jeans on a date. I need to make more of an effort than that. A short black skirt, and a gold knitted V-neck top is what I come up with after most of my wardrobe ends up on the floor. I pair it with black stockings, and a Mary-Jane style pair of black heels I sometimes wear to work.
Jon looks sharp: cleanly shaven, his blond locks tamed with some hair gel. His black dress shirt hugs his broad shoulders, and accentuates his firm chest. Dark blue jeans hang nicely on his tapered hips and show off his toned legs, with a chic pair of black leather shoes. I haven’t seen him in these clothes before. Maybe he’s been shopping.
Once in the car, his fresh aftershave fills the small space. Did he always wear it, or is it only lately? How could I have not noticed before that he smells so good?
We start with a cocktail while we chat and study the menu at a new Italian restaurant in the city. It’s a nice way to start the evening, and in no time the butterflies settle down, and my sweaty palms return to normal. We order entrées to share, and a bottle of red wine to go with our hearty mains of beef and duck. I make him promise that we’ll revisit the dessert menu later. I hope I have room.
The restaurant is busy, people seated around lots of small tables covered with white tablecloths and white butcher’s paper. Waitresses flutter between the tables, delivering dishes from the noisy kitchen. The smell of the wood-fire oven near our table has me salivating.
I don’t normally drink red wine, but as we chat and leisurely eat, the wine warms me from the inside out. I hope my teeth aren’t stained from it. Hopefully my best friend, uh, I mean, boyfriend, will tell me if they are, and save me any embarrassment.
The couple next to us pencils something onto the butcher’s paper. I look around the restaurant, and notice pencils on other tables, too. Maybe they have them to keep kids occupied, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of place you would bring children to. This is more fine dining.
“What’s with the pencils?” I ask.
Jon shrugs, and picks one up. He covers the paper with one hand as he writes something. He flattens his hand over his writing, and hands me the pencil with a shy look. I push his hand back, revealing the words
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
which he has written upside down so I can read them.
What? Clearly it’s a joke, but that tells me something about his feelings for me. Is this a test to see how I’d react? I don’t know what I’ll say if he tells me he loves me. Surely he wouldn’t do that tonight. Would he? There’s been no mention of the ‘L word’ since the first night we kissed. I’ve seen it in movies. People say those three little words too soon, and get shut down. Once they’re out there, you can’t take them back. You really only want to put it out there if you know it’s going to be returned. I hope he’ll have the good sense not to say it unless he’s sure I feel the same way. I love him, of course I do, just not like that. Maybe in time those feelings will come.
I tap the end of the pencil on my lower lip, and then pull it away. God, anyone could have had it in their mouth. I try to keep my response light.
Writing upside down is more of a challenge than I’d thought it would be. It must be the wine.
SORRY, I’M HOLDING OUT FOR RYAN GOSLING.
Jon laughs out loud. I giggle.
Crisis averted. I hope.
We share tiramisu for dessert. I was too full to manage it on my own, but I had to finish off with something sweet. Our second bottle of wine seemed to disappear quicker than the first.
The bill arrives, and we argue over who pays. Jon refuses to accept any contribution from me. I begrudgingly let him cover my share. We are probably just as poor as each other, but I know he really wanted to do it. I tell him that I don’t want him making a habit of it, and that I can pay my own way.
We decide to leave Jon’s car in the city. He’s had more to drink than he expected, but I’ll
Jon looks sharp: cleanly shaven, his blond locks tamed with some hair gel. His black dress shirt hugs his broad shoulders, and accentuates his firm chest. Dark blue jeans hang nicely on his tapered hips and show off his toned legs, with a chic pair of black leather shoes. I haven’t seen him in these clothes before. Maybe he’s been shopping.
Once in the car, his fresh aftershave fills the small space. Did he always wear it, or is it only lately? How could I have not noticed before that he smells so good?
We start with a cocktail while we chat and study the menu at a new Italian restaurant in the city. It’s a nice way to start the evening, and in no time the butterflies settle down, and my sweaty palms return to normal. We order entrées to share, and a bottle of red wine to go with our hearty mains of beef and duck. I make him promise that we’ll revisit the dessert menu later. I hope I have room.
The restaurant is busy, people seated around lots of small tables covered with white tablecloths and white butcher’s paper. Waitresses flutter between the tables, delivering dishes from the noisy kitchen. The smell of the wood-fire oven near our table has me salivating.
I don’t normally drink red wine, but as we chat and leisurely eat, the wine warms me from the inside out. I hope my teeth aren’t stained from it. Hopefully my best friend, uh, I mean, boyfriend, will tell me if they are, and save me any embarrassment.
The couple next to us pencils something onto the butcher’s paper. I look around the restaurant, and notice pencils on other tables, too. Maybe they have them to keep kids occupied, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of place you would bring children to. This is more fine dining.
“What’s with the pencils?” I ask.
Jon shrugs, and picks one up. He covers the paper with one hand as he writes something. He flattens his hand over his writing, and hands me the pencil with a shy look. I push his hand back, revealing the words
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
which he has written upside down so I can read them.
What? Clearly it’s a joke, but that tells me something about his feelings for me. Is this a test to see how I’d react? I don’t know what I’ll say if he tells me he loves me. Surely he wouldn’t do that tonight. Would he? There’s been no mention of the ‘L word’ since the first night we kissed. I’ve seen it in movies. People say those three little words too soon, and get shut down. Once they’re out there, you can’t take them back. You really only want to put it out there if you know it’s going to be returned. I hope he’ll have the good sense not to say it unless he’s sure I feel the same way. I love him, of course I do, just not like that. Maybe in time those feelings will come.
I tap the end of the pencil on my lower lip, and then pull it away. God, anyone could have had it in their mouth. I try to keep my response light.
Writing upside down is more of a challenge than I’d thought it would be. It must be the wine.
SORRY, I’M HOLDING OUT FOR RYAN GOSLING.
Jon laughs out loud. I giggle.
Crisis averted. I hope.
We share tiramisu for dessert. I was too full to manage it on my own, but I had to finish off with something sweet. Our second bottle of wine seemed to disappear quicker than the first.
The bill arrives, and we argue over who pays. Jon refuses to accept any contribution from me. I begrudgingly let him cover my share. We are probably just as poor as each other, but I know he really wanted to do it. I tell him that I don’t want him making a habit of it, and that I can pay my own way.
We decide to leave Jon’s car in the city. He’s had more to drink than he expected, but I’ll
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