The Next Morning…
Things happened very quickly after those first words between us.
I woke up a little before you did, still in some disbelief that any of it actually happened, and a little more than proud that it did. You were the first woman I just walked up and spoke to without any preparation; normally, I would try to get a woman’s attention in other ways, see if she’s interested, and then talk to her directly. It was my way of working around being a little shy. I never believed that being direct would work, and the rejection would be enough to deter me from further efforts. But with you, I felt compelled to talk to you, to actually try and put myself out there. Alcohol provided some courage admittedly, but that alone wouldn’t make anything happen.
The thought came to me that it might be a one night stand, or something that would fizzle out with time. We had explored much of each other’s interests, but there was still much more to discover, and a level of compatibility that didn’t have anything to do with intoxication was still completely unknown. I wanted to keep talking to you, and planned to start talking and reflecting on things once you woke up.
…only I’d never had that kind of conversation before, at least not after sleeping with someone the first night I meet them. I was pretty sure you wouldn’t be dismissive of any further conversation, but there was that fear. Once you were awake, the hangover was pretty clear, and then you went to the restroom. Trying to have a conversation like that when someone is noticeably sick is a bit rude to say the least, so that was the end of that. The best thing I could do was to see if you needed any help with anything, so I offered to go to the store.
I raced out to the car and off to the store, thinking, “this is really happening!” I would have a chance to show that I could be a gentleman after a night of not being fully gentlemanly. Maybe that would score a few brownie points, or improve the impression I’d made up to that point. There was a lot of overthinking that went into it, but the point at the time was that I wanted to make a damn good impression by not just sending you on your way.
Which takes us to the drive back to your house. I had no idea where Highland Village was and had never heard of it before. Once I looked it up, I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again because of the distance between us, and the fact that our paths never cross without effort. Any attempt to date you would be deliberate effort rather than convenient, which didn’t bother me in the slightest, but I was unsure how you felt, and did not want to assume you would be all for it. You still looked beautiful that morning, and I thought it was cute when you fell asleep on the drive back. I was so worried about the impression I was making on you, because I wanted you to be interested in me, to be as excited about me as I was about you. By the time we arrived at your house, most of the anxieties about not seeing you again had been calmed. You thanked me for getting you home and helping you out earlier, and then you walked inside. I watched you leave, shoes in hand, royal blue dress still magnificent in the sunlight.
The entire drive home was an hour long celebration.