Chapter 5 #2
Oh my god. How is this so easy? I’ve just met the guy, yet this feels like sinking into a conversation with someone I’ve known for years.
Although I don’t have the throbbing undercurrent of sexual attraction going on in my conversations with long-term friends that I currently have with Travis.
It’s the way we’re leaning in toward each other, the way his eyes keep dropping to my mouth, the way the air between us feels charged, like a storm about to explode.
The waiter interrupts then, asking for our drink order, and we both blink down at the menu.
Dinner. That’s right. I’m on a dinner date right now. I shift in my seat, trying to get my body to calm down. We haven’t even ordered appetizers, and I’m already half-hard from a conversation about quality control. Get it together, Devin.
I quickly check out the drinks menu. “Ah, I’ll have an Anchor Steam, thanks.”
“I’ll have a glass of the Willamette Valley Pinot Noir,” Travis says.
The waiter retreats with our drinks order.
“So,” Travis says as he scans the menu, “my brother mentioned you’re vegetarian like me.”
“Guilty. Eleven years now. You?”
“Eight. Though I still get the occasional dream about bacon. I wake up feeling like I’ve betrayed my principles.”
“Bacon dreams are valid. I’m fairly sure they engineer that smell to haunt you.”
A small smile lurks on his face. “That’s exactly what I think. It’s olfactory manipulation.”
“So what made you become a vegetarian?” I ask, trying not to focus on how the tealight on the table highlights the way his stubble follows the sharp line of his jaw. He’s unfairly attractive when he’s thinking.
“I watched a documentary about the environmental impacts of meat production,” he explains. “I did the math on water usage per pound of beef and couldn’t justify it anymore.”
“You went vegetarian because of math?”
“Environmental math. It’s compelling.”
“I went vegetarian because baby cows have sad eyes,” I admit.
“Which is equally valid,” he says.
And we’re back to smiling ridiculously at each other again.
How is this level of instant connection even possible? There’s this weird sense of recognition I can’t explain. Not like déjà vu, exactly. More like…oh, there you are.
And our conversation only gets better over dinner.
Travis has a slightly sardonic sense of humor that I can bounce right off of. We hassle each other like we’ve been doing it for years. He teases me when I admit I still have every birthday card I’ve ever received. I tease him about the fact that he has a favorite brand of sticky note.
It shouldn’t feel this natural.
We also continue to find more things in common. We both secretly love reality cooking shows, but only the ones where things go wrong, and we both think people who clap when planes land should be put on a no-fly list.
During our main course, I notice he’s taken all the end pieces from the bread basket.
“You’re one of those people who eats the end pieces of bread?” I ask, mock horrified.
“End pieces have more structural integrity for butter application,” he says, like this is a normal thing to consider.
“That might be the most engineer thing I’ve ever heard. You really do conform to your job stereotype.”
“Says the person who just arranged their vegetables in rainbow order.”
I look down at my plate. Damn. I did do that.
“It’s called eating the rainbow, and it’s supposed to be healthy,” I reply, and Travis laughs.
I could listen to the sound of his laugh all day.
This is the world’s best first date. Undoubtably. If they gave awards for these kinds of things, we’d be Olympic Gold medalists.
Because it’s beyond just superficial things we have in common.
There’s a depth to our conversation I’ve never had before on a first date.
We discuss whether social media has made people lonelier or just made the loneliness more visible.
We talk about what we’d do if money weren’t a factor.
He’d build pedestrian bridges in underserved communities, and I’d design picture books for kids in hospitals.
For dessert, Travis orders tiramisu, then proceeds to eat it layer by layer.
“You’re deconstructing dessert now?” I ask.
“I like to taste each component separately first.”
“Control issues much?”
“Do I need to remind you about your ROYGBIV vegetables?”
“That’s art. This is a dessert crime.”
As we continue eating dessert, we end up talking about our childhood.
“I redesigned my bedroom every three months. It drove my parents insane. I once painted a mural of the solar system on my ceiling without asking.”
“Did they make you paint over it?”
“No. Dad actually helped me fix Jupiter when I had the proportions wrong.” I smile at the memory. “He said if I was going to dream big, I might as well get it correct.”
“Is that why you became interested in graphic design?”
“Partly. I want to design things that make people feel something.” I fidget with my spoon. “What made you want to do structural engineering?”
“My grandfather was an engineer. He’d take me to construction sites, show me how things hold together.” He pauses. “He died when I was fifteen. Every design, I think about whether he’d approve of the math.”
“That’s beautiful.”
He gives a rueful smile. “It’s probably more grief dressed up as career motivation.”
“Can’t it be both?”
