Free Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) by A.O. Peart Page B

hand once more, and then hands me my glass. We clink the glasses and smile at each other.  
    “To the second date,” he says.  
    “And to all that follows,” I add shyly.  
     

 

     
    EIGHT
    “ [Dancing is] a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.”
    George Bernard Shaw.
     
    I’m nervous, but happy. This is going to be my fourth date with Colin. FOURTH! And, so far, there are no signs of anything going sideways. He’s been attentive and perceptive, never brash or demanding. I really like that. Just as he promised me last week after we visited the photography exhibition, he doesn’t do anything to make me uncomfortable or rushed. I start to feel more and more relaxed with him. I take one tiny step forward after the next toward letting him into my world. But that will take more than the date number four and what it is supposed to end up with.  
    Our third date was totally casual. We had dinner at Seastar Restaurant in Belltown, and then drove to The Harvard Exit Theater on Capitol Hill, within walking distance from my condo. It was my idea, and Colin loved it. He’s never been to The Harvard Exit. The theater is old and definitely has character, unlike the mainstream ones. We purchased some popcorn to share, and it arrived with real butter and not some artificial goop. I took Colin upstairs, where the balconies are. There were plenty of seats in the front row of the balcony, and we ended up with nobody close by. He held my hand and drew slow circles with his fingers over it, which caused my heart rate to speed up, and my concentration on the movie somehow wavered.  
    Tonight he invited me to his house. He’s cooking dinner. This is impressive, because I can’t cook anything besides a hardboiled egg or spaghetti with sauce from a jar. But for all I know, we might be eating spaghetti with store-bought sauce tonight. And that’s just fine by me. I don’t expect him to prepare anything fancy. I’m just giddy to spend time with him.  
    I drove to the address he gave me and parked in front of what I assumed was his house. Quite nice, two-story home in Newcastle—not very big, but neat, with a well-groomed lawn and a fresh coat of paint on the walls. I ring the bell, and Colin opens the door.  
    “You made it. Come in.” He smiles and tugs me into a tight hug.  
    “Hi. Great house.” I step over the threshold. Soft music is playing somewhere in the back.  
    He helps me take my coat off and hangs it in a closet by the door. “Thank you.”
    “How long have you lived here?”
    “Just under a year. Got tired of living in my Edmonds condo. The commute was killing me.”
    We walk to the kitchen. I smell something delicious, like some roasted meat with vegetables. He tells me that he prepared honey-cashew chicken over wild rice with basil sauce, and caramelized grilled vegetables.
    “Wow. I’m impressed,” I admit. I really am.  
    “Nah, it’s nothing. I like to cook, but it’s not fun cooking just for myself.” He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “What would you like to drink?”
    “What do you recommend?”
    “Definitely wine. You said you’re not crazy about white wine, so how about red? Cabernet or Pinot?” Colin lifts two bottles to show me. I’m unfamiliar with either of them, but I choose Pinot. The white label says Marimar Estate.  
    “Good choice. This one is still dense, but not as full-bodied as the Aurielle.” He points to the Cabernet bottle. “It should go well with our dinner.” He uncorks the wine and pours the deep, dark-red liquid into two large goblets. He gives me one glass and picks up the second for himself.  
    We smile at each other. My heart decides to flip and flop, and then boing-boing, causing my hands to shake. I lean my back against the kitchen counter, and sniff the appetizing aroma of my wine. Colin drinks his wine, his eyes on me. I take a sip too.  
    “Very tasty,” I admit. The flavor explodes in my mouth—delicate notes of