wine, whiskey, wondering and wandering
I had been tempted to take off while I was waiting, to roam and explore on my own, to go get tipsy in a bar and watch the crowds go by. But I had a date, and it’s not my style to leave a man waiting.
He was on time, well coiffed, dressed in jeans and bright contrasting shirts, very French, with a small shoulder bag that only a Parisian male could pull off.
On the terrace of a small café I sipped white wine while he sipped an espresso. He found it funny that I could start drinking at four in the afternoon, but I’d spent the day up in Montmartre where everyone had been wine tasting and it only seemed natural.
When I first asked him what he did he told me he was a stripper. I didn’t believe him, but he insisted, and it wasn’t until two hours later when he told me he was actually an engineer. It’s funny, but I had liked him better as a stripper.
So there I was with a young engineer, jumping from one café to the next, always splitting the bill, sharing small talk and trying to escape the rain.
There were moments I felt myself falling for him, moments when he said the right things at the right time. He was curious and confident, well traveled and well educated. His facial hair was perfectly styled and his cologne was strong and seductive.
But he drank fruit juice while I drank wine, Kir while I drank whiskey, and he wanted to look into my eyes more than I wanted to look into his.
I won’t deny there were romantic moments. He smiled when we got caught in the rain. He felt for my hand during the movie, and his fingers fit mine just right, crawling up my palm to remind me he was there. I liked his warmth, his smell, and his presence next to mine.
But he kept trying to kiss me and I wanted to watch the movie. His stubble scratched my face.
We left each other in the metro with a kiss on the lips and a smile.
He’s not the one. But he was the one to remind me that I can still let myself go. That I’m comfortable enough with myself right now to be in a relationship.
There’s romance in the air. Not with one man in particular, but in the face of every waiter, every stranger in the metro, every breeze in the air and sudden rainstorm. It comes frequently and suddenly, sweeping me off my feet when I least expect it.
Love or no love, man or no man, I’m going with the rhythm of things and letting myself be taken.