Great. I can understand why they have models at these restaurants, but would it be possible to have ones that don’t totally show me up? First date, too. Like I’m not dying already with potential comparisons. Relax. Relax. It will be all right. Wait. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I could just bolt. If I go now, I can catch a movie. What’s playing tonight?
“Are you meeting someone tonight?” the 10 at the greeting station asked.
Yeah. And don’t steal him from me, okay?
“I am,” Abby said. “We have a reservation—”
“Abby?”
Easygoing. The voice was as soft and low as she had imagined. Something in our perception of sound attaches personality to a voice. And when Abby heard his, she relaxed. She turned around. Here goes nothing.
A picture come to life. Tall. Well, taller than her. Golden-brown eyes that looked even better to Abby in person. An unmistakable genuine vibe.
“Jake?”
“You look great. Thanks for coming.”
Any thought of backing out was swept from her mind.
I’m glad I followed through on showing up. Who knows? We’ll see where this leads.
“You too.”
Did that come out right? Did my “you too” mean I think he looks great too, or did it mean that I was thankful he came here as well? Or did it refer to both? Wait! Add this: “Thanks for asking.”
“Of course. Want to get a seat?”
“Sure thing.”
“Restaurant or lounge?”
Restaurant. I don’t want to be rated against all those girls in the lounge.
“Whatever you prefer.”
“How about the lounge?” he said to both her and the hostess. The hostess nodded with a smile that revealed to Abby that she was exhausted, yet she put on a good front despite her condition. “The soccer game is on,” he added to Abby.
“Great.” That word came out in a high pitch instead of the casual tone she had intended. Her stomach did a somersault.
The bar was done in a light blue marble that oddly matched her eyes to perfection. Straight-backed chairs surrounded mahogany tables. Wide-screen televisions hung around the room. Low volume. The kind of place where you could spend a lot of time talking without having to shout.
They sat down at a table. Abby half-expected, half-hoped he would hold her chair for her, then dismissed the thought when he didn’t. Guys don’t do that anymore. Get with it.
A waitress approached the table, just as stunning as the first but with creamy skin and spun-gold hair. Do they have a model-making machine back there? The waitress smiled and asked for their drink orders. She hid her exhaustion better than the hostess. Jake smiled back. Abby felt a flash of jealousy.
“I’ll have a vodka martini,” he said.
Awkward. He’s clearly drinking age. His age wasn’t totally clear on his profile. I’m going to feel like an idiot when I say Coke. Or even worse, I try to order an alcoholic drink, she asks my age, and I feel like the kid playing soccer by herself. What to do. What to do.
“Do you make a good cappuccino by any chance?” Abby asked.
“The best.”
Crisis averted.
The waitress left to fill their orders.
“It’s great to see you in person,” Jake said.
“You too.”
Seriously? Come on, girl. Can’t you say something besides “you too”?
“And it’s really nice of you to have taken all that time to message with me.”
Don’t you dare say it.
“I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you.”
Okay. That wasn’t great, but at least it was a complete sentence. We’re into a conversation now. First few awkward moments behind us. Lift-off was good, and we’re about to reach cruising altitude.
“Thanks. You’re a great person, Abby. It’s easy to connect with you.”
Flutter. Flutter. The waitress brought their drinks. Abby said thanks. Jake didn’t acknowledge her, never taking his eyes off Abby. Was he into her?
“So what kind of food do you like?” he asked.
“Oh, everything.”
“You like lobster?”
She loved lobster. Had it with her family at her last birthday celebration. They took a picture. She posted it online, though she had since forgotten.
Abby smiled. “I do.”
“Lobster and steak combo. Calamari to start. What do you say?”
“I’m all in.”
“Perfect.”
They talked about her schooling. Her soccer. The books she had read. When the food arrived, they alternated between laughing, eating and cheering at the soccer game. She found herself at ease with him. What was I so afraid of anyways? And despite all the other girls walking around, she felt the comfort that came with being with someone who valued her, who cared about what she was saying. He wasn’t just listening because he had to. He had chosen to be there.
Just before the second half kicked off, after all the food was gone and just before he received his second drink, he looked at her in the soft light of the lounge. Their eyes met. The nervousness of having to talk to fill silent space left them. She could just be herself. No pretending to like bands she really hated or plastering a smile on her face. Just herself. And when he saw her, she knew the verdict was coming. He could have other girls. No problem. She was convinced of that. But did he want her?
“You’re beautiful, Abby.”
She’d never heard that. Not from someone outside her family. Her dad had said it. A while ago. A long while ago, in fact. But this felt different. This was an objective point of view. It came from someone who didn’t have to say it. Parents sort of do. Jake didn’t.
Did he?
He moved on to talk about World Cup qualifying, but his words kept running through her mind.
They were still engrossed in each other long after the postgame show finished. How do three hours go by so fast? Then came the lull in the conversation when both people realize it’s time to call it a night.
“Thanks for a great evening, Jake.”
“Sure thing. Can I give you a lift home?”
Oh boy.
Logical
