They had agreed the coffee date would be brief: a preliminary meeting, with dinner that weekend to follow if they both wanted it. It was a sensible arrangement. Nobody had to commit to a whole evening before finding out whether conversation could survive a drink.
Conversation, as it happened, was easy. There was chemistry. Near the end, he complimented her skin and asked about her skincare routine.
The local climate is dry, so she explained that a routine was less vanity than basic maintenance. She mentioned hydration, a few moisturizers, and sunscreen. He asked whether that was all.
The question was a little more specific than she expected from a man she had met over coffee. The café had become very busy, though, and he suggested they continue outside. They took their drinks to the sidewalk benches. It was a reasonable change of scene—and, as it turned out, a change of venue for the interview.
Outside, he asked the question again.
She told him she used different things on different days to keep her skin balanced. It was a perfectly accurate answer, if not a particularly thrilling account of her routine. She described her skin as average for a forty-year-old.
By then, their agreed end time had passed. She needed to get back to work, so they said goodbye. She drove back still wondering why he had asked the same question twice.
On the way, she wondered whether he was trying to work out if she was high-maintenance. That was only a guess. He hadn’t said anything of the kind, and she hadn’t asked him. Maybe he was simply interested in skincare; maybe there was another explanation. The available evidence amounted to two questions and a brief tour of her moisturizers.
Earlier, they had agreed that they both wanted to meet for dinner and would text about the arrangements. Afterward, he did text to set up the second date. She was tentatively planning to go. The first part of the coffee had been genuinely nice, and she still wanted to ask him what was behind the skincare questions.
