They arranged to meet in the bar. He was to arrive first, book in and pay for the hotel, buy some drinks - double gin and tonics - and wait for her to arrive.
They had selected the hotel together, in town, not too expensive but nice enough so that it felt special. They hadn't decided whether both of them would stay overnight; having not met before they had agreed to keep options open. The plan was that he would have an alternative place to go and that she could stay alone if they decided.
No breakfast arrangements made. No dinner; keep their options open. No expectations, respect each other. No disappointments - deal with the outcome good or bad. Promises had been exchanged. No comeback. A contract of sorts, in messaging form. That's what they agreed.
They had exchanged photographs for the first time. Rather, photographs by which they could actually identify each other. They promised not to try too hard when choosing them. A natural pose, chest or shoulders upwards, slight smile. In a short exchange they had both decided that they liked what they saw, so yes, they would meet.
He would know who to look for when she arrived, likewise she, and a handsome man, he had joked, sitting by himself with two gins in front of him would help in that regard. No flowers in buttonholes necessary. The awkward moment when one party walked on by would be avoided.
He found a table in view of the door but set back enough for some privacy. The bar was busy, as would be expected on a late Saturday afternoon in the run up to Christmas. He had been lucky to find a free place. Standing would have felt awkward. He had arrived early, checked in, visited the room, leaving his bag and the wine - her choice, red, two bottles. He had stood near the bar initially, an early gin to steady his nerves, spotted the table in the area he had chosen and sat to wait, drinks ordered and paid for.
He played with his glass and adjusted his pose. Resting back looking confident or forward and thoughtful? Would it matter in the end, first impressions and all that? He checked his watch, he checked it again. He looked around at the others; what were they thinking of him? A man on his own, waiting for his wife? On a first date? But they didn't care; he was invisible to them. They acted as camouflage, they had chosen the location well. His nervous thoughts continued, he checked his watch again.
She was a few minutes late. He saw her at the door, hesitating and looking through the now crowded bar. He straightened himself up, his hand slightly raised to attract her attention. She missed him at first as she walked forward scanning the room. A look of acknowledgement when she saw him; relief that he was here, reciprocated in him. Both hearts pounding, an adventure into the unknown.
He stood to welcome her; a light embrace, a kiss on the cheek - a wife, a friend, a sister, who could know? Signalling for her to sit, warm smiles exchanged, she removed her coat and lay down her small overnight bag. Nothing conspicuous, no obvious illicit intent. Their liaison lost in the crowd.
"Hi, everything okay?" he asked as if this was usual.
"Yes," her nervousness evident, "Doubles?"
She raised her glass to her lips, slightly grimacing at the bitterness. She smiled, relaxing, glancing down at his glass.
"Your first?" Looking at him directly, playfully accusing.
"No!" he smiled, "I've had one already! Yours?"
She sipped again shaking her head, - what do you think? - ice now broken. They smiled at each other.
Studying.
They were content; nervousness being replaced by excitement.
Quick glances around. No-one is caring but they lean into each other; talk should be soft.
"So, what's your story?"
"Staying with a friend. She'll cover if need be."
"Ah, so this is a regular thing, then?" he teased.
"No," she said blushing, "for her, yes, not for me," she looked up to his eyes confirming the truth, "NO!"
"Yours?"
"By luck, didn't need one. She's gone to her Aunt in Dublin, youngest has taken off to visit her sister, son thinks I'm out my brother. I'll message him later saying I'm staying over, if it comes to that."
"What if he brings it up later in conversation?"
"He's eighteen, there never is any conversation!"
They turned to their drinks once more. He studied her face. Pretty, he thought. Nice eyes, a twinkle. Perhaps inquisitive or maybe just playful, maybe he was being too hopeful thinking that. A few lines appearing, experience not age. The signs of laughter and of good times, not bad. Her hair was as she had described. Shoulder length, neat. A light cover of lipstick. Subtle make up. Not one to show off. Perhaps shy in reality. He ended his thoughts.
She looked back at him, a moment of silence. Young for his age, not youthful, not old. Happy eyes. Who needs hair anyway? Imperfect teeth but a friendly smile.
"Another drink?"
"Yes, well I mean...yes, please, I think I need..."
"Me too! I like this but...so yeah, more drinks," he gestured to a bartender, two more. She notice his nervousness, noting hers.
