I was walking along the beach in Miami when I saw a woman working on her laptop. She had a smile that made me want to say hello. I’m shy enough that wanting to say hello usually gets me as far as continuing to walk, but this time I stopped.
We talked for a bit, and I asked if she wanted to have dinner that evening. She said yes. I’d spent so much time working up to the first word that I was slightly unprepared for how easy the rest of the conversation turned out to be.
Dinner lasted about four hours. We talked, laughed, and hit a few of those stretches of eye contact where you suddenly can’t remember what you were about to say. Afterward she texted that she’d had a great time. We kept messaging late into the night, sending each other music and trading little phrases in our languages. I was due to fly home the following evening, so we made plans to squeeze in a second date.
We went to play mini golf. I can tell you we held hands, kissed, and talked about visiting each other. I couldn’t tell you who won. She lives in London and I live in New York, so even a casual conversation about seeing each other again involved a surprising amount of geography. We kissed once more before she got into her car, and I headed to the airport.
Then my flight got canceled. Apparently the airline had been waiting for us to say a proper goodbye before getting involved. I texted to see if she had the energy to meet up again. She was exhausted, which was fair. We’d already fit two dates into the time I’d had, and now the airline was the only one offering an extension. We wished each other goodnight.
I don’t know if we’ll wind up visiting each other or if I’ll just remember her whenever somebody mentions mini golf. I’m glad I said hello either way. I’d still like to see her again.
