A Love Story Part II: First Dates

If this is your first time reading the love story of my husband and I, you'll want to go to the older post to start it. :)

Saturday evening, as we settled into our seats at La Casita, a little Mexican restaurant just down the street from my apartment, Steve grinned.  “So, tell me about yourself.  I know what I’ve learned about you from class, as well as from what Heather’s told me…”

“Wait—you and Heather have been talking about me?”  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new information.

“Sure.  I mean, nothing much.”  He squirmed a little, then changed the subject.  “So what are your goals?  Your plans?  What makes Jewel Flake tick?”

I laughed lightly.  “How do you put it in a nutshell?  Well, this is my third year at EA—no judging—and while I already graduated with my degree in Music Education, I’m working on a degree in Sociology right now.  After school ends in May, I want to go on a mission—I’m working on my papers now, in fact.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah, I thought I’d heard something about that.  Tell me about it.”

He seemed genuinely interested, so I did.  I told him how it had always been my dream to serve a mission since I had been a young girl but how I didn’t know if it would be possible fiscally after two years of supporting myself through college.  Then, how I had been a counselor at EFY and had some incredibly strong promptings that I needed to serve a mission after going back to EA for another year. And how, at my darkest time, when I was doubting the call to serve a mission the most and praying desperately for answers, I had come across a scripture that literally answered my prayers.

“What did it say?” His eyes were on mine.

“’Lift up your head and rejoice, for the hour of your mission is come,’” I quoted reverently.

“Wow.  That is pretty straightforward.”  His voice was soft, but his eyes were still intently studying me, and I was suddenly inexplicably nervous again.

“How about you?  Where’d you go on your mission?”  I asked, suddenly wanting the attention off of myself.

He leaned back in his chair.  “Canada, Edmonton.”

“So, where is that exactly?  I’m afraid I don’t know Canada very well.”

He grinned, then began telling me mission stories, once again knowing exactly how to phrase something in the best way to make me laugh.  As I listened, I reflected that I had never had such a smooth conversation on a date before, as one topic slipped easily to the next.

“So, if you were to live in any era of time, when would you want to live?” He asked as I sipped my water.

I considered the question.  “Well, I love the idea of living back in Jane Austen’s time, but I’m afraid that I’m kind of addicted to running water and central AC…”

He laughed pleasantly as I continued, “…so, I’d probably want to live in the 50’s.  You know, a simpler time. I love the fashions, yet I still get electricity and hot showers.  How about you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up.  “I’d probably want to live in Jane Austen’s time, too.  I find it fascinating.”

Sure he was making fun of me, I stared.  “You’re joking.”

His face was innocent—too innocent, in fact.  “Why do you say that?”

“Because….I mean…I guess…” I didn’t have an answer, but he waited.  “I guess I just thought you were copying my answer.”

“Nah.  I’m too original to do that.”  He smiled at me, and I smiled back. 

The conversation continued to flow easily, and after the waitress had come with the check and we were getting up to go, Steve held the door open for me as we walked out of the tiny restaurant.  I thanked him, impressed that he was such a gentleman, and he grinned.

“Hey, I heard the newest Pride and Prejudice movie just came out on DVD.  Do you want to go rent it and watch it?” He offered casually.

I studied him, watching to see if he was sincere.  “Are you sure you want to?  I’ve been wanting to see it since it was in theatres, but if you’d be bored…”

“Nah.  It’ll be fun!”  He seemed to mean it, so I agreed to the plan.

After getting back to my apartment with the movie, I took charge.  Dates were one thing, but hanging out and watching a movie?  After three years of college with lots of guy friends, this was familiar territory to me.  “Okay, you’re in charge of getting the movie started, I’ll get some popcorn,” I suggested.

Steve grinned, and I went into the kitchen.  When I came out with the popcorn, he was sitting on the couch adjacent to the television, remote in hand.  I sat on the other couch, wanting to have a better view of the movie and set the popcorn down in between the couches so he could reach it more easily.

Three-quarters through the movie, Jen, another roommate, walked in.  “Umm…this is awkward!”

“Huh?”  I was still focused on the movie, but tore my eyes away to look at her in confusion.  “What are you talking about?”

She laughed.  “Aren’t you guys supposed to be on a date?”

“Well, yeah, we were…” I was still lost.

“So why are you two on separate couches?” She spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a young child.

I glanced at Steve, who was refusing to look my way and was instead looking intently at the television.

“Oh.  Well, I wanted to see the movie better…” I trailed off, not sure what I had done wrong.

Jen scoffed.  “Oh, you’re hopeless.”  She walked back to her room, leaving me feeling once again awkward and confused. 

Great.  He probably thought I hated him.  I glanced at him surreptitiously only to see that he was still focused on the movie. 

