|
By wistful Date: 2001 Jun 09 Comment on this Work [[2001.06.09.11.44.17596]] |
|
I was so confused. I knew he's had a bevy of beauties pass through the revolving door to/from his bedroom since his divorce. And now we had ended our seventh date with no more than a quick hug as he ran for his car. Each date had been fun. We had lengthy, engaging conversations running from the nature of love to the woes of our failed marriages to our kindred bouts of retail therapy. So many points aligned. We laughed, we giggled, we flirted. We went out sea kayaking, and sat in companionable silence as he enjoyed his first sight of sea otters. We hiked through the redwoods, and he pulled me past my irrational fear of a mild downhill grade, screaming and giggling like I was five. We sat together, equally amused and bemused by an odd little French psychological thriller. And tonight we both snickered silently when the man and woman playing the romantic leads in the play we were attending shared their first kiss, since they both happened to be dressed in identical Mae West costumes at the time. He was obviously attracted to me. He said so. Tonight he lost his train of thought when he watched me drop a long tendril of pickled lotus root into my mouth. He smiled as I did my "happy food" dance, wiggling in pleasure at the sumptuous asian feast we were consuming. "It's very entertaining to watch you eat. You enjoy it so much." And when the chilled San Francisco winds whipped through my sleeveless summer dress, he sheltered me by wrapping his arm around my shoulders, and I snuggled into his side. And how could I help but be attracted to him? Besides his obvious physical charms, of course: six-foot-three-inches worth of blond-haired, green-eyed, strong-jawed, well-muscled man. But such a gentleman. Walking on the streetside along the sidewalk. Opening car doors. Serving me food. Offering to sit a while during a hike that was nothing to him, but was making me puff and glow profusely. And such a gentle man. I had to smile, watching him carefully coax my cats into letting him pet them. And I ached, hearing an echo of his pain as he described his divorce. And seeing the shadow of those scars pass over his face as he talked. When he shared a favorite book of his youth with me, it found its way onto my pillow next to me every night. So why had he never attempted to kiss me? I tossed this thought around for about ten minutes after crawling into bed, shortly after his brisk goodbye hug and hurried retreat to his car. Well, I'm nothing if not direct. I called him on his cell phone. "Pizza hut", he answered. "Do you deliver?" "Can't you hear? I'm in my car delivering now! Jeez, what a question." I could hear the smile in his voice. "What's up?" "Well, I was just thinking. I know we're friends and all, and I really enjoyed spending the evening with you. But . . . why did you run away so quickly?" "Oh. Is this an 'I'm confused' call?" "Well, yes." I paused a beat, and then plunged into revelation. "I really wanted to kiss you tonight." There was a little silence as he consumed this information, and chewed on his own response. "Okay, here's the thing. I wanted to kiss you tonight too, amongst other things. You felt good in my arms, and I really liked holding you. But . . I don't know. I'm a little confused right now. Still reeling from the divorce, I guess." "Yeah, I know when I got divorced, I wanted to play the field a little; get it out of my system." Yes, I was shamelessly fishing to know if he was dating other people. Maybe one of them had poll position in the race for his heart. "No, it's not that." He paused again. I could tell he was formulating the words carefully, and testing them against his own heart to ensure they were true. "I think that you and I could do really well together. But in relationships, you can never go back once you've reached certain milestones. And . . . I just want to go really slow with you." Wow. Someone who thought I was worth . . . savoring. What could be better than that? We're going out again tomorrow. |