keep it simple”.

Emily had never committed a crime; nor would she want to date someone who had. seemed ironic. She had always believed that love would find her. Sitting in the meadow, sun shining on a Saturday afternoon on a picnic rug, enjoying freshly baked apricot pie reading her latest love story obsession. He’d by strolling past, Austin style with his tweed jacket, and white button down sleeves rolled up after a long day of business in town. His dark hair brushed out of the way as he introduced and pardoned himself for disturbing her peace. They’d have children, a set of pigeon twins and a third. The’d spend Saturday’s in the same meadow they’d met in; filled with wild flowers for the bees and apricot pies for them.

Life would stay as simply wonderful as it had started.

The problem with Emily’s delusion was that she wasn’t a Bronte, or Emma or Austin, this wasn’t the late 1800’s and the meadow she found herself in was darkened wine bar on Edward street Brisbane.

She was Emily Arthur, a splendidly average 36 year old economics PhD Mergers & Acquisitions lawyer who shared her home with a bunch of farm animals. She was a forever part time student, part time connoisseur of the red wine with elephants on the label and a long time sufferer of the hopeless romantic gene. A gene she’d inherited from a woman in her family’s histories that will never quit make herself known. Her goals in life were varied and large. But none of that seemed to matter on these nights; in this bar. Minimise herself, laugh just enough. Decide if he’d kill her given the chance. Modern dating - what a privilege.

She takes another long sip of the wine Nate’s poured her waiting for the next potential Mister Forever in a meadow, she sighs.

“What's this one do for work Em?” he asks, hoping to alleviate some of the awkwardness between them. He has seen her do this every week for the last three months. Always a different man, always the same man. “Oh you know, finance, six five, Blue eyes.” she laughs in response rolling her eyes. His responding huff “Trust fund boy then?” Eyebrow raised “If only that was an option in this city” she laughed.

Nate went about his glass polishing and beach wiping. He waited for 5 p.m. Wednesdays more than he would acknowledge these last three months. “How late is he?” Emily was always on time, 5 p.m. book in hand, never over done in the make up department, hair dyed a copper fire set against her brilliant blue eyes. Looking at his watch she’d walked in later than usual, at least this one had given her a heads up.

“25 minutes, I’m probably wasting my time, he has a gym class at 6 he didn't want to reschedule”

“A gym class? Emily Arthur! Who hurt you!!” he spat his water out in the dramatic effect she’d come to enjoy of him on these afternoon predate chats. “How does a woman who sits at my bar every Wednesday reading a different tattered romance classic agree to plans with a finance guy who’ll fit you into his after work before gym 45 minute window? Do better Em.”

“Who hurt me? She scoffed. “The universe hurt me, Mercury in the microwave hurt me with its conjunction to Saturn. I was born in the 80’s, it was not in my game plan to be single again at 36.” Taking a deep breath in, “Men don't open doors anymore because they’re too busy swiping right on the next one, they’ve moved them in before you’ve even picked up your belongings from their house. The idea of a good first date is one where I send my best friend the eye roll emoji to let them know I wasn’t murdered on the way home.” Emily took another long sip of her wine emptying the glass. Starting again; “My reincarnated soul got the time period wrong. I’m supposed to be in the meadows with my poetry surrounded by wild flowers, and apricot pies and pardon me’s. But instead i’m in this cesspool of yuk! it’s a numbers game now. Everyone keeps telling you its a numbers game and the frogs you need to kiss just keep piling up before you get the prince.”

Nate can’t help but laugh at her. She wasn’t wrong, dating in your mid thirties was rough. The ex jabs made sense. She’d been burned recently he’d gotten that from the first day she’d walked in. The defeat in her soul had been written all over her face.

“How many more cliches do you want to have thrown at you before we call this conversation what it is Nate” She continued. “It’s utter nonsense, romance is dead, and i’m just hoping to settle for someone not so emotionally immature we cant have a real conversation about us ending before they go back to their ex.”

Emily takes a deep breathe and tips her empty glass toward him as he refills it. “Ease up we’re not all emotionally stunted” Still laughing at her, he takes two whiskey glasses from under the bar and her favourite Macallan 12 year old off the shelf. He pours Emily a shot, and another for himself.

“Sorry” She didn't mean to rant at him she had no idea if Nate was just like the other pathetic men she’d met on a Wednesday night in his bar. She did know that he was cute, she’d known that for the moment she’d walked in 12 weeks ago. He liked the same whiskey as her, and he’d never given her that dangerous feeling she found in her stomach some nights with the other men she’d encountered. These pre-date arrival chats were often her favourite part of the long weeks she spent in this city. But you never, she repeated to herself, you never go home with the bartender after 25.

A few more of the regular Wednesdays walked in. She had stolen the term from Nate a few weeks back. The women who had felt safe in his space to bring all of their first dates. Some of them he’d known before, others he made up back stories of fiction. There were four others aside from her tonight. All dressed to the nines, all desperately looking up every time the door opened. Some of them unable to hide the confusion when the person they’re meeting definitely doesn’t match the picture the'y’d been texting hours earlier. Emily Arthur looked at her watch, picked up her phone and waved goodbye at her favourite bartender one more time. It's 5:45 pm, as she gets up to leave, from the end of the Bar, Nate waves her out and handing back her credit card closing out this Wednesday’s tab. “Same time next week?”

Emily sighs and shrugs her shoulders, “Same time next week”

It’s 5 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon as Emily Arthur walks into Meadows, the bar on Edward street where she meets all of her first dates. Nate, her favourite bar tender sees her open the door and reaches for the glass and bottle to pour her favourite red wine. She takes her usual seat, and her usual long sip to start the evening.

“What time are we expecting Prince charming tonight Em? Do you have time for pie?”

“Pie?” Confused, her brow wrinkles.

“Pie!” Nate calls back over his shoulder as he walks into the back of the bar.

Emily opens her book, Sarah J Maas, definitely not a classic, definitely more of a cult following, definitely a fun change to her usual brooding.

Nate appears across the bar, a white plate, two spoons and a piece of apricot pie between them. “Apricot Pie Em?” Cheeky grin spread across his face.