Date Number Four

I turned, stretching to reach for the glass on the top shelf in preparation for pouring another cocktail. I felt the heat of his body behind me before I even turned around. When I did, his face was inches from mine and our eyes locked in intense eye contact, which drew me in even more. 

This was date number four. This evening, we opted to stay in, laughing, talking, getting to know each other more. We lost track of time as we chatted about past relationships, failed marriages, our own flaws and those we found in others that irked our souls. We discovered a commonality in our love for expertly crafted Old Fashioned cocktails. How had this man, so perfectly imperfect, escaped crossing my path, when we lived in the same city, just a few miles apart, where we both grew up. We shared separate memories of visiting the same nightclubs and restaurants. We attended the same high school, though we never shared a class as he was seven years my senior. And somehow we end up meeting each other in California’s Bay Area, three-thousand miles from our hometown, and I’m watching him prepare one of my favorite meals and feeling as though we’d shared a lifetime of friendship already. 

He was easy. Easy to talk to, to be around. It felt safe to let my typically cemented wall down and let him see me. The version of myself that I didn’t trust with many. Like most, my heart had been bruised by ill-intended past loves and I now moved about the dating scene in a constant state of caution. But, in this space and in this moment, that caution faded and I allowed myself to simply enjoy this man that I might have previously been too intimidated to take seriously as he was preparing a home-cooked meal for me and making me laugh til I my sides ached. That wall seemed to have crumbled by the end of our first date. 

While “emotional” is not a word that I would have used to describe him, he had shown some vulnerability when he shared stories of loss and pain. He was the guy that would always say that everything was “fine”, but if you really looked at him, you could see past that and there was a version of him that you wanted to nurture and protect. A side that I included in my prayers and asked God to spare him of any more pain, as he had already endured more than I could fathom. In spite of- or maybe because of- his past hurts, he was this gentle giant that made you feel safe and taken care of in his presence. It was a feeling that I hadn’t felt before and I was in heaven. 

A few moments had passed and he was still standing there. This was the long-awaited moment. I allowed myself to relax and immerse myself in it, taking it all in. I realized I was still holding on to the glass I’d grabbed from the shelf and rested it on the counter, not wanting to move and ruin this. Finally, he leaned in and kissed me. It felt like it was all happening in slow motion. It was a great kiss. Intentional. Skilled. He wrapped his long arms around my waist to pull me in closer to him and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. What felt like minutes later, our lips parted ways and he took a step back. All I could muster was “What took you so long?”. He flashed that hypnotic smile. He picked up the bottle of bourbon and replied “You’ve had a few of these and it’s getting pretty late. I have a guest room that you’re welcome to crash in tonight. Or, you can sleep upstairs with me. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Between the intoxication I felt from a mix of the bourbon and the kiss, I knew I wouldn’t be in the guest room. At that moment, I simply replied “Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that.” 

But for now, he needed to finish preparing this fabulous meal of ribeye steaks and roasted brussel sprouts, because it was indeed past the typical dinner hour. I poured two more Old Fashioneds for us and sat at his kitchen counter, continuing our seemingly endless conversation as he finished cooking. He laid a placemat in front of me and laid another for himself. He gathered linen napkins and silverware, leaving me to do nothing but enjoy what was now my fourth (or was it my fifth?) cocktail. He plated our food and grinned, clearly pleased with himself for what he’d created. 

I didn’t want to naively get ahead of myself, but the last month had been amazing. Getting to know him felt different. It didn’t follow the same winding paths of previous failed dating attempts. The interest seemed genuine. In a conversation with my best friend a few days prior, I’d stated that I wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to be here, but that no one comes into your life coincidentally. This guy had come to show me what I wanted. How I deserved to feel. 

He excused himself and did a light jog to the restroom. While he was gone, his phone lit up and silently let me know that he had an incoming call. It was 10:24 pm. More interestingly, the phone also alerted me that the call was coming in from “Wife”. No….can’t be. He had been divorced for the last 7 years, according to him. The way he spoke of his ex, there was no way that she was still listed in his phone as “wife”. 

Sexy R&B tunes were flowing throughout the house from his sound system. Suddenly, I felt every ounce of the liquor I’d consumed and it didn’t feel good. I didn’t know how to respond or what to say at this point. What would I say when he returned? Should I act as though I hadn't seen it? He’d lied. Flat out. This person that I thought had come to show me something new, different, refreshing, had just allowed my ego to fall flat on its face and for my heart to defeatedly crawl back into the safety of its cave. I’d shown my cards. Allowed a level of vulnerability that I’m not often comfortable with to show in our exchanges. I’d opted to believe that he could be genuine and pushed my cynicism to the side. I let the cement wall crumble and now I frantically tried to gather it up, piece by piece. 

I hit “accept” on his phone, but I didn’t say anything. I knew she’d hear the music and she’d curiously stay on the phone. She repeated a few “hellos” before resigning to quietly wait to hear recognizable sounds in the background. I, too, sat quietly, at a loss for words. Confused by how unnecessary all of this was. Wondering why he would lure me in for his own entertainment. I hit the “Speaker” button on his phone, still not speaking a word. A few taps on the screen of my own phone and my uber app indicated that a driver was six minutes away. I slipped my heels back on. I knew she could hear my movements, but neither of us spoke. 

I heard his footsteps as he started walking back into the kitchen. Before seeing my face or the phone, he proudly asked “Are you ready for the best steak you’ve had in your life?” I sat and looked at him, not saying a word. He sat down in the seat next to me, noticing that I hadn’t answered. He smiled and said “Ready to eat?” and picked up his fork. His wife, surprisingly calm, replied “Yes, I’m starving. But, who is our dinner guest?”

My face undoubtedly conveyed my disappointment, while his showed an undeniable panic that rendered him speechless. Before he could respond, my phone alerted me that my driver was outside. I grabbed my purse and walked out at a leisurely pace, knowing that she’d hear the loud clicking of my heels against the hardwood floor as I went down the stairs. By the time I’d reached the front door, I could still hear her questioning him, stating that she could hear me in the room. I was almost sure that, if she’d listened closely enough, she’d have also heard me banging my forehead against the reinforced cement wall that should have stayed in place all along.