Sweet Dreams

I stepped out of the cab, and saw him standing in the lobby, the suit traded in for slacks and a sweater, topped by a leather jacket. He smiled, and I joined him at the concierge desk.

“It’s just us – he bowed out. Work to do,” I shrugged. He glanced down at my briefcase; I hadn’t had enough time to stop by my own hotel.

“Do you want to leave that here? We’re going to walk to the restaurant.” I nodded, and he said “We can put it in my room.” He turned and motioned me toward the elevator. I paused only for a second, a small nagging feeling, and then felt a little silly. Particularly when he opened the door unceremoniously, waited for me to drop it inside the door, then pulled the door shut behind us as we stepped into the hallway.

We talked about work and life as we walked, our breath making little white puffs in the night air. He’d chosen a small Italian restaurant. “It’s two now, not three,” he said to the hostess, who led us back to a small table for two against the wall. We caught up on stories; meeting his wife, dumping my crazy ex-boyfriend, living in Australia, our kids, his career, my new role. The waitress came by, decanted the wine, and proceeded to make sure we never saw the bottom of the glass until they cleared away the last of the pasta and salmon and crusted bread. We ordered coffee, unwilling to stop the conversation, and they cleared the tables and closed down the restaurant around us.

The conversation on the way back turned silly, and we laughed, over and over. I swayed in my heels, caught one on a cobblestone, and almost fell against him, catching myself at the last minute, which made me giggle more. We walked back to the lobby and as I followed him to the elevator, I had a sudden rush of heat. He pressed the elevator button and turned back to smile at me, finishing an anecdote from our previous exchange. Oh my god, I thought to myself, he looks really good. I could feel my face flush; I hoped he thought it was the wine or the flush from the cold outside. The most ridiculous thought entered my head; I hope his doesn’t try to kiss me, because I think I’d have to kiss back. Although every so often the words got scrambled in my brain, and came out ‘I hope he tries to kiss me’ in my imagination. I tried to silence the thoughts as we approached his door; he was focused on the key.

He opened the door and walked in, leaving it open for me. I tried to keep my focus, and reached for the briefcase, near the door. “So taxi down front?” I asked, pausing inside the doorway. This was it, I thought; I am helpless and can only respond to whatever he does next. Hope he doesn’t kiss me. Or that he does.

He smiled. “I’ll walk down with you.” Maybe it was just him being polite. Maybe he knew that was the safest way to spend a few more minutes together. We walked back to the elevator, and I felt slightly relieved, but disappointed, and still on edge. He walked me to the entrance, asked the bell captain to call a cab. When the cab arrived, he leaned down, kissed me on the cheek, his skin soft and warm, smelling faintly like soap. My head was still swimming as I sank into the cab, smiling up at him and waving. Closed my eyes while I gave the cabbie directions.

I don’t remember breathing until I lay on my bed in my room; a huge exhale of relief or missed opportunity, or wine and gnocchi settling in my stomach. I logged onto my email and ripped off a quick thank you. In minutes, his response came back, polite and appropriate, but signed “Sweet dreams.”

You have no idea, I thought. You have no idea.