Here's what happened

I knew, through his friends, to let him take the lead. He was skittish, wounded. That was what had attracted me to him. It was important to let him know that I was available, but not easily. The first time I met him, I introduced myself and left. We were at an open house. Mutual friends of ours had renovated an old building downtown and made it their home. Most of the guys there had their shirts tucked in too tight, but he was wearing jeans and one of those zippered, hooded jacket things. I found out later it was cashmere. I still have it.

I saw him several weeks later, one Sunday morning. I was reading the paper and having a cup of coffee in the neighborhood coffee shop when he came in. I followed him with my eyes until he caught me, then returned to the article I was reading.

The following Sunday, he was there when I got there, seated at my table. When I walked in he smiled, stood, and said my name. He had on that same hooded jacket. I couldn’t tell if it was navy or black, but it matched his eyes. It didn’t appear as if he had pupils at all.
We laughed about the open house. We talked for an hour or so and he invited me to lunch, but I declined. He seemed more relaxed than the first time I met him. He asked for my number and when he called on Tuesday, I agreed to dinner.

We met that Thursday night at a small, local restaurant. I don’t remember what I ate, but I remember how time seemed to have stopped. He took my hand as I walked him back to his car and for two blocks, neither of us said a word. I kissed him, on the neck, as we said goodnight. He smelled like a puppy; clean, unspoiled and full of promise.

When we slept together for the first time, the following weekend, I knew that I would love him. We didn’t have sex that night, but slept spooned around each other, breathing together, heart beats synchronized. We slept late, much later than I am accustomed, and when I woke, he was watching me, with those deep, dark eyes. It’s hard to read his face so I asked what he was thinking.

“Good thoughts...” he said, “good thoughts.”

I laughed.

When we did have sex that morning, it was a little awkward, but ultimately familiar, as if we had been lovers who had been separated for reasons beyond our control and reunited.


I left without making plans to see him again and not knowing if I would.