Date Nights (Kara and Crescent)

I sit at the edge of my bed gazing across at my make up mirror. My feet are on the floor, and I stare into my pale and quiet looking reflection. My hand anxiously plays with the cellphone beside me, knowing I still have time to change my mind.

"Katie? Catherine?"

The sound of Anna's voice makes me jump, not having heard her first call, as my pretty blonde housemate of two years pokes her head around my door.

"Yes?" I reply, turning to face her. My face a little pale, and as I sit back I ache a bit, realising I've been in this position for the past few hours.

"You're out tonight right? With Ryan? Are you OK?"

That was my original plan. And yet my boyfriend has been the furthest thought from my mind tonight. For the whole week actually. Ever since your proposition. It was a proposition you had obviously thought out well, a bold, confident proposal that you had spent time preparing, and one that I was not prepared for at all. Having thoroughly enjoyed our evening until your "solution", I had met you with "what?", "is this real?" three times, "but you're married" "but you're too old for me", "but I have a boyfriend", another "is this real?", "isn't this blackmail?" and finally a stern "no!" before grabbing my bag and walking out of the bar.

But I have since said yes. It only took me a couple of days, but right up until even now I'm not sure if I will go. Every night I sit in front of my mirror and weigh up my options. My mother isn't going to help herself. My father sure as hell isn't going to help her and I struggle to get enough money to pay my own rent. The strange thing is, you are not some cruel mean guy, I know that a part of you really wants to help us out, and I understand that you can't give "free rent" which is kinda what we require right now. We've always had a neighborly relationship and you've always been sweet to me, treating me with respect in my teenage years. I'm flattered you "want to get to know me better". But what does that even mean? And "date nights"? I'm young enough to be your daughter. The look you gave me upon its suggestion seemed to imply something that I'm trying not to think about too much, yet keeps creeping into my head, especially at night.

"Yes.. I'm out tonight"
"With Ryan?"
"Uh huh"

It wasn't until it came out of my mouth that I had finally really decided what I was going to do. But letting Anna know wasn't an option and anything other than Ryan would draw her suspicions. My hand picks up my phone and puts it away.

"Well you better get yourself made up then girl!" she smiles and winks. I smile back and as she closes the door I resume gazing into the mirror.

The bare, oaken floorboards produced a faint creak as I went about my business in the small flat. Not in all places, but one in particular, slightly off center of the front room made a point to whine at the balls of my feet each time I deigned to cross its territory. Between it and the general dustiness of the two room abode, I took it to be upset with me for the years of emptiness that I had relegated it to. "I should really get a rug for that," I replied. Such endeavors would have to wait for another day, though. I had done what I could to spruce up the place: dusting, vacuuming, dusting again. Thankfully it was finally beginning to look more alive than sickly again. My efforts could not make the space look new, of course, more likely old. All of the furniture, save for a new king sized mattress, was of older design. Hand-crafted, dark wood was the esthetic it had bore when last in use, and thus how it would remain for tonight. The only alterations I had committed, aside from dust extermination, were seen in a small rack containing three bottles of wine and the two black and white pictures depicting my wife, now safely tucked in storage.

I settled into a seat at the heavy, rounded, cherry wood table with a bottle of Merlot, pouring into one of the two glasses present. I took a long sip, contemplating the other framed photos and paintings adorning the walls, "She'll think I live in the age of my father. Oh well, nothing to do for it now...." There really was no better place than here to find the sort of privacy and discretion that was needed. I just hoped my young company would not see me as even older than I am. The thought drew a low snort, followed by a self-humored grin. Refilling my glass and taking another draw, I elected to let my thoughts drift to her instead, to Catherine: her youthful, pretty face, her eyes, lit up bright when she smiles. "If I can just get those eyes to gleam how I've seen them before, tonight will be a success. Then I'll think about next week."

