More of the Beginning

Almost exactly two weeks after our first meeting, Ann came to supper at my flat. We had seen one another in between, of course: smiling and nodding as we passed in the corridors, occasionally exchanging a word or two. Every time, every time, my diaphragm lurched like a struck drum. Once, hurriedly, almost shyly, she had asked: "Are you going to Gary's party?" I didn't go. Deliberately. I already had an inkling that I was playing for keeps. I wanted everything to be just right.

I had sent flowers the day after we met. The note thanked her for a lovely night. Ann had a friend with her when they arrived. She enjoyed her friend's curiosity. She enjoyed being coy.

I spent a student's fortune on ingredients and the afternoon cooking: lasagne, waldorf salad, something clever with peaches from a recipe book. Neither of us ate very much. We were both too tense, too expectant. We drank, but not excessively.
"Coffee?" I asked. Suddenly, she smiled. God, that smile.
"I'm sorry", she said, "but I just have to do this." And then she kissed me. Soft, sensuous, enthralling. Just right.