I swung around, gutted, to look for the girlfriend. And when I did, there was Justin right behind me, grinning madly. He was even more attractive up close. Not boringly handsome. Rather beast-like and full of character, with kindness twinkling in those remarkable blue-green eyes. I gave Sally a glance that said, Why can I never stick to my guns?
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I don’t do this chatting up in bars business very well, so fortunately you’re going to be spared my grisly attempt at hitting on you. Thing is, I don’t have a lot of time – I have to go back to work – but I wondered if you might go out to dinner with me?’ He was shouting over the music. His eyes searched my face, and were brimming with expectancy. ‘I was thinking some place with good old-fashioned seats to sit on, where we can talk like civilised adults instead of having to shout at one another.’
He was asking me out to dinner before he’d even asked my name. And he didn’t act like he thought that was in any way weird. ‘Are you serious?’ I said.
He held my eyes, steadfastly. ‘Why would I be anything less?’ The whiteness of his shirt against the darkness of his skin under these lights was bedazzling. No, I thought. He is bedazzling!
‘You want me to go out to dinner with you – a perfect stranger? What makes you think that would be a good idea?’
There was a hint of a cheeky smile now. ‘I never said I was perfect. In fact, far from it.’
I had to laugh.
He leant in slightly; I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, though it didn’t seem like a move. He didn’t seem like a player in the slightest. ‘I’ve just seen you across a crowded room . . . Your face has pretty much just taken my breath away. But sadly, I have to leave. And I don’t want to walk out thinking I won’t see you again.’
‘But you just ordered drinks?’
‘For friends.’ He nodded to a group of men. ‘They don’t have anti-social jobs like I do.’
He was waiting for my answer. Despite the madness of it, I said, ‘Okay.’
A slight note of triumph and pleasure lit up his face. He suggested the place, date, time. Then he repeated it, uncertainly, and I thought, No, he’s definitely not a player. More like slightly nerdy. The guy who peaked late.
His top button was undone, and his red tie had been yanked halfway down his chest. ‘You’re not going to stand me up, are you?’ He cocked me a sideways, playful glance but I could tell he was actually quite serious.
‘No . . . That’s generally not what I do.’
‘Promise?’ He placed a hand on his heart. ‘Because my fragile self-esteem will never be able to handle it, if you do.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t believe that for one minute!’
‘It’s true. But, more to the point, I’ll have to sit there on my own and wonder, What if . . . ?’
He looked at me as though all the What Ifs were flickering there, waiting to be known. As though he were silently saying, Be as excited as I am about it.
I couldn’t quite believe he’d said such a lovely thing. I stared at him and noticed the tiny scar above his top lip. ‘I’ll be there,’ I said.
A slightly roguish smile spread across his face this time, sending deep lines fanning around his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t such a nerd after all. Hmm. We would see . . .
‘Tuesday, then?’ he said.
‘Tuesday,’ I repeated.
I’d reckoned it was 50–50 that he would show up. But, then again, that was generally about as positive as I got when it came to dates. He studied me long and hard from across the table. The hostess had considered the floor plan, then seated us in a conspicuously romantic corner, leaving us with a slightly envious and knowing smile.
He had the most amazingly healthy eyes: blue-green with ultra-clear whites. Stunning eyes.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, right off the bat. ‘Do you normally like a cocktail first, or do you want to go straight to wine? And a bottle, or by glass?’ He reached for the wine list. The way he fumbled with it made me think perhaps he had been honest when he said he didn’t do the chatting up thing/dating thing very well. Plus, he wore a well-ironed, checked shirt with a button-down collar, and his hair looked slightly over-combed. The nerd had resurfaced. I must have been looking at him oddly, because he suddenly looked up, studied my face, and smiled, then said a suspicious, ‘What?’ I grinned. He did too now, fully.
‘Nothing!’ I sat back in the chair, crossed my arms and studied him, as if I were a doctor and he my patient.
He laughed a little, nervously, which amused me, too.
‘I think we would be insane to skip cocktails and proceed to wine,’ I said.
‘My thoughts exactly.’ He looked relieved to put down the wine list.
We ordered two Hendrick’s martinis. ‘Do you normally ask women out on dates before you’ve even said hello to them?’ Our eyes did a little dance over the rims.
‘Never,’ he said. ‘I’ve actually never done that before. But, as they say, life’s short, isn’t it? Once you want to make something happen, you’ve got to just go for it. Or it never does. Or someone else will . . .’ The waitress set down a little antipasti plate of cheeses and ham. He reached for a toothpick, and I noted his nice square fingernails and strong hands.
I liked his reply. The someone else will part. It felt significant.
‘Besides, as I said, you’re a very attractive woman. And I sensed you’re intelligent right away because there’s, you know, a brightness in your eyes. They’re very expressive eyes, actually . . .’ He held them now, as though they had the power to stop all thought. ‘Plus, you were dressed nicely: classy, like you’re an individual rather than a sheep. And your friend looked normal, which is always a good sign. And you weren’t overly intoxicated. Women these days are nearly always pissed, I find.’
‘That’s it, then? I’m attractive and I don’t seem to be wasted?’
‘You’re mocking me now.’ He tut-tutted, and passed me the bread basket. ‘I was trying to pay you a compliment.’