I moved myself and my glass to the couch in the front room, relaxing into it to wait. My thoughts still lingered on Catherine, only now they trailed further down from her eyes.

"You're meeting him like that?" my housemate met me in the hallway, a little surprise on her face, as i finally emerge from my room.

"Umm.. yeah, you don't like it?" I asked. In the hour that had passed between our last conversation, I had taken her advice and applied make up to my lips, cheeks and eyes. This was a "date" I had agreed to and while I have so many apprehensions and a slight distaste for what I'm doing, there is a reason that I'm doing it. Showing up tonight is going to keep things smooth for a while, so I felt I had to put some effort in, if at least to keep you interested. My make up and dress clearly wasn't to Anna's taste though.

"I don't know.. I mean, are you breaking up with him? Whats with all the black? Didn't I teach you anything?" she laughed. Anna was great. From the moment I moved in with her, I received an urgent haircut and makeover and she encouraged me into a love of clothes shopping. Before her I was quiet and studious, always a pretty girl but I stayed in my room a lot due to my parents. While not quite a socialite, and despite still being very good in school, I've grown into a far more confident woman since leaving home.

I look down at my outfit. Black formal pants, a tucked in pink blouse with a frilled collar and a black cardigan which I had buttoned up right to the top. I look more like I'm going for a job interview than a date.

"Here" she smiles at me, stepping forward and unbuttoning my cardigan fully, before undoing the top of my blouse.

"and untuck that blouse for gods sakes.." her hand going to my fringe and messing up my stylish brunette bob, trying to make my blonde lowlights show as I somewhat reluctantly do as she says with the blouse.

"I think you're good.. although you're sure you don't wanna wear a skirt? I mean you guys have been at that kissing stage for a while now, and those pants aren't helping. You might want some rouge too?" she laughed pointing her lipstick at me.

"This is fine.." I say quite firmly and she nods, knowing that when my tone changes like that it's time to back off.

"Have a good night tonight you" She smiles as I step in and hug her. She tells me to be good, and I wave as I pick up my black purse and let myself out. Taking a breathe of air before I walk down the steps to the accommodation car park.

A few minutes later I am in my car, listening to the radio as I drive into town. It takes me about 10 minutes until I find myself arriving at the given address. It's quite central in the city, and I instantly notice how different these properties are from the nice accommodation my mother has. Lots of small flats that each look very basic from the outside. My Sat Nav tells me I'm here so I pull up onto the kerb and get out. A short walk and a flight of stairs later and I find myself standing at the door of the house number you gave me. With one final deep breath I knock softly twice.

A flash of thin, crimson fabric taunts the corner of my vision before slipping out of site. I turn my head, trying to catch up to it, but the elusive material keeps just out of sight. My body shifts to the side to give me better range of motion, but the change in position pulls me off balance. Falling sideways, I catch myself by my elbow on the armrest of the couch. My sight through blinking eyes looks upon the interior of a familiar apartment. No hint of the fabric, nor of any movement at all stirs in the room save for myself.

"I must have dozed." Glancing to the half-empty glass of wine at my side, I further the thought. "No doubt the Merlot played a valuable part in that." Here I was drifting off to the very stuff that's supposed to ease your nerves. With a snort, I push myself from the couch and bring my watch into view. "Five to eight....she'll be along any moment." That is of course, if you're coming at all.

Your initial reaction to my proposal did not instill me with the greatest of confidence. I can't say I was all too surprised. It was not the type of offer one takes with ease. As you stormed out of the bar, I began to worry I would have to follow through with the unfortunate business concerning your mother. Whether I was more bothered by that or my lost opportunity, who can say? Thankfully, your follow up response in the days proceeding held a different tune. With a lightened heart was I able to file away the eviction notice I had already drafted.

