Boy meets girl, girl falls in love, blah-blah-blah.
Let me be clear with you from the beginning. This is not that kind of story.
My name is Cait, and I live in the great city of New York. Okay, so maybe I've only lived here for a week and a half...
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Andrew took me to an Italian restaurant in Williamsburg that was less than thirty minutes away from my apartment. He opened the door for me when I stepped out of the Uber, thanking the driver profusely, before returning his hand to the small of my back and guiding me inside.
It was a small and intimate gesture, unexpectedly pleasant, and it sent a chill up my spine even though his hand was resting on my jacket. The pressure was light, just gentle enough to remind me that he was there with me, and I liked the fact that he never used it to push or prod me like some guys would. No, Andrew was a gentleman in the true sense of the word, but - at the same time - he wasn't a chauvinist. He held the door open for me not because I couldn't do it for myself, but because he wanted to be polite. An elderly couple entered the restaurant behind us, and he waited at the door for them - keeping it open until they passed through - and even gestured for them to speak to the hostess first.
They took the last available table too, something that some guys would be annoyed by, and he just laughed. We sat down in the waiting area and chatted about our favorite things to do and see in New York for about fifteen minutes before we were seated, and - by the time it happened - I felt like the minutes had breezed past in the blink of an eye.
"Bamonte's is one of the oldest surviving restaurants in New York," Andrew explained to me as I picked up a menu.
It reminded me of the type of restaurant you could find in any city in America. The plates were piled high with food, the china wasn't expensive, and white tablecloths covered every single table. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, obviously fake, and the warm glow of the lights over the packed dining room made me smile. This wasn't some swanky, urban restaurant where trendy hipsters and social climbers came to see and be seen. No, the tables were packed with families and elderly couples, people who had been coming here since the 1950s, and it was absolutely wonderful.
If anyone recognized Andrew, they said nothing, because - to them - we were insignificant. We were just two more people at a cozy Italian restaurant enjoying a wonderful meal on a Sunday night.
"Have you been here before?" I asked, skimming the menu. Everything looked wonderful, and I had no idea where to begin.
Andrew nodded, "When I first moved to New York, I lived down the street. I basically survived off the cheese ravioli in tomato-and-meat sauce. It reminded me of my mother's cooking."
"I guess that means I'll have to try it then," I said with a smile.
When the waiter came to our table, dressed in an impeccable black suit with a neat black bowtie, Andrew ordered us a bottle of wine and a few appetizers to share. We snacked on the bread provided for us, and I soaked in the atmosphere of the restaurant. I was expecting our first date to be something glitzy and glamorous, much like the life of a celebrity, and I was surprised and thrilled to find that Andrew brought me somewhere like this. I knew he wanted the chance to be a normal guy, to be himself instead of the person everyone expected him to be, but I guess I thought it wasn't going to happen the way he wanted.
