I Wanna Hold Your Hand

We were laughing.

We were on our second glasses of wine.

I was realizing that every time I went to say something I wanted to touch his arm. Had he been wearing a tie, I'd have adjusted it. If a hair wandered out of place, I'd have brushed it away from his eyes (those eyes!). Hallmarks of attraction, all of them.

I suggested we leave for the bistro I'd suggested. A little more wine in the privacy of my kitchen and I couldn't be trusted not to climb on his person without ever leaving the house. What kind of date is that????

He helps me with my coat. (Points) Holds the door. Locks it behind me with my keys. (More points) and then escorts me to my side of his (confirmed not to be a rental) zippy little luxury sports car. Opens the door and helps me in (it is toboggan height from the ground and I am in heels with two glasses of chardonnay under the hood). Puts on the seat warmers. I decide there is no longer any need to count points. We are already off the charts. He could have a spitting, swearing case of Tourettes and a flesh eating disease and he'd not go into deficit spending.

I was suddenly very glad I'd chosen the bistro we were going to. A fun atmosphere and a dining/bar area that compelled people to socialize. But more importantly, romantic, European wine cellar decor, and a huge roaring fireplace with leather sofas and chairs around it. If we weren't fascinated by each other, chances are there would be people I knew to wave in. If we were captivated by one another, the fire would certainly enhance the mood.

We arrive. He parks. Pulls into the parking space in reverse. (Scratch a few points...my parking lot pet peeve. We'll work on that. Hardly a material issue.)

We walk in and by divine intervention, the sofas facing the fire are unoccupied. The Patron Saint of First Dates has thrown me a bone.

A glass of wine and we are scooching closer on the sofa.

An appetizer later we are holding hands.

And now, 4 months later, we still are.