At noticing the time, I quickly surveyed the state of the things. I replaced the wine bottle's cork and traded my glass for a fresh one that showed no hint of prior drinking. With that in mind, I took a breathe into my palm. "Best do something about that too. No need to make her think me an alcoholic." My pocket produced a pack of peppermint tic-tacs of which I indulged in two. Only a moment longer passed before I heard your soft knock at the door. I spit the two tic-tacs into the kitchen garbage and headed back to the entrance. Grasping the knob, and momentarily sucking in my slight gut, I pulled open the door.

"Catherine! I'm so glad you made it." Smiling and speaking in my friendliest of tones, I stepped aside, extending my open hand to you as you crossed the threshold. A quick glance confirms my expectations: conservative dress, a definite tenseness, but still echoing a youthful beauty. An extra glimpse of skin below your neckline caught my attention.

"Here, let me take your sweater," closing the door behind you, I step sideways behind you, lightly placing my hand on the shoulder of your cardigan.

The moment between my knock and hearing the sound of stirring from within the flat seems a lot longer than it is. As I wait, I look around, finding myself starting to feel a little nervy. I had lied to my flatmate and I hadn't told anyone where I was going tonight. I couldn't help but feel like I was doing something kinda wrong. Not that there was anyone around to see me as the neighbourhood was almost deserted at this time of night. I can tell from the design of the buildings that these were old homes, most likely many of them occupied by the elderly.

I suddenly hear movement from inside, snapping me out of my thoughts and almost instantly the door opens. I look up to see your familiar smiling face and friendly demeanor as you welcome me and gentlemanly offer you hand to me. My last interaction with you besides a text message had me see that friendly demeanor drop for the first time. It was something else, something that made me uncomfortable. I hadn't really known what I would see tonight, and I'm somewhat relieved that it's the familiar guy I know, despite how odd the setting is. My slightly sullen and apprehensive attitude towards you is caught somewhat off guard, and I reply to your greeting with a conservative smile.

"yeah, I said I would" I reply, as you step aside to let me in, quite glad to get off of the doorstep despite no-one being around to see me.

You step back in behind me after closing the door and your hand quickly moves to my shoulder. The soft cotton fabric of my cardigan is thin and despite it only being a light touch I can feel it. Being quite jumpy and wary I shrug you off instinctively. While it doubled to keep me warm and I was wearing it in the style of a jacket, it was part of my outfit. However this wasn't going to work if I'm not willing to at least relax and it only took my brain a moment to process this. A quite apologetic smile crosses my face as I look back at you.

"Sure" I say, an apprehension and nervousness in my voice that you probably expected, and a tenseness in my shoulder, but I shrug the fabric off as you take it from me. "Will my car be OK there?" I ask with my back to you as my eyes doing a quick scan around the room.

I immediately notice that it's fairly spacious with most of the furniture dotted around the rooms perimeter, although the walls are exposed in some areas. The one room appears everything but the bathroom which I assume is behind the closed wooden door. It's clear to me that it isn't lived in, and I can smell my own perfume and hairspray quite clearly despite not making a special effort with it. the room offering little in the way of aroma.

My eyes first catch, and slightly linger on the bed, it's hard not to given it's large, old fashioned and clearly the most modern thing in the room is the large white mattress. The significance of this is lost on me as I continue to gaze around a wooden wardrobe, wooden upholstery and the odd ornamental piece. A couch, a very small kitchen area, and finishing it off was the small wooden round table with the wine and glasses. You would have known from our conversation at the bar that I rarely drink, having chosen to have a soda that night.

Having finished taking in the room I turn back to you. I don't realize it but the last minute tweaks my flatmate had made to my blouse along with the simple removal of my cardigan presents you with a difference appearance to the one I had desired. My shoes were black and unremarkable. My black nylon trousers meet them loosely at my heel yet tighten the further up my long slender legs that they go. The pink button down blouse was now untucked and the top buttons are open. It's not enough to reveal even a glimpse of my treasures that swell modestly underneath, yet enough to make the next button down a tease. Capping off the look is my beautiful hair, something I've spent a lot of time and money on. My stylish, brunette bob frames my pretty, studious face and features nicely. At the same time it leaves my neck very much bare and exposed and makes my naturally pale skin more noticeable. Without my cardigan and with the blouse untucked, I am more reminiscent of a part time college worker in a cafe than anything else.

