The Big Date Post

I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his sides and continued until I was almost kneeling at his feet. I stood to smooth his hair, offered one last awkward pat on his back and turned to face the woman on the other side of the small foyer, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

“No secret documents?” she asked me and I desperately wanted to ask her if they paid her enough to embarrass people in order to gain entry into the restaurant. Instead, I sighed and blushed while placing my own hands against the wall and letting Jon – whom I’d hugged for the first time not 30 minutes before – move his hands over me.

“OK, you’re clean,” the woman pronounced, taking the double agent theme a bit too far, and we proceeded into the restaurant through the bookcase that turned accommodatingly to let us slip inside. We reached the end of a hallway, but the wall soon opened to allow us entry into the place Jon had chosen for dinner. We talked conspiracy theories in the spy restaurant, among other varied topics, but I found the former rather fitting.

“So, wait…” I found myself saying often as I tried to wrap my mind around someone who thinks far outside the box that defines my world. “Really?” I offered a couple of times, feeling grateful he wasn’t offended by my honest, yet skeptical, response. I thought of my parents – my dad’s a big conspiracy theory fan himself and would have much to discuss with Jon – and how Dad passionately proclaims some theory true and valid and Mom rolls her eyes. I always grinned – until I lost patience with Dad’s style of argument, which is rather repetitive. Jon, however, seems very bright and is certainly articulate, so I enjoyed listening to him.

One funny thing I’ll remember from dinner though – he often prefaced a statement by saying, “You have to understand, Katie,” and every time he did it, my brain said, “Do not.” But, apart from the silent assertion of independence, I may have been a bit rough on him. I asked a lot of questions, demanded specific examples and requested elaboration on several points. I also talked a good deal, but I – as is my habit – told stories.

“I guess,” I said at one point – maybe it was when we talked last night on the phone, “I’m not so exotic. I like the mundane – going to work and coming home and worshipping at the same church each Sunday. I want to have friends and be close to family and do something valuable to my local community.” That leaves me with a more vague interest in solving the world’s mysteries – the very questions that seem to capture Jon’s attention.

I didn’t finish my drink, a sin the waiter scolded me for before going to fetch me a clean glass to take home as a souvenir. “I love my glass. Thank you.” I said, and I smiled across the table tucked into an intimate, little corner at my escort for the evening.

“Another mosquito bit me,” I offered when he asked what I thought, rubbing at the sting on my left arm with my right hand. We were at a beautiful spot, watching the moonlight glimmer on one of the many bodies of water around here, and I had been listening to him talk - romantic, thoughtful words - while standing at his side, watching the clouds in the foreground drift by the moon while those in the distance created a hazy glow around it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, moving back toward the car. “Kind of ruins the romantic mood.”

In truth, I think I was the problem. I had a rough day at work, finally hitting a wall of being overwhelmed with new information and feeling useless and slow. The girls on the team were wonderful, going outside with me for lunch and offering pep talks and relevant stories of their own. But I remained a bit down for the rest of the day. Then there was the home inspection, looking around this place that is beautiful and wonderful and that will someday be familiar, but is now just this one extra new thing I have to fit into my world. “No major issues,” the inspector pronounced, so the last major hurdle is cleared.

Jon and I, having been driven from the spot in the moonlight by the bugs, drove around a bit while I admired his sense of direction and knowledge of the city. We talked and laughed and our arms touched a few times.

“I wanted,” I confessed, “to be able to end the evening with the certainty that I could love you forever. But I’m overwhelmed today, Jon.”

“Did I say too much?” he asked, laughter in his voice and I relaxed with the relief of not offending him.

“No. It isn’t you. It’s just work and the house and being here and everything being new and different. It just seems like a lot today. So I can be your friend – I’d love to be your friend – but I just can’t tell what I want past that.” And it was true – my head was beginning to ache as my mind raced to try to answer the question he asked while we looked at the moon. Before he said I must be particularly sweet tonight to continue to get bitten by the bugs, I sighed and tried to figure out what I wanted and how I felt and where to go from here. It seemed too hard. “I’m sorry,” I concluded.

“Please don’t worry about it,” he said, confirming that we could definitely be friends and that he wouldn’t rush me. I nodded, hoping the situation would eventually stop being so blurry in my sleepy mind. I like him, but what if he starts telling our children all about conspiracy theories and they get made fun of in school? But he seemed to enjoy me and I was very comfortable with him and I very much enjoyed the evening.

We exchanged mutual thanks before heading our separate ways. I reached up to give him another hug and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He called before I got home to tell me he had a wonderful time. I shared the sentiment and soon pulled into a spot in a nearly full lot at my hotel.

I had a lovely time. I met a wonderful, interesting man who made me laugh and think and who took me to a place I never would have gone on my own. He reads my blog and noted that he picked a restaurant based on what might make a good story, which is terribly sweet that he took my odd little hobby into account. I thought he was charming and I’ll certainly see him again. As for the rest, well, I’d tell you if I knew. And assuming that eventually I will figure it out – you’ll likely read about it then.