I stood at the Odeon’s doors al by myself watching the clock tick off fifteen minutes. Those fifteen minutes gave me ample time to review al my conversations with Michael and cringe over my awkward comments, to wonder what on earth we’d talk about, and to triple-guess my Ruth-approved outfit. I started to feel so anxious that I wondered if I should leave.
But then Michael rounded the corner. When I saw him wearing a pair of khakis and a button-down, I was glad to have worn the vintage blazer, long-sleeve black J. Crew top, and skinny black pants that Ruth had insisted upon. And I was real y, real y happy that I had stayed.
“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, El ie,” Michael said as he handed me a beautiful, gold-foil gift bag. “This isn’t an excuse, but I hope it explains my delay.”
I took the bag with a smal , cautious smile. I reached inside and slid out a box of expensive chocolate truffles with a cinnamon center. I couldn’t believe it. Over the course of the week, Michael had casual y asked me about my favorite candy, and I’d named my dream treat. I never imagined that he’d get it for me.
“I can’t believe you remembered.”
“You didn’t tel me how hard these were to come by in Til inghast.”
“I can’t believe you found them in town at al . I’ve only ever had them abroad in duty-free shops when I traveled with my parents for those summer trips.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t find them in Til inghast exactly.”
“Please don’t tel me that you went too far out of your way.”
“Let’s just say that the gift shop in the big hotel in Bar Harbor carries a real y nice selection of candy.” He took me by the hand and said, “Come on, we don’t want to miss the movie, do we?”
Chapter Eight
The movie and dinner couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted them myself. The movie was a perfect choice, enough action and philosophy to satisfy us both, but no embarrassing love scenes. I had enough trouble concentrating on the movie given that my arm kept brushing up against Michael’s, without having to deal with some on-screen love interest. The diner where we had burgers and fries afterward seemed somehow transformed into a French bistro straight out of one of the movie scenes. And we talked easily al night.
Over a shared dessert, we playful y debated some more foreign films. As we finished both the chocolate cake and our cheerful dispute, he said,
“God, I’m glad you’re in Til inghast.”
I felt my cheeks burn bright red. I wasn’t sure how to take his statement, so I pushed the chocolate cake crumbs around the plate and said, “You are?”
“I mean it’s so great to find someone in this smal town who’s smart and interested in the world beyond Til inghast. Someone who’s traveled to the same kind of obscure places and who’s dealt with the same kind of single-minded parents.”
The way Michael said “someone” made me hesitate. Was he happy to have found just anyone with whom he could connect? Or was he happy to have found me?
As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “I’m so glad to have found you here, of al places. Imagine seeing you again in Til inghast after first meeting you in rural Guatemala.”
I smiled and looked up. “Even if I can’t remember you from Guatemala?” I’d tried and tried to conjure up even one image of him from Guatemala, but couldn’t. It was like a wal in my head that I couldn’t scale or peer around no matter how hard I tried.
He smiled back. “Even if I was forgettable in Guatemala.”
We laughed over my forgetfulness, and I was hugely relieved. Up until now, we’d managed to skirt the issue of Guatemala and my strange amnesia about him. But I’d always felt awkward about it. Not anymore.
As he helped me into my jacket after dinner, I thought about how I loved what I saw in Michael. He was funny, chivalrous, and thoughtful, always opening the door for me and even stopping to help an older woman struggling to cross the street in between the theater and diner. He was obviously wel -traveled, and real y bright. He had only one flaw: He seemed too good to be true. In fact, he was so comfortable it made me wonder whether he’d been on tons of dates before.
We walked toward the diner door, and I wondered if I should cal my parents for a ride. After al , Michael hadn’t said anything about driving me home, and he did ask me to meet him at the movies. Maybe he didn’t have a car, and I didn’t want to be presumptuous.
I pul ed out my cel phone, and started to dial. He asked, “Who are you cal ing?”
“My parents.”
“Do you always cal them to report in midway through a date?” he said with a laugh.
“No. Wel , I don’t go on dates—” I turned bright red at my unintentional confession. “What I mean is I don’t have to ‘report in’ or anything—”
He laughed. “I’m only kidding, El ie. If you need to cal your parents for some reason, by al means, please do.”
“I just thought we were probably heading home and I should cal them for a ride.”
“A ride? I was hoping to drive you home myself.”
“You were?”
“Of course. If that’s al right with you?”
I nodded happily.
Michael was quiet as he helped me into his parents’ navy Prius and headed toward my house. I wondered if I’d done or said something wrong, and tried to fil the void with chatter. But Michael seemed perfectly content driving in near-silence, with one hand on the wheel and the other nearly touching mine.
He pul ed up in front of my house. Our little white Victorian, with its whimsical y painted Kel y green trim and wide front porch that my parents had resuscitated from demolition, looked especial y inviting. The warm lights coming from the kitchen were a sure sign that my parents were waiting up for me.
“Would you like to come in?” I wasn’t sure if I should ask, but it seemed the normal thing to do. Plus I was nervous. I’d never been on a date before—let alone kissed a guy—and I figured that might come next. Part of me hoped it would, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.
“Maybe it’d be better if I came in and saw your parents next time. I’d kind of like to keep you al to myself tonight.”
The words “next time” had such a sweet ring to me. They were a reassurance of sorts that he had enjoyed our evening, even if he’d grown quiet. I put my hand on the car door handle and said, “Until ‘next time,’ then.”
Michael reached across me and gently took my hand off the handle. “Are we done with ‘this time’ so soon?” If his voice hadn’t cracked when he asked the question, he might have seemed smooth, too smooth. Instead, he just seemed endearing.
I didn’t want the date to end either, even though I was anxious. I shook my head and looked down.
With his free hand, Michael traced my cheek and lips, and rested his hand at the back of my neck, lifting my face to his. He slipped his other hand around the smal of my back and drew me close. So close I could feel his breath on my skin.
He leaned in to kiss me, and I surrendered. His lips were soft and gentle at first, as gentle as he’d been with me al night. I responded intuitively, fol owing his lead as he grew more persistent.
Slowly, so slowly, he parted my lips with his tongue. The delicate, but powerful, motion took my breath away. I waited as he ran his tongue around the tip of my own and then along the ridge of my upper teeth with an al uring deliberation. The movement sent shivers down my spine.
I wanted to provoke the same reaction in him. Ten-tatively, I touched his tongue with the tip of mine and then sought out his upper teeth.
Mimicking his motions, I ran my tongue along the ridge, but it was razor-sharp. I cried out in pain, as my blood fil ed both of our mouths.