Returning your smile, I ease the thin sweater from your shoulders with both my hands, turning to hang it on the patterned, wire coat stand beside the door. I turn back to you as your eyes take in your new surroundings. My gaze lingers for just a moment on your shapely shoulders and the way they curve in to your slender back.

"I must say, Catherine, you look quite lovely tonight," I say to you in a friendly tone. It is admittedly a conservative compliment as you still have the look of a frightened doe about you. I'll need you to shed some of that tenseness before pressing my luck, lest you find the urge flee again. I move back from behind you to your right side. "I'm afraid there's not much to to look at here unless you have a fondness for old woodworking. Still, what kind of host would I be without giving you the full tour," I say to you, a slight chuckle in my voice. The palm of my left hand presses gently to your lower back leading you further in, away from the door. I'm keenly aware that only the thin fabric separates my fingertips from your skin.

"This is the living room...," a white cushioned, three-seater couch and a comfortable looking arm chair sit to our left just behind rectangular coffee table. To our right stands a tall, ornate, and obviously heavy bookcase where normally a tv might be. "And right this way, we have the kitchen," my hand gestures towards the left corner of the room. The kitchen consists of a sink, refrigerator, and oven/stove combination set into the outer wall. A section of counter sticking out 10 feet or so serves as the divider between it and the living area. "And lastly, the bedroom." A wooden king size bed frame sits alone in the right corner, topped by a new white mattress. Only a sheet and thin blanket lay folded atop it. In the middle of the room rests an oak table with four chairs around it, a less than full bottle of Merlot and two glasses decorate the top.

"Now then," looking you in the eyes with another smile. "Why don't we have a seat and a drink, and catch up, hmm? I've seen you so scarcely these last few years." I touch your back again, gesturing towards the table at the room's center.

I smile at your compliment, taking it in my stride. I am an intelligent young woman but I've always been quite slow when it comes to men. Especially older men. As you tour me around the room, your hands lightly touching my back and shoulders, you look at me several times. You have some attractive features to go with some more unattractive ones, but just like my college lecturers who appreciate my beauty as well as my hard work, I categorize such features as a kindliness, as likable. It's never really occurred to me that men out of my age range would find me attractive and as such I'm quite clueless as to why you would forgo rent for my time. I'm also struggling as to why such an old antiquated little property has been chosen rather than the bar we met at last week.

You are polite and gentlemanly as you tour me, making sure that my eyes fully absorb the surroundings. My initial glance around the room had only really absorbed that it was old and mostly wooden, but now I'm picking up more on the little intricacies, the color of white prominent in it's decor. The kitchen area mostly full of old silver utilities. It would be a cosy living space for an individual, or a couple, but I do notice the lack of modern conveniences such as television.

The other thing I notice is your use of my maiden name. All the times that you would come over to my house and catch me playing volleyball in the garden, it was Katie. Catherine being a name reserved for my parents, the closest of friends and occasionally something my elder lecturers would break into accidentally. Yet you use it and you do so confidently, as if I'm a different person from the teenager you used to chat to on your visits, while still retaining somewhat of the "adult" tone you held in those conversations. You are confident in your guiding of me around the room, and as you gesture me to the table, my suspicions are confirmed that we will be drinking tonight. This is your night that you have planned. My cardigan, my name, my wine, all liberties that you take with confidence, as you hold the cards. And none so great that I would put my mothers home at risk for.

"OK, sure" I reply simply at your invitation, your hand on my back ushering me towards the cosy table and I step forward, settling my bag down beside the chair nearest to us. The initial smalltalk has been comfortable for me, given that I didn't know what to expect, although I do wonder exactly what we have to "catch up" on and how it could take a whole evening.

