Meeting a stranger is always uncomfortable.  You don’t know really which guy, you’re never certain if they’ll look like their photos, and you also don’t really know if they’ll think you look like yours.

It was with great trepidation that I walked up for my Wine Date.  It’s a place I’ve been before, on a date, and it’s chic and elegant.  I walk through when I get there, and he’s not there, so I go to the bathroom — again — and by the time I walk back through, he’s there, walking towards me.  He hugs me, which no one has ever done before, but it’s perfect.

I figure out where we should sit, and then I also move us to a better table.  I am incapable of deciding on wine, but eventually I do.  It’s an interesting rose, as it’s still quite hot, and I am in the mood for interesting.  So is he, drinking a white cotes du rhone.  We talk about Paris, we talk about travel, and the conversation is so easy, so effortless, that we continue to order wine and to talk.

We both glance at our phones, shocked it’s not 9 but 11.  We wrap up, he picks up the check, though I offered to split it, and he asks how I am getting home.  He lives in the neighborhood, two blocks away and had walked.  He calls me a cab from his phone and walked me out. He kissed me . . . and it was good.  And then we kissed again.

He asked me out on the date itself, and mentioned that he’s following me on a social media thing so he was aware of how many dates I had planned.

Overall, it was a great date and I am excited to see him again.