He stood outside the restaurant, flowers in hand, purchased from a street vendor several blocks back. It was rainy, and it was cold, but that didn’t matter. He knew that he was stepping through this door into the rest of his life. At least, he hoped.
After a moment that felt like forever, he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and walked through the door.
The restaurant was dimly lit. Silhouetted wait staff danced around him to phantom music playing from speakers hidden in the corners. But the interior was warm and comforting. His wet jacket no longer clung so tightly to his clothes. And it wasn’t crowded, allowing him to take a look around, get a feel for his surroundings, and find…
Her. There she was. Her back was turned to him, but she had gotten them a table. She was waiting for him. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He waved off a hostess who was wondering why he was standing in the entrance like an idiot, and began his approach.
But how would he get her attention? She was facing away. He could sidle his way to the other side of the table, waiting until she saw him? No, that would be too awkward. What about covering her eyes and saying “Guess who!” like in the movies? Definitely not, too informal. Why would she pick the seat facing away from the door if she got there first?! Then he found the optimal middle ground: a light tap on the shoulder. It was perfect; personal, yet professional. As he reached her, he brought his hand up, sucking his breath in lightly through gritted teeth, and tapped.
She shrieked in surprise as she felt the tap on her shoulder just as the glass met her lips. White wine sloshed from the glass onto her face and dress, and after the shock abated, the sudden hushed quiet of the restaurant around her was pierced only by the exasperated cries of a man beside her, shouting, “I’m sorry! I am so sorry!” She looked up at him standing beside her as he fished out a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, his cheeks flushed beet red and his expression twisted into some combination of fear, agony, and embarrassment. She couldn’t help it – she started to laugh.
“What?” he asked as she took the handkerchief from him. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but… your face! You look like you’re constipated!”
He straightened up. “No, I don’t.”
Coming down from her bout of hysteria, she looked back up at him again. “Oh, I wish you could have seen it! I didn’t know mouths could make that shape.”
“What shape was my mouth?!”
She stifled a chortle. “Australia.”
“Australia?!” He finally smiled at that, the rose-tint in his cheeks slowly flushing away. “I didn’t know mouths could make that shape.”
Her smile widened as he handed her the flowers in his hand and finally took his seat across the table, picking up a menu to bury his face in. She couldn’t help but get off one last remark.
“You should look at the drink menu. I hear the white wine they have here is excellent.”
“You’re evil,” he replied, looking up at her with a growing grin.
“Well, I’m sorry I dirtied up your handkerchief,” she said as she finished dabbing up the stain.
“Well, you can just return it during our second date,” he answered, looking back up at her with hopeful eyes.
She looked over at him with a coy smile. “Our second date, you say? We haven’t even been here for five minutes, and already you’ve spilled wine on me. What makes you so sure there will be a second date?”
She watched him purse his lips, and though she couldn’t confirm it, she thought she saw a bead of sweat slink down his brow, before quickly answering, “Because I promise this date will go a lot smoother from here on out.”
She looked over the table towards him, looked into his eyes, saw fear and nervousness, but also sincerity and hope.
“I like you.”
Leave a Reply