As I sat there, looking out onto the ocean below us and this new person in front of me, it didn’t feel like my life. It felt like I was living someone else’s life for a night. I didn’t usually spend my Monday nights by a fire overlooking the water, being served chilled white wine and Pellegrino. I usually spent my Monday nights eating Hot Pockets while reading a book and drinking from the tap.
“This is gorgeous,” I said. I put my hands toward the flames. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Thank you for letting me,” he said, as he pulled his chair closer to me.
Ben and I discussed our days and our jobs. We talked about past relationships and our families. We talked about pretty much anything other than sex, and yet, more and more, it was becoming the only thing on my mind.
His black shirt clung to his shoulders. The way he had the sleeves rolled up halfway to his elbows exposed his hands and wrists. They were thin but sturdy. Angular but delicate. As I looked at them I wanted them to touch me. I wanted them to lift me.
“You look great tonight,” I said to him as I buttered my bread. I tried to sound casual. I wasn’t used to complimenting a man like that and I wasn’t sure how to do it without sounding creepy. “That shirt is very flattering on you.”
“Why, thank you very much!” he said as his smile widened. “Thanks.”
He looked down at his plate and smiled further. He looked embarrassed.
“Are you blushing?” I teased him.
Ben shook his head. “Well, ah.” He looked up at me. “I’m embarrassed to say that I went to the Gap after work and bought this shirt for our date.”
I started laughing. “Before you even called me?”
“Yeah. I know. It sounds very stupid. But I just . . . I wanted to look good for you. I wanted to make it a special night and . . . to be blunt, none of my shirts looked good enough for that.”
“You’re not real,” I said.
“Pardon me?”
“You’re just . . . you’re not a real person. What kind of guy is that sincere about things? And that honest? No man has ever gone out to buy a new shirt just to take me somewhere.”
“You don’t know that!” Ben said.
The waiter came to take our order. I ordered pasta. Ben ordered steak. That’s how I could tell we both knew he would insist on paying for dinner. I wasn’t going to order anything extravagant on his dime, and if he’d really thought I might succeed in paying for this, he wouldn’t have ordered anything extravagant on mine.
After the waiter left, I kept at it.
“Well, sure. Okay. I don’t know that, but no man has ever told me he did.”
“Obviously. Only an idiot would admit it. It’s too obvious that I like you. I need to reel it in.”
“No, no. Please don’t. It feels great.”
“Being liked?” he asked, as he picked up a piece of bread and ripped it in half. He popped one whole half into his mouth. I liked that he would buy a new shirt for me but he wasn’t going to eat delicately in front of me. It showed that even if he wanted to put forward the best version of himself, he was still always going to be himself.
“Being liked, yeah. And liking someone so much. Being liked by the person you like so much, is maybe more accurate.”
“Do you feel like things are moving too quickly?” he asked. It jarred me. Obviously, I had been thinking about that and discussing it with Ana, but if he felt like things were going too fast, well . . . I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of. I just knew that even if they were going too fast, I did not want things to slow down.
“Oh. Uh. Do you? Were you thinking that?” I looked up at him from my wineglass, trying to sound carefree and blithe. I think it worked.
“No, actually,” he said matter-of-factly. I was relieved to hear it. “I think you and I are just . . . Yes, we are moving quickly but we’re moving at a pace that feels natural for both of us. I think?”
I nodded, so he kept going.
“Right. So, I don’t see an issue. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t coming on too strong with you. Because I don’t mean to overwhelm you. I keep telling myself to cut it out. But then I keep doing it. I’m typically a pretty low-key person, but I’m just . . . not low-key about you.”