Living in the past

On 22 April 2005, Mr RG and I met.
We were set up by two of our best friends. I was nervous, excited, but also feeling quietly cool about it. It was just a drink – whatever, right?
We had spoken on the phone and exchanged photos by the time we met. He gallantly met me at the public bus stop in the middle of the city. I remember checking him out with sidelong glances, struggling to keep up with his long stride, and thinking “this guy is too good for me”.
Later I found out he was thinking the exact same thing about me.
We found a bar, eventually, and some soothing sparkling ale to take the edge off. We exchanged the usual banter - family, friends, work, travel. He said he’d love to try dancing lessons – I will never forget that, and no we never have.
He carried my coat all night.
We ended up going for a meal. He paid for dinner, but I was so unused to chivalry that I ran up behind him to offer to pay my share. He didn’t notice that I’d left the table, and when he glanced at it and saw I had gone, the expression on his face was priceless.
We went on to drink more beer, listen to a random band, and ended up in a club dancing to old 80s tunes, where we had our first kiss. The most beautiful, light, feathery, gentle kiss.
He waved me off into a taxi after 1am. I rode the whole way home with a grin to rival the Cheshire cat.
I thought he was too good to be true.
He wasn’t.

Love you, babe.
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