Chapter 33 Cam
33 Cam
Noelle isn’t like the other women who have flirted with me in the taproom, although it’s hard to explain why I think that. I guess I had the sense that she’s not a flirtatious person. Like it was something she had to work herself up to doing, but it’s not as if it was especially awkward or forced. No, it felt natural, almost like we’d done it before, but I have a hunch that it was an effort for her. When I saw that she’d left her number, I smiled.
I was worth the effort.
To be honest, I’d considered asking her out myself—the way she’d popped into my mind during karaoke had felt like a sign—but I’d never tried to give my number to a customer before. I’m glad she made the first move.
Had she returned to the brewery on the coldest day of the year just to see me? That occurred to me when she first walked in the door, and it was more or less confirmed when she scurried out and I picked up the cash she’d left.
However, I had some unexpected crises to deal with, and by the time I could look at my phone for more than three seconds, it was late. I figured I’d wait until the next day at lunch.
ME: Hey. It’s Cam. I have to work Saturday, but I can leave around 7. Dinner?
NOELLE: Sure!!
I can’t help wondering how often she uses double exclamation marks. Again, I figure not very often. It’s just a vague feeling I have, but something inexplicable is drawing me to her, and I look forward to getting to know her better so I can have more than vague feelings.
I haven’t been on a date since October. I have a lot going on, and while my grandmother was dying, I was spending my free time with her, not on apps. It’s been well over a year since I had a girlfriend, who broke up with me because she couldn’t deal with my hours. She would have preferred someone with a nine-to-five job.
Which is what I suspect Noelle has, all heiress jokes aside. Yesterday evening, she was wearing clothes that looked appropriate for an office.
I suggest an izakaya that I’ve been meaning to try for months, and she quickly agrees. When I have a free moment, I make a reservation, then send her the details.
I wonder what my brother would think of this. He’s one of those guys who believes women only like rich, white men who are over six feet tall, and poor him, because he’s not any of those things.
Neither am I, and I do well enough.
I’ve had many first dates over the years. I shouldn’t be nervous, yet I am, even if I don’t look it.
I enter the izakaya, and the employees shout their welcome. I smile back before giving my name to the hostess. She leads me toward a table, where someone is already seated, even though I’m five minutes early.
At first, I think it’s a mistake. I can see the back of the person’s head, and they have short hair, but once I get closer, it’s clear there was no seating mix-up.
“Hey.” I sit across from Noelle. “You got your hair cut. It looks good.” If she’d come into the taproom with a different haircut, I wouldn’t have said anything, but now, we’re on a date . I grin.
Instinctively, she reaches up to pat her hair. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
Her sweater looks very cozy. It’s another cold day, though not quite as bad as Thursday. She’s also wearing earrings that glint in the overhead lights.
I gesture to the menu. “Have you eaten here before?”
She looks momentarily bewildered by the question, then says, “Yes, but it’s been a while. When I was last here, I was able to sit on the patio.”
“Well, it’s certainly not patio weather today.”
She laughs in the way that people do when they’re a little anxious. I want to put her at ease.
When the waitress comes to take our drink orders, Noelle selects something with plum wine, and I get a cocktail with yuzu and sake. For some reason, my choice makes her smile.
After that, we debate what to order from the food menu, eventually settling on roasted shishito peppers, tuna tataki, agedashi tofu, wasabi octopus, and tempura.
Then there’s an awkward moment of silence. I’m acutely aware of the laughter at the table next to us, which seems louder than it should be. The acoustics in this place aren’t the greatest. That’s something I was concerned about when we were building the taproom: I wanted it to be a place where people could easily have conversations.
For a second, I kick myself for not choosing another restaurant, even if the food looks good, but I can make this work. I lean a little closer but don’t get all up in her personal space. It’s only a first date.
“What do you do for work?” I ask her.
“I’m a mechanical engineer.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s… okay.” She chuckles. “When I was deciding which engineering discipline to study, I chose mechanical in part because it’s so broad. I struggled to find a decent job, though, and I ended up at a consulting firm, doing a lot of HVAC design. The work isn’t too bad, but I’m not thrilled with this particular job right now. I’m looking for something new.”
