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Instead of his normal t-shirt and jeans vibe, Dave wore a nice buttoned-down shirt. Not fancy. Not a suit thing. But the shirt was nice. The kind of shirt you’d wear for Christmas Eve dinner. Or for Easter.
Hint #3: flowers.
I really wasn’t a flowers kind of woman.
And I never just said that as some subtle way of testing a man’s brains and loyalty.
Flowers were pretty but they died.
Nothing like getting something beautiful only to have it die.
Like some kind of reminder of life or some kind of testament to the cycle of a relationship.
Of course, when I told people that, they told me I needed to get some help and talk to someone.
I laughed it off.
But flowers?
Eh.
(Although there was one flower I did like. But only one person knew about that.)
So there I was holding flowers, going to the bar where Dave and I met. Dave dressed nice, and there he was, holding the door for me.
Which also meant holding the door for half the world’s population.
Dave never knew when to stop holding the door.
He’d make cringeworthy comments…
I guess I’ll be here all night!
Just call me Dave the Doorman!
Be sure to tip the bartender… and the doorman!
There was one night where he stood holding the door for a good five minutes.
Until I finally grabbed his arm, pulled him away and told someone else to take a fucking turn.
As soon as we got into the bar, a sweet elderly woman appeared in front of me.
She was shorter than me - something I wasn’t used to seeing.
She wore all red and had tall white hair like someone had sprayed fake snow on her head.
She reached for me with long, crooked fingers and touched my face.
I thought maybe she was some witch and was going to put a spell on me.
Nope.
“Grandma, don’t embarrass me,” Dave said with a laugh.
Hint #4: Dave fucking invited Grandma out tonight?
Now, I had never met Grandma before.
