I ended up on a date last night. Sometimes these things just sort of sneak into your space and you don’t realize it until after the sun rises on a new day.
The Roofer called me out of the blue. His friend bailed on him for last night’s baseball game. He was driving into town, would I be interested in joining him on such short notice?
When he arrived, he apologized profusely for throwing out the invitation with only 30 minutes lead time. I joked with him, “You’re lucky all of THIS (pointing at myself) comes together so effortlessly, but I should really make you suffer a bit for treating me like Plan B.” Starting out with a sense of humor bodes well, and he gets mine.
Let me back up for a moment… Those who have read the blog for a while might remember The Roofer as the guy who was separated and filing for divorce last November. He was tired of her cheating ways and he realized he was the only one who wanted to fix the relationship.
We reconnected at a get-together in my hometown and I promptly proclaimed him “off limits” due to his enmeshment with divorce, involvement with another woman, and my personal #1 reason: no rebound relationships. We got together platonically for dinner and a roof consultation and hit it off…
As friends.
There could have been more, but neither of us wanted to push things. He was messy. I was messy. It wasn’t the best time to be messing with each other’s emotions.
Contact after that was sporadic. A text here about the Super Bowl. A chance encounter there over gin and tonics. And now this baseball game.
We caught each other up with our current situations and lives while eating dinner downtown. We joked, laughed, sang a few songs, had a great time and as we were getting ready to leave the restaurant, I looked up and stated, “I have a confession to make.”
Keep in mind, I’ve already told this guy my biggest fear and ugly cried in front of him, so there’s not much more I can do to scare him off, short of throwing up on his shoes.
“I’m a toucher. I love physical touch.”
OK, I’m still safe. He didn’t bolt out of joint leaving behind a puff of dust like the Road Runner.
“As we were walking over here, I almost grabbed your hand because I wanted to feel a friendly touch again.”
He smiled, put his arm around my shoulders, pulled me in close and said, “I know what you mean.”
It was nice to share a want with someone and feel safe doing so, not like an inconvenience, not getting ghosted. Not feeling invisible.
As we walked to the stadium, he linked his pinky with mine, led me through the crowd, and we talked about the city we both enjoy. I pointed to the different buildings that I had worked in, the hotels that I knew, the history of the streets and architecture. He spoke of the energy and people.
The rest of the evening was equally nice with courteous gestures, like placing his hand on the small of my back to guide me through the crowd, helping me to jump puddles in the street, and opening the car door when it was time to go home.
After walking me to the door, I invited him to stay since he had another 2 hours to drive. Platonically. I’d even take the couch (as I normally do when I have overnight guests in this little house) but he passed on the opportunity and instead he kissed me goodnight and told me the next time we went out, he would give me plenty of notice.
His last words were, “What are you doing for the playoffs? I’d love to take you if you would like to go.”
As I closed the door, I laughed and told him that was more like it.
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