shy

What sort of behavior is customary during a romantic appointment between two people who are unfamiliar to one another? I have never actually experienced any sort of romantic anything to really know the answer to that. Or maybe my overactive imagination prone to fantasy has convoluted my perspective to the point where I cannot even fathom a typical date—whatever that is. No, my mind is much too imaginative for that. Annoyingly particular.

Still, what is the modus operandi for going about creating the most fantastic romantic engagement? Perhaps I am overthinking this. After all I am the one who was asked to this intimate meeting of persons, why should I trouble myself with the fine details of a night I have not even had a say in planning? I need to relax. I finish putting on my second lash and I pour myself a second glass of some generic brand of pinot noir I picked up earlier in the day to do just that.

It's 7:34. I travel to the corner of my room where my lighted glass vanity sits and stand in front of it to examine what I had just spent the better part of my evening preparing. A solid white slip clings tightly to my body and my hair is in extra-long black box braids that cascade purposefully down my back and against my curves. I did not bother getting my nails done, instead I went ahead and painted them myself to match my toes— The Un-Red it was called. Somehow felt very suitable for the night. The red adds a very delicious dash of color to the deep caramel tone of my skin, I notice as I play with the 'a' charm dangling from my necklace. It makes me feel a bit more interesting. I browse my fragrances as I continue to ponder what sort of night lays ahead for me.

Should I have prepared some conversation starters? What if he doesn't find you all that interesting? What if this whole night is a sham? What have I even gotten myself into?

I don't even have the time to give energy to these thoughts because it is now 7:49 and there is a knock on my door. He's early I think to myself as I am snapped out of my reverie. I take a generous gulp of my cheap pinot noir. I pause and look in the mirror, deep breath. Fuck, here we go. I swallow the rest of my drink, place my glass on my vanity and I hurriedly sprits myself with some Marc Jacobs fragrance.

I do love a punctual man! I think to myself as I slip on my platform sandals and grab my MK wristlet, heading toward the start of my evening. I pause when I get to my front door, take a deep breath, peep through the hole and allow myself to be completely enamored by the picturesque figure standing on the other side of my door.

It was quite a sight to see. He was wearing an ox-blood collared shirt accented with a gold rope chain and some square gold stud earrings to match. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone to where I could see some of the artwork that muraled his gorgeously defined chest. His shirt clung handsomly to his body as I was able to make out the fine definition of his arms and torso—seems to me like this young man don’t miss a day in the gym! I say to myself brazenly, wanting. I wonder how he looks from the back. His jawline was chiseled by Michelangelo himself, I noticed as he glanced off to the side and I got a perfect view of his profile. Glorious. He had a handsome head of hair, beautiful black locs that flowed from his temple, woven together neatly across his head like a crown with the ends falling intentionally past his shoulders.

Well suited for my Emperor I thought from the other side of my door. I loved what I was seeing, and I did not want to take my eyes off of it for even a second, not even to officially greet him. I just wanted to stare in absolute awe.

Finally, I disengage all of the locks and open my door to allow this man inside. As if he could not disarm me any further, he greets me warmly with the widest and brightest grin I have ever seen on another person— I couldn't help but mirror that smile right back at him.

"I know I'm a little early, but I figured why wait to get a chance to spend time with you" he says playfully and a little shakily. Is he as nervous as I was? Do I make him nervous? Does he notice how nervous I am?

I smile reassuringly, "Well I'm glad you came when you did, I was about to drink myself into a coma!" Should I have said that? I'm not the best in social situations. Maybe alluding to the idea that you’re a raging alcoholic is not ideal first date conversation material.

He laughed anyways. It could have just been polite but we moved on towards the start of our evening all the same.

