Date 4

“Still or sparkling water? What would you like?

 

“Sparkling,” they both responded in unison.

 

“Sparkling,” she almost sang after the waitress had left. He let out a slight giggle, not sure if this was an appropriate place for his usual loud laughs.

 

His nervous eyes glanced around the room, seeking anything or anyone he knew in the restaurant. Not spying a familiar face, he relieved a breath and dropped his eyes across the menu, glancing for anything resembling normality. Anything from this culture would be a welcome relief. He looked up; she had closed the red cover of the menu, the one with the pictures, and was perusing the drinks menu. Dare he take a drop, knowing he was the driver?

 

He thought back to their third date, the one atop the Heath, overlooking the city. That moment was when his soul felt so light, the first time in a long time. Now, in this obscure Thai restaurant, his soul buzzed every which way, bumping every other table in the joint.

 

How would she respond? Was she expecting the same flighty, free-spirited guy? Because, to be honest, that guy was a million miles away. He had placed in his two weeks’ notice, but didn’t even pack up his office.

 

It was Friday night, after all, and after a crazy work week, he was knackered. Working with the elderly was tough on his body and his brain. In reality, perhaps he did need a bit of leave. A trip to the coast would certainly be welcome.

 

Their knees bumped, but not in a jolting fashion. It was more a slide and stop, instantly feeling some powerful energy rush back and forth between them. She glanced up, slipping out a wry smile and holding it there, almost to reassure him. Its warmth did, making his heart flutter ever so slightly, before rising into a sudden whirlwind, like the ones he had seen in the outback.

 

Then, it disappeared, almost as fast as it arrived.

 

His mind switched back into the present.

 

“Order the damn chilli chicken!” he muttered to himself, then checked if she noticed his lip movement. She had not. Instead, her sandal was off her foot as her pedicured nails lifted up the bottom of his jeans and gently eased up his leg, under them.

 

“Oh my!” he gasped in his mind.

 

“How is your brother?” she asked, keeping her toenails steady, the ball of her foot adjusting to the feel of his hairs.

 

“Much better, thank you. The doctor said resting for two weeks should do the trick, and he’ll be back on his feet.”

 

More like four, though, judging by his personal experience with the surgery.

 

She smiled at the word “feet”, as though she knew his awareness of her foot lifting further up and up his leg. Could she sense his leg hairs longed to stand upright? Or were they already? He couldn’t quite tell.

 

A cool bottle of Coke was soon in hand; in hers a glistening Sav Blanc.

 

“And how did your sister handle the breakup?”

 

She smiled, perhaps because he remembered. “Oh, she didn’t take it too well. She’s been staying at Mum’s this past week. Everything at her house reminds her of him.”

 

And how is your Mum going with that?”

 

“Oh, she hates it. Mum loves her own space, all organised. I mean, she’s not anal about it, or so she says. But she really likes everything tidied away. Lauren is a messy mot.”

 

“A messy what?”

 

“Messy mot. You know…”

 

“I figured out what it means,’ he said. ‘I’ve just never heard the expression before.”

 

“I think it’s a northerner expression.”

 

“Ahh, that makes sense. You guys say the weirdest things.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Now he realised he should stop there. There was no sense in continuing. However, he knew she was comfortable with her heritage as the glisten of the wine transferred to her eyes; her killer smile taking hold of him.

 

“What about your southerner talk?”

 

“Oh no, don’t you start. We speak the Queen’s English, that’s for sure.”

 

“Sure, sure,” she mocked.

 

“At least we both speak more like the Queen than…”

 

“Than those out west?” she pried.

 

“Oh, definitely. We can agree that much!”

 

He felt entranced. There, in his stomach, filled a wave of nerves only food could calm. They were not nerves, though. They felt something similar, only different.

 

Luckily, the food soon arrived, plates handled by a flighty waitress. He ignored the server; nothing would take his mind off the wondrous girl before him.

 

They slowly ate their food, picking at it rather than out and out eating. The conversation flowed well, as he soon felt more himself, and the nervous Nelly stayed in the past.

 

“If you could be any animal, what would you be?” he asked, going to a familiar question he used at work.

 

“A unicorn!” she blurted with a giggle after.

 

“They’re not real.”

 

“They are so real!”

 

“Prove it.”

 

“Prove that they are not!”

 

“Okay, okay,” he resigned.

