I have been umm’ing and aah’ing about whether I should write a review of a date I had last week. Normally, as you’re all aware, I don’t think twice about spilling the proverbial beans, but this date is a little different.
I first dated this guy about nine years ago. It was one of those relationships which was great while it lasted but the timing was all wrong. I won’t go into too much detail but suffice to say, potential right man at quite possibly the worst time.
We dated for seven months but I had to make the tough decision to end the relationship. I felt it was the best thing for both of us.
I was heartbroken.
He moved up north and I never heard anything from him ever again. That is until two weeks ago.
I was spending yet another Saturday night at home in front of the TV with Dexter. We were watching The Voice (I know how to live,) when I received a text message.
Bearing in mind, I may have been on the occasional date since I’ve been single, but when I receive a text that says, “Hi Kate -remember me?” … invariably I don’t.
If I’m honest, I was embarrassed because I thought this guy said we had met within the last year and I was wondering if I had finally dated so much I’d lost my entire memory but, thankfully, I had misread the message. The penny finally dropped when he sent a photograph through.
He had barely changed (other than losing all of his hair,) and because he didn’t know whether I was attached or single, he was very respectful and just talked about wanting to catch up and see how I was. Of course, as the conversation flowed, it soon became clear that I had apparently been the one that had got away. His feelings for me back then were a lot stronger than I ever imagined and he was keen to reconnect.
We arranged to meet. It would mean a long drive down for him but he said he didn’t mind. I then spent the next five days getting more and more nervous, which really isn’t like me at all.
But this man was different. He had actually meant something to me, albeit a long time ago. I felt a mixture of apprehension, nervousness and terror at the thought that the same feelings might still be there.
Because he had such a long drive he decided to book a hotel room near to where I live and combine his trip with a work meeting in London. I booked a babysitter and faffed around about what to wear. It was the first time in a long time that I wanted to impress, as silly as it sounds, but I didn’t want to just turn up in jeans. So I wore a beautiful long sleeved coral patterned dress, high heels and topped off with a black jacket. I looked pretty hot if I say so myself.
I arrived at the pub and nervously looked around. He told me he was already there and so I was surprised that I couldn’t immediately see him. And then the doubts began to set in. Was this all just a game. Had he really meant what he had said about how he felt about me?
I looked around again. He really wasn’t there!
I rang him after five minutes and told him I couldn’t see him. He replied that he was at the Willow Farm pub and was at the bar.
And then it all made sense. Not only was he in the wrong pub (I was in the Manor Farm,) but he was in the completely wrong county!
Yup. I was in Kent and he was in Essex.
After a few exclamations of annoyance from both parties, he told me to stay right where I was and that he’d be half an hour.
In the meantime, I was now in a bar on my own, in a dress, high heels, looking totes hot, and seemed to have caught the eye of the token old pervert. If there was anyone that was going to catch his eye, it was, of course, always going to be me. That is just (unfortunately) the way I roll.
The minutes ticked by slowly and I got more and more embarrassed because fundamentally it looked like I had been stood up. I finally made my way back to the bar and stayed at the end, in the corner, hoping that no one would notice me, just in case I had to make a swift exit.
But before I knew it, my date came up behind me and said hello. I turned around and it was like we had never been apart.
He looked absolutely gorgeous.
Tall, dark, handsome, dressed in a gorgeous suit with the biggest smile on his face. He kissed my cheek, apologised profusely and asked to buy me a drink and we spent the next two hours talking about what had been happening in our lives for the last decade.
It’s a cliche, but the time flew and before we knew it we were the last ones in the pub. Of course, because he had left his hotel room in Essex, he didn’t have anywhere to stay and so, me being the accommodating hostess with the mostess that I am, I offered him the spare room. The only proviso was that he would have to leave very early in the morning because I didn’t want Dexter to see him there.
We got home and I made us a drink. We relaxed on the leopard print sofa (#sofa,) chatting, drinking, listening to music, being silly and when he asked me to put my legs on his lap I suddenly remembered that he had been trained masseur for the last 14 years.
For The Win!!
Did we kiss? Hell yes. Was it as good as I remember? Even better.
He left very early the next morning and covered me with the sheets as he kissed me on the cheek and said goodbye.
The evening was full of nostalgia, romance, laughing and a weird giddy feeling in my stomach I haven’t felt for a very very long time, so I guess you could say that the date went well.
Will I be seeing him again? It should be a simple yes, right? But I have to admit, the thought of putting my feelings on the line again scares me to death. I know that a big part of me wants to run away and never see him again. It’s safer that way.
But the other part of me can’t wait to see him.
Our circumstances are still far from ideal, so I need to make a decision.
Should I risk it? I’m happy as I am. I love my life, as imperfect as it is.
What do you think?