We met at Ago, Robert Deniro’s restaurant in West Hollywood, on April 12th, twelve years ago.
A girlfriend of mine set us up. He was her boyfriend’s roommate.
We had spoken twice already. The first time he called me at work, we chatted for ten minutes and then he hung up.
I called my friend, telling her he must not have liked me because instead of asking me out, he hung up. She told me he was very proper, that he might not have wanted to seem too forward. She assured he would probably call me in a few days to ask me out.
He called two days later. Definitely different than the, “so should we meet for dinner or something?” I was used to.
This was before my life in pink so I wore a gray sweater, gray Bebe pants, and black pumps. I arrived a few minutes late. He was sitting at the bar, drinking a glass of ice water, sporting a blue blazer and khakis – not typical LA gear. My friend had told me he wasn’t a typical LA kind of guy.
“You’ll like that,” she had said.
We both ordered fish. I had a glass of wine. We chatted comfortably, easily, about work, college, where we were from, siblings, Los Angeles. Nothing very memorable or particularly scintillating.
But the date became memorable and scintillating when he not only accepted the dessert menu, but asked me what I was going to have. He assumed we would both order our own dessert. A first for me on a first date. My dates always passed on dessert, making me feel like I should as well.
A Dessert Man, I remember thinking. How about that.
He ordered crème brûlée. I ordered chocolate cake. We lingered over our desserts, scraping at the crumbs.
I felt his eyes on me as I led the way out of the restaurant.
I had a method for ending first dates. I always thrust my hand out for a handshake. “Nice to meet you,” I would say. Even if it hadn’t been nice. Most of the time this cut out any potential end-of-first-date-awkwardness.
I followed this plan with Dessert Man. As the valet pulled my car around I stuck my hand out. But he didn’t say the standard, “I’ll call you,” or “let’s do this again,” or “see ya!”
Instead, he said: “I really enjoyed meeting you and I’d like to see you again. I’m going out of town this weekend, can I call you next week when I’m back?”
A man who actually says what he wants, I thought. How about that.
I was giddy as I drove away from my first date with Dessert Man. I knew I’d see him again. And that we’d order dessert again.
This post was inspired by Mama Kat’s prompt: A memorable date.