 

“Oh yeah! I win! Though, I’m not sure what I win.”

 

“You win a lifetime supply of toilet paper.”

 

“Now, that’s a worthy prize.”

 

He paused at first before remembering her original answer. “Okay, if it wasn’t unicorns, then what would be your spirit animal?”

 

“You first.”

 

“Hmm, something smiley, bouncy, and a bit silly.”

 

“What, like a bunny?”

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty close, but not quite like that.”

 

“Meerkat?”

 

“Oh, now that’s a great idea! I can be a meerkat!”

 

“You were like a meerkat at the start of tonight.”

 

“Was I?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiled.

 

“When?”

 

“When your eyes were darting around the room.”

 

He mimicked a meerkat head popping up and checking around the room. She laughed, a little too loud for a restaurant.

 

“Okay, so it wasn’t like a meerkat. It was, I don’t know?”

 

“A jungle animal checking for danger.”

 

“Am I dangerous?”

 

“Not that I know of, yet,” he whispered.

 

She leaned in to parry back the whisper.

 

“I wonder sometimes, if, maybe, I seek out danger, rather than be dangerous myself.”

 

“Me too, but it’s not so much danger that I enjoy.”

 

“Oh, I don’t enjoy danger, that’s for sure. I don’t know, maybe I mean more adventure.”

 

“Yes, adventure,’ he responded. ‘Absolutely! With a tiny hint of danger, but something that you can overcome.”

 

“Okay, so we like a little adventure. That’s good.” She returned to her plate, scraping up the last of her vegetables.

 

“So, do you think you want to have another guess at my spirit animal?”

 

“Oh no, I give up.”

 

“I’m thinking I do quite enjoy squirrels.”

 

“Squirrel, oh that’s so cute!”

 

“Thanks,” he posed.

 

“Does that mean, like, you’re a hoarder?”

 

“Only before and during winter.”

 

She giggled again.

 

“At least I’m not a, what did you call it? A messy mot?”

 

“Oh, I imagine squirrels, for the rest of the year, are messy mots to the max.”

 

“Oh no, this alliteration is getting out of hand.”

 

“What do you mean, Mr Messy Mot to the Max who drives a Mazda.”

 

“Mitsubishi, dummy.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know my cars.”

 

“Me neither,’ he resigned. ‘But at least I know what I drive.”

 

“As do I. It’s a Subaru.”

 

“Good girl.”

 

He wondered if he had been a little too precocious or patriarchal. But she gleamed from forehead to neck, so he felt he was in safe waters. Still, a return to the original topic, or harbour, was best.

 

“Okay, so I am a hoarding squirrel that is messy in the springtime. You?”

 

“I love dogs, quite a lot actually.”

 

“But you haven’t had one for a few years.”

 

“Good memory! I know! I want one!”

 

“Any in particular?”

 

“Golden retriever!” she gleamed.

 

“So that is your specific spirit animal?”

 

“Mhm,” she nodded.

 

“Well, at least our spirit animals are, what’s the right word? Compatible, perhaps?”

 

“How so?”

 

“I think the energy levels of a golden retriever and a squirrel are quite similar.”

 

“Ohhh,’ she lengthened, ‘now that’s a great way of thinking about it.”

 

Her foot rubbed eagerly up and down his leg as she mulled over it for a moment.

 

“What are you thinking?”

 

“If there’s any memes where golden retrievers and squirrels play together.”

 

“I’m sure there is, and if not, AI can tackle that hole in the meme market.”

 

“Ohhh, did you say meat market, or meme market?”

 

It was his turn to laugh too loud. “Meme, but boy, you must have been loving the meat market of late.”

 

“And you love your nuts, Mr Squirrel.”

 

“And you your bones, Miss Golden Retriever.”

 

She laughed this time, with her head back. Gosh, she looked so gorgeous.

 

“Any dessert?” asked the waitress as she started clearing the plates, jolting them back to reality.

 

Or was this cheeky banter reality? He wished desperately it could be both in tandem. Finding that perfect balance between getting to know her, having crazy conversations about hoarding nuts, all while cleaning dishes. Now that sounded a little like heaven.

 

“I can bring the dessert menu if you’d like.”

 

Now they were brought right back into the restaurant, away from golden retrievers and meerkats.

 

The two looked at each other, his leg now on sensual fire, her head cocked towards the exit.

 

They both answered in unison.