Meeting in the elevator

I should’ve known the night would end the way it did. It always does whenever wine is involved. Especially red wine. For some reason, it seems to travel up to my head a little faster than any other, but I hadn’t had any in a while and I was enjoying it.

I hadn’t been on a date in years. Yes, you read that correctly, years! I had been busy taking care of myself so that I could feel happy without the need to get in a relationship to do that. I had done that all my life — searching for happiness through an external source— and it never ended well. Therefore, after my last breakup, I thought that that was enough. I had to find myself again, or get to know me again, or whichever the case might be. I had compromised my dreams and wants for so long, I couldn’t even remember what made me tick anymore.

I had dabbled with the Tinder thing, but when you are over thirty-five, you find a lot of “boys” telling you how they love older women as if you were some rare species in the zoo that everyone wants to pet and check out and brag to their friends that they had touched. No, thank you! The hook-ups that stemmed from app-dating weren't actual dates. I had friends who had met their significant others through app-dating, but personally, it never felt quite organic for me. Always having the same questions asked (sometimes several times a day and simultaneously), then trying to figure out a good time (because everybody is so damn busy all the time that you have to plan around everyone’s schedule —mine included), and then figuring out if the person you are going to meet actually looks anything like their picture and if you will recognize them or not. What.A.Drag. I guess because I grew up in a small town, where people would pop-up at each other’s place and hang out, or call you out of the blue (OMG, can you believe that? The nerve!!) to see what you were up to, I felt that app-dating and the small talk/chit-chat/foreplay just didn’t do it for me. Call me crazy, but what’s wrong with people coming up to each other to talk if one finds the other attractive? I’m sorry, but I find that a lot less creepy than some guy you’ve only spoken to a handful of times on some dating app sending you an unrequested dick pic. Yeah, that happens. Um… OKAY. Delete. Repeat. Swipe left. Swipe left. Swipe left. Sigh.

This brings me to the night in question. It happened about two years after I’d given up on app-dating, and, pretty much, on finding the right guy for me (and no, I’m not talking about Prince Charming —am I the only one who finds “Prince Charming” utterly dull?— or Mr. Perfect. I’m talking about the perfect fit for me). Just to be clear, it remains to be seen whether he is the perfect guy for me, but after that night, the prognosis is good.

The funny thing about love (or anything really) is that it actually happens when you least expect it and you actually stop trying to find it. It sort of finds you. Therefore, meeting Nathan was completely unexpected and serendipitous.

I was in the elevator, on the way to the garage. It was late, and I was planning on going on a nightly drive. I love driving, and going for a spin has always helped me clear my head and relax, especially when I’ve had a hectic day with work and I need to sort ideas out, or when I need to let go of a problem so that it’ll come more readily to me when I’m not forcing a solution. In any case, he got on the elevator on the next floor down. I was wearing my comfortable slack pants, and a sweater, and my hair was up in a ponytail with just the minimum amount of make-up on my eyes. He was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and a black t-shirt. He was walking his pitbull (the happiest looking dog I’ve ever encountered) and, after checking him out (and the dog), I asked if I could pet it.

“Oh, sure!” He said and smiled. He hadn’t even really looked at me when he walked in as he was talking to the dog. When he did our eyes locked and something strange happened. I’m not going to say it was love at first sight because that’s bullshit (how can you love someone you don’t know?), but I am going to say that “something” definitely took place in that elevator. We started chatting, and when he asked me where I was headed (seeing that the garage button was pressed and we were the only people in the elevator, it being 12 a.m. and all), I told him. He looked thoughtful as the elevator was getting to the lobby.

“Well, this is me.” And he reluctantly walked out into the lobby, the pitbull happily bouncing next to him with a wagging tail and a grin that covered its face. Before the door closed, he placed his hand on the side, forcing it to reopen. “Listen… I don’t usually do this, but, since you are not doing anything that requires you to be somewhere specific, would you like to walk with us for a bit? I think Aragorn here liked you.” Damn! He named his dog after one of my favorite characters in The Lord of the Rings.

“Sure. Why not? I don’t usually sleep until late, anyway”.

We talked during the whole walk. It was a frisky night, but not too cold. We had a connection (I know it sounds cliché, but I can’t explain it any other way). When we got back to the building, he asked if I’d mind skipping the drive to have a glass of Merlot with him. This will sound stupid, but I felt like Cinderella on the night of the Ball, except I felt that my enchantment would break if I just went on my drive. I decided to take him up on his offer. ‘What did I have to lose?’ I thought to myself. Especially on the year we were all having and not being able to mingle with almost anyone, his invitation was a gift. I was enjoying this man’s company, and he had a dog. Win-win. I was craving human contact and interaction. I had not realized how much I had missed that intimacy until the next day.

