A close encounter

When we met at the theatre I was still debating whether this really was a date or not. He’d said in his e-mail he happened to have a spare ticket and it seemed a waste not to use it.

After conducting a straw poll with the other girls in the Marketing department I accepted. I thought it was funny that he’d asked and was curious. Why would a gorgeous 27 year old ask a 40 year old divorcee to go out with him?

He seemed surprisingly flustered as he picked up the tickets from the box office, a drink at the bar seemed like a wise move for both of us. As he ordered the drinks, he explained that the Piccadilly line was unexpectedly closed today and he’d had to ask his brother for a lift or he would have been late. I thought about my afternoon spending two hours changing from outfit to outfit, and then of course deciding on the one I started with. It seemed both of us, were a little nervous of the other.

He directed me towards a seat in a dark corner of the bar and as I took my seat his leg brushed against mine. It seemed deliberate, but it could have been an accident I suppose.
I really wanted to say, “Excuse me, is this a date?” But of course that would have not been cool. And I so desperately wanted to appear cool; it was a huge improvement on very confused and beset by doubts.

By the time we got back to the theatre to take our seats our awkwardness had disappeared and we began to recapture the lightness of the banter from our first meeting. The lights dimmed and I focused all my attention on the play. Suddenly I felt his hand brush my bare arm.

“Oh this is a date.”

My heart beat a little faster.