The Act

The amber-tinted sun was setting as my Merlot colored dress grazed my thighs. He said, “It’s a date.” I re-downloaded another dating app on my phone thinking nothing of it. Here I am again, at another restaurant on a Friday night. Thoughts linger across the echoes of mind as my eyes drift around the dining room anticipating him walking up to my table. Him. Whoever he could be to me. I wonder how differently he’ll look in person once I gaze into his sky blue iris’. Will I get addicted to his musky scent drenching my apartment on a starless night? No. I need to stop getting ahead of myself before this has even started. How many other couples are here excited to be with their loved one? What if I’m about to meet the right person for me. The guy that has the ability to make me feel like I’m the only woman alive. Luckily, the waiter approaches me to break my own tension, “Good evening. My name is Peter. Can I get you something to drink?” I quickly respond without hesitation, “A glass of your best Merlot.” He replies, “Would you prefer something on the drier side or more full-bodied?” I said, “Something more full-bodied to match my dress.” He says, “Of course.”

As he leaves my side, I notice the candle in the center of the white clothed table flickering profusely. There’s a lot of people eating out tonight. Maybe they’re on blind dates too and they’ve experienced this kind of thing dozens of times. Right before I begin to get lost in the piano playing in the background, I faintly hear footsteps approaching behind me. Could it be him? A slight, gentle tap grazes my bare shoulder. The hair on my arm stands up for a brief second. A dark haired man with wavy black locks dressed business casual is standing behind me now. He’s wearing a pearl smile that can be spotted miles away, almost blinding and asks, “Are you Emily?”

I nod my head coyly while brushing my mocha strands away from my jawline. He begins moving toward the chair across from me with an expression on his face as if he’s been waiting months to drink me up with his glimpsing ocean blues. He had no idea what he was in for when he swiped right on my picture. Although, to be fair, neither did I. His eyes rush over to meet mine as if they’ve been separated for far too long.

“So, Emily, what brings you here?” What should I say first? Is he fishing for a compliment? Our waiter, Peter, carries my glass of velvety wine towards us and delivers it to the table. My first sip encases rich undertones that allow my shoulders to loosen up before I reply. I sarcastically respond, “Well, I’m really only here for the free drink.” He chuckles before asking our waiter to bring him the same. He feels classy, elegant and matches my taste. He looks at me deeply for what feels like a long moment, inhales, and tells me how my dress clings to my body begging for his attention.

What a cute compliment I thought, after sipping another taste of my 19th century black cherry flavored Merlot. This sip drips from my tongue down my throat giving me some liquid courage. The kind of strength I need to realize that this might not be the man of my dreams. He’s the man of right now, in this moment. Only time will tell what can happen between us if anything at all. For now, all I need is a little plaything that I can do what I want when I please. Someone that can hold me and say everything I want to hear in a heartbeat. An extra pair of hands to pull my chesnut waves and squeeze my waist tightly.

I don’t think he’ll have any problems with my sweet cravings because I observe his eyes soaking me in every second as we’re sitting here in this dimly lit restaurant. He’s wishing he could fade into my silhouette just as my wine softens my lips. All I can taste are raspberries, plum, and new found excitement brewing at the corners of my mouth. He’s already melting into me, imagining every inch of my body. I’ve seen this look on men plenty of times before. And all I’ve done so far is drink my glass of Merlot.