“Why not?” I replied. “I’m a pretty lightweight, so just one glass, deal? You might invite me to coffee afterward.” I added quickly so he wouldn’t think I was agreeing out of politeness. He laughed.

“Deal. Give me just a few minutes so I can put something together. Maybe a bit of food to go with the wine? Nothing fancy, just some tapas or such.”

“Sounds like a plan. I can go home and change… make myself a bit more presentable.” I looked down at my clothes and grimaced.

He got off on his floor, and I continued onto mine one floor up. I put on a pair of comfortable jeans, a business-casual shirt and fixed up my hair a little. I didn’t bother with make-up.

Thirty minutes later I was knocking on his door, which incidentally was right below my unit. I could hear Aragorn’s feet running towards the door, expectant. No barking, just expecting. My kind of dog!

“You know,” I said when he opened the door, “I don’t actually know your name”. He laughed a hearty and open laugh. My kind of laugh.

“You know,” he copied, “you are correct. I am Nathan. Pleased to meet you…”

“… Keira.” We shook hands the way two strangers do when being introduced for the first time. He gently pulled me into the apartment while we were shaking hands. I loved how familiar it all felt. “So… this is you,” I added looking around as I entered into his living space. He had bookshelves full of books: Steinbeck, Baldwin, Asimov, Butler, Hosseini, Bradbury, Twain, Dickens… and innumerable biographies and non-fiction, plus modern art on his walls. I was in love! OK, I wasn’t, but you know what I mean.

He guided me to the kitchen, where he proceeded to pour us each a glass of Merlot.

“To new encounters…” He cheered.

“… who meet in elevators.” I continued and winked an eye at him.

We sat at his large kitchen island, drinking and eating some delicious tapas he had put together. He’d been in Spain, he explained, where he’d learned to cook traditional dishes. I didn’t even realize that my glass was empty and when he offered a refill, I surprised myself by agreeing to it.

A few glasses and a lot of laughter later, I realized I was slightly drunk or, as it’s also called, “pretty happy”. I had made the mistake of not asking for water to help me pace myself and now, well, now it was too late. I was already lost. Alcohol had two effects on me: 1) it turned me into a very funny person. And I mean comedian-quality-funny. I don’t know where that came from, but it always happened; 2) it made me very horny and, consequently, less inhibited (I think that’s common for most people). Therefore, when Nathan was in the middle of a sentence and I could only focus on his full, sexy lips, I leaned over and kissed him. He happily kissed me back, but I could tell it wouldn’t go further than that. Bonus points! We made out for a bit, and he offered to walk me home just to make sure I wouldn’t slip somewhere and open my skull.

“That would be tragic,” he concluded, “I’m starting to like you.” He smiled.

He got my keys from me and opened the door. He helped me get to my bedroom and got me safely into bed. He removed my shoes, gave me another kiss, and wished me goodnight.

“Hey! I had a really great time. Thanks for tonight. I needed this.” I think I said, since I might have grumbled it instead, or mumbled… who knows. I think he got the drift.

“Ditto. You are a riot.” He half-closed the bedroom door, turned off all the lights, and I heard him walk away, but I must’ve fallen asleep before he got to the door because I couldn’t remember anything else.

There was a knock on my door the next morning. I checked my watch, it was 10.30 a.m. and I was still in my clothes. Drool on my pillow and very sexy raccoon eyes.

“One sec!” I shouted across the apartment to the door. I hurried to wash my face and look somewhat presentable. At the other side of the door stood Nathan, smiling.

“Hey! Just thought I’d come and return the keys. I took your spare so I could lock the door behind me. How’d you sleep?”

“Oh, hey! Thanks! I hardly remember even getting here. I hope I didn’t do anything stupid. I remember pretty much everything, but there might be something I have forgotten. Come on in. Are you hungry?”

“Don’t worry about it. I had a lot of fun. Yeah, sure, what’s on the menu?” He winked at me. “I also thought the keys were a great excuse to come by and invite you to repeat last night at some other time, perhaps with a bit less wine.” He smiled sardonically.

“Deal.” We headed to the kitchen, our shoulders touching.