You follow along aptly as I put on my show for you. 'Ever a student,' I smile at my own thought and project it outwardly to you. My performance is made up of deliberate words and measured actions. The tone of my voice, friendly and casual, the subtle touches, the act of directing you about: they're all committed with the purpose of putting you at ease with the idea of being here with me. It's an act that I've done before, though not in some time. As you first showed up, I felt a nostalgia in exercising my old charms, my subtle flirts. The longer I carry on, the more rejuvenated I feel in having you here. It becomes less that I'm reliving my past self and more that I'm making this, and you, my present.

I begin to see less anxiety in your movements. Your shoulders are less tense. Your smiles are more genuine. That cringe when I first touched your shoulder is forgotten. Further touches go unnoticed, at least consciously. I notice your eyes looking directly at me more as your attention is drawn to my act. You see me dressed sharply, yet casually. I am wearing a simple, well-made sweater, black and grey striped, over a dark grey undershirt. Beneath this, I'm donning a well-fitted pair of black slacks with a black belt, matched with a pair of sharp loafers. My face, I had decided to shave just before coming to the apartment. I like to think it gives me a youthful smile.

"Excellent!" I say, leading you back to the table. I could not anticipate whether or not you would agree to the wine, considering your reaction to drinking before, and given the events leading you to be here in the first place. I pull out a chair for you and pour us each a half glass before bringing my own chair next to yours and settling into it. "So tell me about yourself, Catherine. I have seen you so sparingly in recent years, and here you are now, grown into a lovely young woman." I ask more questions upon receiving your answers, "How is your schooling faring? I'm curious what you're studying. It has been some time since I've been on a university campus. I should like to hear how it is now."

I'm not quite as relaxed as you perhaps feel I am as you pull a chair out noisily along the wooden floorboards and politely gesture for me to sit. I've noticed the little liberties that you've taken and despite your best efforts it is noticeable that the friendliness you are showing me is not quite as natural as it was years ago. My original statements at the bar about your wife, my boyfriend and your age were and are all very true concerns I have about being here. That being said your words are nothing but kind and your actions are nothing but gentlemanly. I am quite naive when it comes to male affections at the best of times, and the light touches have gone mostly unnoticed. The anxiety and physical tenseness I felt as I came in have mostly gone in the past twenty or so minutes, although I'm still wary as to exactly why you would go to such trouble to get me here and why it's worth so much to you. Part of me actually wants to blurt something out, along the lines of "what do you want?" but I don't. Instead I accept my place at the table as you pull your own chair beside mine rather than sit opposite me.

Your compliment about me being lovely draws another conservative smile, but not a blush or anything. In the same way I see your handsome features as "nice", so do I take such compliments, it's sweet of you to say but I don't really let it sink in or truly believe it. I feel like you may be expecting more of a reaction, not realizing that it's a calculated compliment dropped between two questions and the moving of my now full wine glass to my side of the table. Several words come at me fairly quickly, "woman", "schooling", "curious", "university". My answers are slow and precise but each gets slightly longer than the last, I was always a very enthusiastic chatter when I was younger.

"It's going well"
"English literature"
"I doubt it's changed much"
"I've been living on campus for a while..."

I start my last sentence, and as I do my right hand almost subliminally reaches out to the glass. You purposefully aren't looking at me as it does, yet your ears can clearly hear that I'm about to do the first thing that I wouldn't do of my own will just a week ago. My small hand raises the glass and puts it to my lips, taking my first sip of the wine you have bought for us.

I nod and engage you with a weak smile as you respond to my questions. In truth, I find the terseness of your answers disheartening. There is no elaboration, no interesting conversation starters, no invitation to inquire further in any of it. The thought occurs to me that I am not the only one still putting on a performance. Perhaps I did not give you enough credit in your assessing the purpose of my invitation tonight. I wonder what it is you now expect, what it is you're prepared for.

