By David Lowis
On their first date, they went to the cinema to see an art-house film. They opted for coffees over popcorn and took their seats. He placed his arm on the armrest between their chairs, feeling the air charged with the prospect of romance. Did she feel it too? He wanted to reach for her hand but, fearing she’d find it too presumptuous this early in the date, kept his arm anchored to the rest.
Each chair had a small table attached to its armrest. Once he’d finished his coffee, he left his empty cup on his table. Later, when she’d drunk hers, she placed the cup on his table rather than her own. His attention drifted from the film to the touching coffee cups. Could it have been an unconscious gesture of desired intimacy?
*
On their second date, they went to an Italian restaurant. They agreed the tiramisu was the finest they’d ever tasted. After the meal, they sat on a sea-front bench, his arm draped over her shoulders, her head nestled against his chest. She sensed that if she tilted her head upward, they would surely kiss. Aware of the significance of the moment, she held back, weighing up the risk. The kiss would seal a partnership with someone she still knew very little about. She could continue to resist and give herself more time or she could commit, right now. She deliberated for the shortest of moments before raising her head.
Afterwards, they sat in silence, staring out to sea, dreamily watching golden speckles from the street lamps flickering on the water.
“Fancy a coffee?” he asked.
She nodded and gave a tender smile of agreement.
They headed away from the waterfront and, without hesitation, he reached for her hand. He knew of a quaint coffee shop in the backstreets and led her into the late-night crowd.
* * *
David Lowis is a writer from Surrey, England. He writes mainly micro and flash fiction. His work has featured in various online journals and he’s recently published a microfiction collection, Imprints. More details are available via his website: https://dlowis.wordpress.com