Late Saturday night, while talking to YM about the 24 hours he’d been away (though we’d texted to check in while he was gone), I was getting settled in to bed and failed to notice how close I was to the edge of my very high bed. And I rolled off of it. I clattered to the floor and landed on what I consider my “bad knee,” the oft injured one on which I wear a cho-pat strap to work out.

It was instantly bruised and swollen.

Still, YM and I spoke as I iced it about our date the next day. I’d not seen him for over a week, during which I had seen TNG for dinner (after 2 months, we finally caught up and he’s very much happier alone and not dating than he was with me or something, it was weird and emotional and whatever), and then contracted an awful stomach virus that made me cough on Tuesday night and throw up. And it got worse from there.

While we were talking about life, romance, whatnot, YM jumped off the line, quickly, to I assume, take another call.

When he called back 10 minutes later, he told me that he had in fact suddenly thrown up. Awesome. He’d been eating poorly at game-related parties and had just been on a car trip so neither of us thought that much about it.

Despite my injury, we finally got off the phone after 2.5 hours, excited to see each other the next morning. I had admitted to him that I’d missed him the night before, and that I was going to allow him to kiss me.

I awoke Sunday morning in an awful mood. I was in pain. I was tired. I was cranky. The plan was for me to get myself together, and go for a little hike in my neighborhood, and then hit breakfast and see where the day takes us. He was pretty clear that he wanted to hang out at my “place, watch a movie, and makeout.” I was pretty clear that was not happening.

So, again, I am up early and just awful. I texted him when I knew he was awake — saw a tweet — to cancel. He does not let me. He agrees to a delay and to cancel the hike because I’d hurt my bad knee. But that’s it. We’re still having brunch. I cannot get motivated, so I keep delaying our plans. He persists, telling me, just get yourself together, throw on some clothes, etc. He slowly answers each objection with calmness, reason, and understanding.

How unusual.

I should mention I still have a bit of a fever, I have not left my house since Monday as I’ve been deathly ill, and I having raging pms. I am being a complete and utter bitch, and he’s managing a mood worse than I’ve inflicted upon anyone I’ve dated since A.

Finally, an hour late, I am again, in a bathrobe, with wet hair and again he’s like, okay Plan, slowly stepping me through my getting ready process. He teases with a gentle firmness, which works, and I talk to him on speaker as I put on my makeup, find a dress, and get dressed. I disconnected only to finally dry my hair into something resembling a hairstyle. Barely.

When I get to his house, he’s thrilled to see me and I am pissed off still. Just at life, not at him, but he is the only person there. We land at the casual breakfast place originally in our plan, and it’s slammed, as I’d told him it would be, so we head into downtown to figure out a new place. He suggests The brunch place where everyone social in town hangs out. I panic a little because literally everyone goes there and I am not yet ready to take the date that public.

I counter with the new foodie place on the east side. He’s very social in town, especially among the hipster party set. I am a foodie socialite, going to the new restaurants, the best restaurants, and parties that get written up in the paper, while he is at stuff widely blogged. Our worlds cross and we have friends in common, but we know we don’t actually live in the same world.

He is, unsurprisingly, game because he just wants to be with me, and he’d like me a little less cranky, but he’s not pushing it. We park and arrive at the restaurant and I am still all sharp quills and in a bit of pain. I love the space, but it’s empty. Only two other tables in a huge place. We sit in the back and I elevate my knee. I reached across the table and took his hand and said, okay, I am sorry I am being such a cranky bitch. We’re now starting over.

He beamed.

I . . . felt a really strong spark of chemistry.

I beamed, too.

The restaurant was outstanding. The plates were so beautiful he asked if he could take pictures of them, no doubt to tweet them. He also “checked in” there, which meant I did not. It’s a small place and I am trying to keep this on the dl for now because I did not know how much I liked him.

We had a fabulous meal, but he wasn’t particularly hungry. We had a couple of mimosas each and then started to discuss what we’d do next. He told me as we left the restaurant that he had an idea of what he wanted to do. Which, when we got into the car, was to kiss me.

First kisses are always so interesting. His was … perfect. I mean really perfect. Tender, gentle, passionate. After a couple of minutes, we stopped and laughed, and I said, well, that works. Then I asked him what it was that he wanted to do. Kissing me was his entire plan.

Now it’s noonish on a Sunday and he wants to go back to my place and I want that to not happen, so I suggest coffee. We go to the young hipster coffee place where friends of ours have already checked in and we order (I pay, but tell him not to get used to it), and we snag a comfy love seat. We sit there for a couple of hours talking and holding hands and getting comfortable with each other. Then we walk around downtown, as one does, still struggling for ways to occupy our time that do not involve going back to one of our places and that will enable me to rest my knee. I suggest a movie. Perfect!

Again, we’re really just looking for places to sit and talk, but we also really wanted to see The American (which was amazing). He tosses out, maybe we should sit in the back and makeout. Uh, no. We are the first there, as we’d had like an hour and a half to kill (It never occurred to us to pick a different theater. Everyone only goes to this one theater, widely considered to be the best in the country, which happens to be in our neighborhood.) There are comfy seats on which to wait and we both are just enjoying talking and holding hands and very occasionally checking on our twitter feeds.

He checked in as soon as we arrived, so I checked in about 45 minutes later, still doing what I could to maintain the shroud of secrecy about who I was with while acknowledging over and over where I was.

In the theater, we did not put down the arm rest between our seats, so he held my hand on my lap or on my thigh throughout the movie. At times, he leaned over and kissed the top of my head, which was adorable. We were so completely connected to each other and occasionally I looked over at him and thought how lucky I was to be there with this man.