I take a moment to look past you, as if something across the room has caught my eye. I do not wish for you to see my face while I'm thinking. In the wake of neither of us talking, I take a draw from my glass, using the time to contemplate my next approach carefully. Without looking directly back at you, I catch a sign of movement out the corner of my right eye, your hand extending towards the table. My ears confirm it as I hear the bottom of your glass scuff against the table when you pick it up. More subtle sounds come from the glass and your lips. While I expect it a lovely sight, your pursed lips contacting the glass, the blood red wine flowing between them, I do not wish to draw attention to your drinking. Or do I? An idea comes to mind, a story really. I am still not ready to push you too far beyond conversation, and this may help open you up, or at least help you empty your glass.

"Do you have a fondness for wine, Catherine?" My gaze shifts back to you with the new question, not shying away from looking directly in your eyes.
"I personally favor a nice, crisp red." I pull my eyes from you to the glass in my hand, giving it a slight swirl. "There was a time when some friends and I took a trip to the vineyards in Napa Valley, an especially bright summer it was..." I begin to recall the story for you. A bit rambling, and full of grins in your direction at what are meant to be the humorous parts, the story includes several friends and myself taking multiple tours over the course of a weekend, constantly having to obfuscate the fact that one of our party was still underage. I of course, left out the minor detail that this was my wife to be. The tale contains some silly drunkenness and acts of youth and culminates with us hastily departing a restaurant with a "borrowed" casket of Pinot Noir. Throughout the retelling, I make a point to casually sip from my own glass, while keeping you from catching my eyes on yours.

You ask a lot of questions and there is definitely an awkwardness about the conversation. The awkwardness borne from the fact that part of me does know why I'm here, or at least I think I do. Not really having an idea of your motives or the scope of your designs, but however naive I may be to male affections there was no mistaking the lingering glare that came with your proposal. It's easier to think that you are lonely and want my company and this is what is getting me through but there were definite hints in your proposition with the terms "date" and "alone time". It was what prompted my original spirited rejection and what has prompted the quiet apprehensiveness that I have arrived with.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect, be it a leering older man whom I'd give away as little as possible to or the friend of my fathers who used to chat kindly to me. What I have is neither yet glimpses of both. You are trying to chat but it's not quite the same natural friendliness as before, there is something else there. You are trying not to stare or make me feel uncomfortable but I can't help but notice the glances that come my way occasionally. Suddenly you look at me directly, the glass perched against my lips, my face really quite pretty as you ask your question.

"I don't drink it all that often.." I answer truthfully. Alcohol has caused my mother more problems than it has solved, and I've been very aware of that the last few years. Also you are aware I'm not quite of age, yet at the age where it freely flows at university. Due to this, a slight rebellious streak and a small weakness to peer pressure from Anna, I'm not exactly tee-total either.

Realizing that I haven't really answered your question and sensing that you may have hoped for a more receptive talker, I take another sip and formulate a better answer. While I still have misgivings about revealing too much, I have chosen to come here tonight and it's only fair that I give you an opportunity. And principally to me, I need this rent arrangement, this is why I'm here. You currently appear to be seeking less than what I had expected, so I feel that I should try harder, realizing that I'm a little cold right now.

Before I can elaborate, you are guiding me in the way of wine in the same way you guided me around the home. Shaking my glass, describing it in words such as crisp. You are obviously much more comfortable when talking about something you know, and your confidence in the subject along with the story you tell raises the odd smile from me. Most of them are polite smiles when I feel I should, yet there is the occasional natural smile that comes when faced with a funny anecdote and a direct grin from you. I am easing up, my sips becoming more frequent as you speak, carefully keeping the subject on wine, and making a point to sip from your own glass when I look up at you. A definite story being told to hold my attentions from your subtle directions.