“What don’t you like? Your coworkers?”
“Some of them, yeah. And I’m underpaid.” She pauses. “I can do better.” It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than she’s trying to convince me. “I feel like I’m not appreciated. They just heap more on me and expect me to get it done without a fuss because, well, that’s what I always did before.”
Yeah, I suspect that making a fuss would be out of character for her.
I regard her in the rather dim light. Noelle is Asian of some sort, but I’m not sure what. Her skin is a touch darker than mine. There’s just something about her that makes you want to take a second look… and a third… though I restrained myself from doing that in the taproom.
Now, however, she’s right in front of me. I feel like we’re on the precipice of something—and also like she’s on the precipice of something.
I would appreciate you , I want to say.
I don’t always come across as a serious guy, but I’m serious about this. I suspect I’d do a lot for her, even if I don’t know her well yet.
“I hope you find something soon,” I say.
We talk a bit more about our work, and then our food starts arriving, beginning with the shishito peppers and tuna tataki. As I reach for a thin slice of tuna with my chopsticks, I have the feeling that I’ve eaten this before, with her.
It doesn’t make any sense, but I try not to think much of it.
Conversation shifts to movies, and from there, we somehow end up talking about our families. I tell her that I grew up in Toronto and have a younger brother.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I have a younger brother and sister. My brother and his wife have two little kids.”
More food arrives, and she eagerly digs in. I watch her eat for a few seconds, admiring her dark eyes and the smattering of freckles on her nose and cheeks, before I help myself to some tofu.
The food is all very good, and when I ask if she wants dessert, she suggests we share the matcha cheesecake.
“It wasn’t on the menu the last time I came here,” she says, and she seems delighted by the new addition. Her delight is quiet, understated—but it doesn’t escape my notice. Just like I noticed her pleasure when she tried the blueberry tea on Thursday.
A plate and two forks are placed in the middle of the table, and we both lean forward as we help ourselves to the cheesecake. Underneath the table, my knee brushes against hers, and I don’t move away.
Afterward, she insists on splitting the bill, and we leave the izakaya and wander south on Yonge Street. She tucks her gloved hand into the crook of my elbow.
“Is this okay?” she asks.
“Of course.” It’s more than okay.
Tonight has certainly gone better than my date with Delphine last fall.
A few flakes of snow are falling, and it’s actually rather romantic. Valentine’s Day is a week away, and I wonder how I should acknowledge that when we’ve only just started dating. Assuming Noelle wants to keep dating, that is, but I have a feeling she does.
At Mel Lastman Square, I stop and watch the skaters on the ice. “There was a night market here in the summer. It was kinda cool.”
“Oh,” she says faintly. “Right. Yes. I went too. I had dumplings.”
There’s something odd in her tone, but before I can process that, her arms are around my neck. She tilts her face toward me, snowflakes in her eyelashes. It’s the cutest fucking thing.
I drop my head and kiss her.
As soon as my lips meet hers, it feels right , like we’re meant to be here on a February night, making out under a streetlamp. It’s also strangely familiar, but I think that’s just because it feels so right and good. I hold her as close as I can with our giant winter jackets and sink everything I have into coaxing soft little moans from her. She tastes of winter and matcha and something undefinable. Honestly, I’m tempted to say she tastes like magic.
“Hey,” I say afterward, swiping my thumb over her chin.
“Hey.” She smiles at me, though the smile disappears as her teeth start chattering.
“It’s too bad I can’t make you a blueberry tea right now.” I take her elbow. “We should head to the subway station.”
“G-good idea.”
She doesn’t invite me to come home with her, and I don’t ask.
“You know,” she says, “I got sprayed by a skunk once. Near here.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. “What were you doing to upset the skunk?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
“What’d you use to get out the smell?”
“Hydrogen peroxide, dish soap, and baking soda.”
“Was it gone by the next day?”
She hesitates. “Yeah, mostly.”
“Can I take you out again?”
It’s an abrupt change in conversation, but I want to ask now because we’ve reached the station and I don’t know if she’s going the same way as me.
“Of course you can,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.