Maybe he didn’t care—he probably just asked me on this date as a friend, anyway…yeah, that was it.  I’m sure he didn’t mind the fact that I didn’t sit on the same couch as him, in fact, I bet he was just relieved that it removed the whole hand-holding question from the entire situation.

Yeah.  He was fine. 

I settled back into my spot and sighed, falling quickly back into the magic of the drama between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy.  Here was romance right where I was most comfortable with it—on a book or on a screen, but not in real life, and definitely not in my life.

“What did you do?!?!  Steve told me that he thought the date was a hopeless failure!”  Heather looked at me accusingly.

I felt suddenly defensive.  “I didn’t do anything!  I thought it was fun!”

“Oh yeah?  What did you guys talk about at dinner?”  She folded her arms across her chest as if she already knew the answer.

“Well, my mission plans…” I trailed off as it dawned on me that my upcoming mission was probably not the best conversation topic for a first date.

“Yeah?  And Jen told me that when she came in that you two were sitting on completely different couches!  What’s that about?  Do you know how to give off any of the right signals?” 

“I wanted to see the movie…” I started, then relented.  “Okay, maybe you’ve got a point.  I didn’t realize I was giving off the wrong signals.  I guess I came across as a little stand-offish.”

Heather rolled her eyes.  “You think?”

I suddenly felt concerned.  “Does he think I don’t like him?”

“Well, it took a little convincing from me, but I think he’s willing to ask you out again.  Only this time, you have to figure out how to give the right signals!!”  She glared at me, but I knew my theatrical roommate too well to take her too seriously when she looked at me like that.

“Okay, okay.  If he asks me out again, I promise to give him some more encouragement this time.”  I sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes as I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.  Her response was muffled by the door, but still clear enough for me to hear it.

“You’d better!”

“How many times do they have to reprise ‘Some Enchanted Evening?’” I complained to no one in particular.  I was taking a break during a particularly long South Pacific rehearsal, sitting on the floor of the left wing with my back against a wall when my friend Clinton sat next to me, extending his long legs and leaning over them to stretch.

I began scratching his back absentmindedly as he groaned.  “Aw, man—you can do that forever!” He grinned at me, and I smirked back at him. 

“No problem!” I scratched harder, and he began squirming a little under the pressure of my nails.

“Okay, okay…you can do it gentler again….gentler…ouch!” He yelped dramatically, and I snickered. 

“Just kidding.” I resumed a gentler touch, and he sighed in relief, just as Steve walked by.  I glanced up at his face and was surprised to see a look of—what?  Frustration?  Irritation?—on his face.  He kept walking, and as I watched him talk to Heather for a bit, he suddenly turned around and headed back towards where Clinton and I were seated.

“Hey, Clinton—that’s my spot!”  He grabbed Clinton’s hand and helped him up, ignoring his protestations, then plopped down next to me, leaning forward so I could reach his back easily. 

 Us in full stage makeup for South Pacific--I was a nurse, Steve was a soldier (who actually had lines and solos, but at this point I don't recall any of his characters' names...)

I quietly chuckled, then began scratching his back.   I suppose this is what Heather meant by telling me to give off the right signals, I thought, and peeked over at her, only to see her giving me two enthusiastic thumbs up.  Feeling embarrassed, I could tell my face was turning red as I uncomfortably turned my attention back towards Steve.  He glanced back at me, and suddenly, what had been a perfectly innocent exchange between two friends felt like something much more as I ran my hand up and down his shoulders, following his spine up to his neck, feeling the different muscles in his back.

I was acutely aware of the difference, but I didn’t stop and I didn’t pull away.  Rather, I leaned forward instinctively, enjoying the feel of my hand on his back, enjoying the nearness of his body to mine, and especially enjoying the look in his eyes as he watched me carefully.  It was a look I couldn’t quite define, but I loved the feeling I got when I saw it—I felt heady, powerful, beautiful, desirable.  I had never felt quite this way before, but while it was new, it wasn’t alarming—in fact, I didn’t want the moment to stop.

“Okay!  All nurses, on the stage in five!” The director’s voice was jarring, and I jumped.  The spell was broken.

“I guess I’d better go,” I mumbled, getting up, when Steve’s hand caught my wrist and held it.

“Wait--” he stopped me.  I turned, still trying to figure out what had just happened.  His eyes were captivating in their intensity.  “Do you want to go on another date with me?  After Spring Break is over?”

I didn’t hesitate.  “Of course!”  I flushed, realizing suddenly how desperate I probably sounded.  “I mean, yeah, sure.  That sounds like fun.”

He smiled and dropped my wrist, and I turned to catch up with the flurry of other nurses lining up to go onstage to the strains of “Nothing Like a Dame.”  I willed myself to focus, then got in line.  Trust South Pacific to take one’s mind off of confusingly romantic interactions.