the best date...

Once upon a time in a mystical land, far far away, which some call Boston, I was set up on a blind date. It was with the co-worker of a good friend of mine. He had seen me and kept bugging her until she agreed to set us up.

His name was Thor, or Bacchus or Aries or some god I can't quite remember. (Or at the very least I'm not admitting to it here).

He knew from the beginning, it was a one night only offer. I was moving to another country a few days later. He showed up at the doorstep wearing a white button down shirt and suspenders with grey trousers that fell elegantly from the fitted waist. He looked like all of the men I fall in love with in period films. We matched well, I in my 1930s style little black dress, cloche hat and mary jane heels. His arms were filled with flowers, I blushed, and searched for something to put them in while he stood just inside the door. I adore flowers. How did he know that gerber daisies were my favourite? He said they reminded him of me as soon as he saw them- far more than the roses.

We took the metro into town and he had a pocketful of ideas for places to go depending upon my tastes. The first stop was a tiny little cocktail bar hidden in the basement of a building, behind many plants. It was dark and everything was 1960s, including the lounge music. It felt a little like a lounge inside of Genie's bottle. I was delighted. I ordered a cosmo- not because I'm a cosmo drinker but because it fit the music and lighting somehow.

He was as smooth and cool as a Tarantino film. I've never again been so swept off my feet as I was that night. After the second drink, he casually played with the tips of my fingers from across the table, looking as pleased as if I had allowed him great liberties. The conversation was like dancing with your perfect partner. Never an awkward lapse, but the occasional warm appreciative silence to take in the mood and the night and the music. Lounge music, a good live jazz band, a cozy dinner...all in the unlikeliest of places, which proved to be the best I had ever experienced in Boston.

When we finally said goodnight at my door, he could have kissed me, but instead he bowed and kissed my hand. As he stood, he gazed into my eyes and smiled, "Thank you." He held my hand in his, as we relived the night in each other's eyes with warmth and joy upon both of our faces.

"I'm leaving...I'm sorry..." I stumbled, wishing that I had just a little more time...

"Shhhh..." he put one finger to my lips, then drew me close with the other hand- still holding mine. "I know, but we have this. Thank you." He pulled me to him and kissed my forehead, murmering "You deserve all of this and more. Have a wonderful life."

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes shining, I looked up at him. "This was the most beautiful night I've had in Boston, thank you." He held me close for another minute or two or half an eternity, then kissed my forehead once more, smiled a dapper smile and waved goodnight.He strolled down the street, hands in his pockets, a bounce in his step, whistling a merry tune. Beneath the street light at the end of the block, he paused and looked back and smiled before disappearing into the night.