~

“Are you ready?” He asked me as he parked his black Chevy Malibu on the street in front of a dark and seemingly empty house that was situated on the top of a sizable hill. What ~the hell~ have I gotten myself into? I think to myself as I glance quizzically at him, then at the house, then him again. He had this bewitching grin on his face, slightly different from the warm one he greeted me with earlier. This one had a sort of riddle behind it, like he was playing some single-sided game I had not been made aware of. He was devastatingly handsome and a bit difficult to read. I quickly look back at the house.

“What exactly should I be ready for?” I said to him unsmiling, not trying to hide the skepticism in my voice. I look back at him with my best 'don't even try to to play with me' mug. His smile deepens, I peel back some of my defenses. What is he doing to me?

“A great night.” He smirks and before I can say anything else he is out the car and making his way to the passanger. I attempt to open my own door as I assume chivalry is dead. As I move my hand to the door knob, he gallantly swings the door wide open for me, bowing and gesturing as if he were a true knighted gentleman escorting his fair lady for the night. “After you, madam” he beckons in an exaggerated, mocking regal tone.

“What a gentleman!” I say boisterously as I giggle and wiggle my way out of his passanger seat. He sure knows how to make me feel comfortable. I think to myself as I mirror his bow with a polite curtsey suited for an Empress. He smiles brilliantly.

We make our way up the stairway that leads to the house. Instead of venturing to the front door as one would presume, we wandered off to a different pathway that led to the side of the house where I noticed a fenced in area for the first time. As we approached, I noticed a glow of lights coming from inside the fence, as well as some light music playing in the background.

Now I was trembling. Oh, shit I thought as we inched closer and closer to the fence. Once we got up to the door he stopped us in our tracks. Without looking at me he pauses and takes a deep breath, as if he is gathering himself. I stare at him sweetly as he privately regains his composure, feeling an overwhelming sense of ease coming over me as I become filled with complete adoration for this man. He looks rather splendid under this moonlight. He looks back at me, catching a glimpse of my look of longing that he greets back with a nervous but genuine smile. He opens the gate.

The other side of the fence revealed a magnificently designed back yard landscape. The inner walls of the fence were lined with full beds of flowers—tulips, chrysanthemum, lilies and sunflowers (my favorite). There were bushels of lavender growing in the corners of the garden, as well as several lush shrubs of hydrangea and some other species of flower I cannot make out.

Very refined and particular taste I think to myself. Yet also humble and sweet, homely cottage vibes I decided.

In the complete opposite corner of the garden from where we stood there was a fully grown apple tree in bloom, the pink and white flower petals delightfully littering the ground around it. Coming out from the apple tree laid a stone path that led into a circular fire pit patio that was surrounded by luxury lounge chairs and some potted succulents.

It was the most beautiful back yard I had laid my eyes on; I was stuck in my state of reverence and admiration until He gently grabbed my hand and led me up to the official start of our evening. The wooden rail of the stairs had fairy lights wrapped around it and flower petals were sprewn copiously across the ground and steps we were walking. At the top of the steps revealed a lavish candle lit area, with a round white clothed table centered on the deck overlooking the rest of the yard, and two welcoming wicker cushioned seats surrounding it. On the table sat two pristine wine glasses that seemed to twinkle in the night light, and a large bottle of wine. I go grab the bottle of wine and examine it for myself.

“Jetbird” I say reading the label aloud.

He smiles bashfully, “Yeah its merlot” he utters before a brief pause, “I figure if you’re going to drink yourself into a drunken slumber tonight, it may as well be with some class”

I burst out in genuine laughter. He gets me.

Maxwell plays sweetly in the background as we both have a seat and he pops open our bottle. He pours us both a generous amount and we clink our glasses together and toast to a full night of sultry, romantic pleasantries.

~

A knock on the door. It’s 7:49 and I take one last determined look at myself in my vanity. I look into the glass of pinot noir in my hand and review the image staring back at me. I place the freshly poured glass firmly down on my vanity, spray myself a couple of times with some Marc Jacobs signature fragrance, grab my sandals and my wristlet and I make my way towards the door.