"So you stole it?" I say at the end, and as you nod I can't help myself but to laugh and raise my eyebrows with a little suprise. I cannot really imagine you nearer my age, and I can't really imagine you doing anything fun like that.

"I do like it, Wine. I tend to drink white if we ever drink in the flat, but I prefer the red. It's more... sociable I think. It's better with food, we used to drink it at christmas". My words are fairly quiet but for the first time I've strung more than a couple of sentences together, not a coincidence that my glass is more empty than it is full, as my personality starts to emerge albeit slightly.

As I conclude my story, I tilt my head off to the left, looking across the room again. "So you stole it," you ask, a hint of incredulity in your voice. A self satisfied smile spreads across my clean shaven face and I nod. My eyes glance at you, though I'm still tilted away. It's with a sly look that I accept your laugh. 'It's about time some genuine enjoyment happened in this place,' I think to myself.

For a moment, my mind drifts off of you and the present. My eyes pan across the backdrop of the room, remembering it in a different light, in a different time, with different company. I exhale quietly as I often do when old memories take their hold on me. The scene in my mind's eye is very much like this one. The room and furniture are in their same states and places. Two glasses of wine sit atop the table. There are two of us here. Subtle differences exist though. One glass is empty, the other full and untouched. The other person present, though a woman of a similar age to your own, is very much unlike you. She is not sitting beside me at the table, but rather lying on the bed on her hip, one leg flat, the other crossed over it. Her dress is radically different. No modesty there, she gives off the appearance I'm looking for, or at least what I thought I was looking for....

Your voice clears me from my daydreaming. I'm mildly surprised to hear you speak without a prompt. I turn to engage you fully to listen, nodding along. "I should be happy to supply you with a recommendation, or perhaps even a bottle to share with your flatmate." Smiling, I drink the last small remnants from my glass and reach for the bottle. "Fancy having a refill with me?" I inquire, extending the bottle with a slight tilt towards your held glass.

Yes, I will.. I reply, tilting my glass towards you. The first hour flows into the second with the last ten minutes having gone faster than the previous fifty. Having something between my fingers, and being able to take the occasional sip has had more of an affect on me than the actual alcohol content, and I've visibly come out of my shell, albeit slightly.

As you pour, I take another look around at my surroundings. I have no idea of the history or previous use of the room and any guess I would take would be far off the mark. I have took you at face value that it is part of your property portfolio and assume due to its size and the neighborhood that it is a hard sell for you. The meticulous planning that had gone into it's layout after you "borrowed" the keys from your father almost 20 years ago is lost on me completely.

It hadn't escaped me that you had been deep in thought, although I had no idea quite what you were envisioning. As I retract my hand with a now full glass I smile a little, a gratuitous smile. While I'm very different from the girl that you were imagining there are similarities. While our styles are very different given the era, we share a taste in edgier hairstyles and fashion despite what I am showing tonight. We share a similar intelligent charming demeanour slightly above our age. We also have a similar physique, tall and slender, long legs with seamless natural curves to our bodies. We both have a pretty face that can display a wide range of emotion and feeling, my gratuitous smiling and looks of interest already creating a different atmosphere in the room than my previous apprehensive look was. My circumstance is the reason that I am here instead of another, and yet I'm a lovely girl with all the potential in the world to be what you desire. Where I differ greatly from the girl you remember is that your memory is one of an almost finished article, something I certainly am not.

I'm still naive quite as to why I am here as my fingers loop around the base of the glass in a motion that is comfortable to me. My two schools of thought this week having been between lech-y older man or lonely nice guy, my mind not yet open to all the shades of grey between black and white. While I'm less developed and naturally intuitive than you maybe would have hoped for, the opportunity you have here with a blossoming young lady is not something afforded to a gentleman of your age and looks very often. I tilt the glass to my lips yet again, and take a rather large sip, my eyes meeting with yours as I do. The room feels so quiet at that moment, and almost nervously I put my foot down a little hard on the floorboard, eliciting a slight squeak.