Then we both studied the bread basket.
“This is awful,” I finally said.
He looked relieved.
“Thank God.”
I laughed.
“You’re terrible at dating.”
“So are you.”
“I have an excuse.”
“So do I.”
“What’s yours?”
“I’ve been busy since 2011.”
I laughed so loudly the table beside us looked over.
After that, things improved.
We abandoned the expensive restaurant after appetizers.
We walked six blocks in the rain.
I discovered Adrian loved old bookstores.
He discovered I hated jazz.
I learned he secretly watched terrible home-renovation programs.
He learned I had once auditioned for a college production of *Chicago* and forgotten half my lines.
By the time he put me into a cab outside my apartment, I had laughed more in three hours than I had in months.
He didn’t kiss me.
I was both relieved and disappointed.
Then he said, “I’d like to see you again.”
