Sunday arrived with a restlessness I couldn't ignore. I tried lying in bed, but my thoughts wouldn't let me stay still. I was anxious-in that anticipatory, fluttery way- for Layla and I double date. Well... not necessarily, we're all just getting together at my place. I had no idea what I was cooking, and I had absolutely no time to romanticize it. I threw together a quick bacon, onion, and cheese omelet, got dressed, and rushed to the grocery store. Somewhere between the produce isle and the deli, I logged into Pinterest for dinner ideas. The menu came together quickly. Steak and garlic potatoes with butter roasted asparagus. A Caeser salad as our appetizer. Chilled red and white wine. And peach cobbler for dessert. Simple. Intentional. Grown. While standing in line, I thumbed through Martha Stweart Living, completely mesmerized. The level of detail. The patience. The nerve to think someone wants to spend their afternoon folding napkin into swans. I snapped a quick picture of the easiest page to replicate. "Am I invited?" The voice was low, it was deep, it was close, it was too smooth. Startled, I turned to my left and found a tall, bronzed man with a clean bald head with an easy smile. Without thinking, I flirted back. "Of course- only if you bring extra dessert." The moment the words left my mouth, Russel crossed my mind. I fumbled with my keys, half from my shyness, half from the cashier's painfully slow scan rate. "David," he said with his hand extended. "September," I replied, shaking it. He smirked. "Yup it's meant to be. My birthday is in September." I laughed at how cute he sounded. "So is mine." I responded. And just as I assumed he followed with, "Can I call you September born in September? He made me laugh again. I told him I'll call him. As he typed his number into my phone, I already knew I had no intentions on calling him. I loaded my car in a rush. Tonight needed to be perfect. Back home, while the steaks cooked, I brewed a cup of coffee and put on Beyonce's Dangerously in Love. I arranged some fresh flowers on the table, butter pecan cappuccino in hand, dancing softly through my kitchen. Then my song was interrupted by a text message. Hey babes, I'm sorry- I won't be able to make it tonight. Something came up. I won't lie; it pissed me off. But at least she told me. No problem. Make it up to me over coffee☺️ I replied. I cleared Layla and Chris's place setting. Something shifted and so did I. Instead of the cute dress I'd planned, I slipped into a sexy mauve number that matched the flowers and the tablescape perfectly. If the night was changing, so was my mood. Four hours later, I waited for Russel. A knock at the door. Wine in hand, heart light, I opened the door. "Oh... hi Chris." Confusion flooded my face. "I thought Layla couldn't make it, " I said quickly. "Yeah, she texted me," he replied easily. I handed him the wine and invited him in. Silence stretched between us-thick and awkward. I had no idea how I'd explain this to Russel. And just like that, another knock. Russel pulled me in the very moment I opened the door; he kissed me softly and pleasingly. There was no time for explanations. Once everyone settled, I turned on music to soften the edges. Russel's confusion mirrored mine. "When is Layla getting here?" he asked. Chris explained her absence- again. Two hours passed in disjointed conversations and forced laughter. Eventually, Russel decided it was time for Chris to leave. I offered him a to- go plate, hoping he'd take the hint. He did. Russel's body language screamed questions, but instead he said quietly, "Chris has feelings for you." I stayed silent. To redirect the energy, I asked if he was staying the night. "No," he said firmly. "Grab a bag. We're staying at my place." Cloud nine. I packed quickly, locked my door, and left with Russel-leaving behind an imperfect table set. 

                                                                     To be continued...