The hostess asked if we preferred indoor or outdoor seating. I left the decision to David, who thought we should stay inside. She escorted us to a booth where we sat opposite each other. The small talk began. “How long did it take you to get here?”  “What do you think of this place?” “Are you hungry?” I decided to listen—to learn–not try to command the conversation. It was challenging to keep my mouth shut, but I managed.

David had a Brooklyn accent. He used his hands to emphasize his stories, and I noticed tremors. They’re called “essential tremors.” I have them, too. They often make me self-conscious. With David, I felt we were in the same boat. I listened and learned about him. He was an attorney in New York and Massachusetts but is no longer in practice. He was involved with commercial real estate transactions.  He and his wife split when the youngest of their three children was only seven. She fell in love with another man. David received sole custody and raised the children himself. 

He told me he spent part of the summer in the south of France, where he made many friends while raising his children. He brought them to Europe during school vacations to expose them to as much history and culture as time allowed. Then, the family spent three weeks at the end of August on Martha’s Vineyard. They still meet there each summer. He was articulate, well-read, worldly, and knowledgeable. David was impressive.

We ordered lunch, and David asked me about my life. He rarely looked at me. Forearms leaning forward on the table, eyes lowered, he relayed his stories. I could see his face now that he’d asked me a question. Perhaps he wanted to watch my expressions to know if I was being honest. I could tell he liked me. He looked relaxed. My defenses fell away. I am often a glass-half-empty person. That wasn’t the case with David.

I told David about my daughter, Elizabeth, her horse, and my pets. And then, I told him a recent story about my two dogs. I’d taken Cooper (the Yorkie) and Ollie (the Biewer) to a local pet-grocery store to buy some chew toys. Cooper, age 4, is very well-behaved and stays by my side. But Ollie, the Biewer Terrier (pronounced Beaver), is only a puppy. He was misbehaving–pulling and running ahead. A gentleman standing at the door opened it for me. I held a leash in each hand and thanked him, thinking he worked there.

“Thank you,” I said as I passed by the man. “My Biewer (and I pronounced it as Beaver) is misbehaving today.”  The gentleman’s expression converted to one of shock. He was a customer, not an employee, and wasn’t familiar with Ollie’s breed. What I’d said made no sense to him and may have sounded perverted.

David found my story hilarious. He had a great sense of humor. His blue eyes sparkled when he laughed. Before that moment, I wouldn’t have known their color. I could see the young man he once was when his expression brightened. He had a handsome face, and I immediately liked him more.

Patrons entered the restaurant, and the noise level increased substantially. I was glad we were almost finished. The check arrived, and David would hear none of my paying half. He was a gentleman, and this might be the start of something good. As we exited the tavern and walked toward our cars, David, again, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. I looped my hand through the crook of his arm as we made our way toward our respective vehicles. When we arrived at my car, I thanked him for lunch and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. He said he’d call. 

And then, he didn’t.