He adjusts his glasses as he considers the question, and the gesture draws my attention to his hands.
He has long fingers and neat nails. They look like the kind of hands that would be precise about everything they did.
“Yeah. I suppose it can. I really like my job. I like the idea of designing something that lasts longer than I will. Something people will still use in a hundred years.”
It turns out serious Travis is just as sexy as snarky Travis.
Possibly sexier, which shouldn’t be allowed.
No one should be able to pivot from “I did the math on water usage” to talking about grief and legacy and still look like that in candlelight.
I forget to breathe for a second. Just completely forget, like my lungs have decided oxygen is less important than memorizing the way shadows play across his cheekbones.
“That’s actually romantic, in a morbid, infrastructure way,” I finally manage to say.
“I prefer to think of it as practical immortality,” he says, and I laugh.
God, this guy. I think I could talk to him forever and never get bored with the way his brain sees the world.
His gaze seems to focus on my lips, and my whole body responds like someone just turned up the thermostat. Heat pools low in my stomach.
I swirl my spoon around in the leftover chocolate sauce, mostly to give my hands something to do that isn’t grabbing him by the collar and finding out if he kisses as precisely as he does everything else.
“What was your biggest childhood fear?” I ask.
“I was afraid of escalators until I was twelve.”
“What changed?”
“I studied their mechanics obsessively until I understood them.” He pauses. “That’s kind of been my approach to everything. If I can understand how it works, it can’t hurt me.”
God, that’s painfully relatable. Except my version is convincing myself that if I just believe hard enough in a good outcome, the universe will cooperate. Spoiler: the universe does not take requests.
“Does that work with people too?” I ask.
“Not even slightly.” He laughs. “People don’t come with blueprints. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
There’s something achingly familiar about the way he says it. Like I’ve heard this exact brand of self-aware cynicism before, wrapped in dry humor to make it easier to swallow. I can’t place why, but it makes me want to know him even more.
“What would your blueprint say?”
“Warning: overthinks everything. Requires detailed instructions. Do not expose to spontaneity.”
“Mine would say, Caution: makes impulsive decisions. Gets emotionally attached to fictional characters. Will arrange things by color.”
He smiles wryly, but there’s a vulnerability in his expression. “Do you think that means we’ll be a disaster together?”
My heart thumps. “I actually think it means we’ll be perfect. Sometimes disasters are just adventures in disguise.”
His expression definitely turns happier. “That’s terrifyingly optimistic.”
His knee brushes mine under the table, and neither of us moves away. It’s barely any contact, but I feel it everywhere. My whole body goes on alert, focused on that single point of connection.
“For some reason, I’m feeling remarkably optimistic right now,” I say.
He holds my gaze, and his voice drops slightly. “I am too.”
Is it possible to spontaneously combust from unresolved sexual tension?
The bill arrives, and Travis reaches for it immediately, giving me a chance to compose myself. “I’ll get this. I’m the one whose brother strong-armed you into going on a date with me,” he says.
“Fine, but I’m paying next time.”
The words leave my lips without thought because there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that there will be a next time with this man.
He pauses with his credit card halfway to the bill folder, and his genuine, unguarded smile makes my chest tighten.
As we navigate through the restaurant, Travis’s hand ghosts near the small of my back, not quite touching but close enough that I can still sense it. Every nerve ending in that three-inch radius is screaming for him to close the gap. I’m going to lose my mind if he doesn’t actually touch me soon.
When we reach the pavement, he rocks back on his heels, looking adorably bashful. “So, uh…I normally don’t invite guys back to my place on a first date, but this…this is different, right?”
My breath leaves me. He feels it too. Thank god he feels it too.
And I can’t help teasing him. “Different in that you think I’m only good for a hookup?”
He rolls his eyes. “Sure. We just spent the evening talking about our childhood, our dreams for the future, and our compatibility. That’s what I do with every guy I just want to hook up with.”
These aren’t just butterflies in my stomach right now, they’re full pterodactyls doing aerial stunts and possibly spelling out THIS IS IT in skywriting.
I take a step into his space, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. “Well, from my perspective, I think we just had the best first date ever. But I’m definitely open to discovering if there are ways to make it even better back at your place,” I say.
And his smile has me composing my own post for QueerWaystoFallinLove.
I’d seen this cute guy in a coffee shop for a few weeks but had been too nervous to approach him. But then one day, he came over to where I was sitting.
In a twist, he wasn’t asking me out for himself. He was asking me out for his brother. I agreed to go on a blind date with his brother.
And from the moment I walked into the restaurant and saw his brother, I just knew he was the guy for me.
Luckily, he felt the same way about me.