The Second Glass of Wine: A Dating Story with Two Men
I had resolved not to overthink this date.
That was ridiculous, of course.
Even on the way to the restaurant, I had mentally rehearsed about twelve possible versions of the evening. In one version, we hit it off immediately, laughed at the same silly things, and lost track of time. In another version, we talked for twenty minutes about jobs, the weather, and parking situations until one of us used „I have to be up early tomorrow“ as an elegant escape. And in the worst version, he looked at me, smiled politely, and after five minutes realized I was less interesting in person than in my messages.
I stood in front of the restaurant and took a deep breath.
„You're a grown man,“ I mumbled. „You can eat pasta without questioning your life.“
Then I looked through the window.
He was already there.
David sat at a small table in the corner, a glass of water in front of him, his jacket draped over the back of the chair. He wore a dark blue shirt, the sleeves casually rolled up, and was looking at his phone. Not bored, but rather focused. His dark hair was a little messy, but in that good way where you couldn't tell if it was intentional or just unfairly good genes.
I had met him two weeks ago through a dating app. His profile had been pleasantly understated. No „looking for a partner in crime,“ no gym mirror selfies, no line about not wanting „drama,“ which usually meant he *was* the drama. Just a few pictures, a dry sense of humor, and the info that he liked to cook, was bad at keeping plants alive, and liked men who could laugh at themselves.
I had written to him: „Two out of three points I fulfill. Plants fear me.“
He had answered: „Then we're either a match or a danger to every garden center.“
We've been writing to each other daily ever since.
And now he was real.
Much too real.
As I entered, he looked up. For a tiny moment, his face seemed searching, then he recognized me. His smile came slowly, warm, not too wide. Just right.
I went to him.
„Hi,“ I said.
„Hi.“ He stood up, and we hugged briefly. Not stiff. Not over the top. One of those first hugs where both people are trying to guess the right length.
He smelled of a fresh shirt, a bit of wood, and rain air.
That didn't make things any easier.
„It's good to see you,“ he said.
„Yes,“ I said. „So you too. Not me. I see myself often enough.“
David laughed.
Good.
He laughed.
The evening was not lost yet.
We sat down, and for the first few minutes, we were both a little cautious. Not uncomfortable, just probing. As if our real voices first needed to align with the news we already knew. I ordered red wine, he ordered white wine, and we briefly discussed whether this was already an irreconcilable character difference.
„Red wine is more dramatic,“ I said.
„White wine is clearer.“
„That sounds like you sort your emails by color too.“
„I do.“
I looked at him. „Oh.“
„Too early for this information?“
„No, but I need to recalculate my image of you.“
„And?“
„Attractive, but dangerously organized.“
He grinned. „I can live with that.“
After the first glass, things loosened up. The conversation moved away from the usual questions and found its own rhythm. David talked about his job at a small agency, about a boss who was constantly calling meetings „short“ and then spent forty-five minutes talking about subordinate clauses. I talked about my ability to get excited about new hobbies, only to realize two weeks later that I apparently mostly enjoy buying accessories.
„What was your last hobby?“ David asked.
„Watercolor painting.“
„Sounds good.“
„I have three brushes, twelve colors, and a painting that looks like a sad accident in a flower shop.“
He laughed again. This time, even more genuinely. His gaze lingered on me for a moment afterward, as if he didn't want to jump to the next sentence right away.
I noticed myself becoming calmer.
That was dangerous.
Not because David did anything wrong. But because he did so much right, without even trying. He listened. Asked questions. Made jokes, but not at anyone else's expense. And when I spoke, he looked at me like he was really there. Not half in the conversation, half looking for the next better match.
When the food arrived, the initial nervousness had almost disappeared. Almost. I took a bite of pasta and, of course, immediately burned my tongue because I was apparently incapable of acting romantically and checking the temperature at the same time.
David noticed it immediately.
„Too hot?“
I bravely shook my head. „No. Everything's under control.“
„You are suffering.“
„Elegant.“
„Very.“
I reached for my water and took a sip while he tried not to laugh. Which he failed to do.
„You can laugh,“ I said.
„Thanks. I wanted to be polite.“
„That's fundamentally suspicious on a first date.“
„Then I'll be less polite from now on.“
„Not completely, please.“
„I find a middle ground.“
„Very mature.“
He raised his glass. „To adult mediocrity.“
I clinked glasses with him. „And burnt tongues.“
„And bad plant dads.“
„That's a tough title.“
„Deserves it?“
„Unfortunately.“
We both laughed, and suddenly that evening was no longer something I had to get through. It became something that was simply happening. Soft. Warm. Unplanned.
After dinner, we went for a walk. It had stopped raining, but the streets were still glistening. The city had that late-evening light where shop windows, streetlights, and car headlights reflect on the wet asphalt, making everything look a bit more cinematic than it usually gets to be in everyday life.
David walked beside me, his hands in his coat pockets.
„Were you nervous beforehand?“ he asked.
I looked at him. „Very.“
He smiled. „Good.“
„Good?“
„Me too.“
„You don't seem nervous.“
„I have years of practice being chaos on the inside and ordering water on the outside.“
I almost froze. „That's frighteningly relatable.“
„Then we already have something in common.“
We walked on, a bit slower now.
„I find first dates difficult,“ I said. „You want to be honest, but not too much. Casual, but not disinterested. Interesting, but not like you prepared bullet points beforehand.“
David looked at me from the side. „Did you have bullet points?“
„No.“
He raised an eyebrow.
„Maybe mental.“
„What did it say?“
I pretended to think. „Don't talk too fast. Don't traumatize the plants. Don't mention I changed my outfit three times beforehand.“
David smiled. „Three times?“
„Four times, but one doesn't count. That was just a failed attempt.“
„For the record: The current outfit was a good decision.“
I looked straight ahead so he wouldn't immediately see how happy that made me.
„Thank you.“
„Gladly.“
„You give compliments very quietly.“
„Should I be more dramatic?“
„Please don't. Then I'll believe you less.“
„Then I'll stay calm.“
We arrived at a small square with a fountain that was turned off at night. A few people stood in front of a bar, a bicycle rode by somewhere, and music came from an open window. Nothing special. And yet, everything felt special in that moment.
David stayed standing next to me.
„May I say something honest?“
My heart immediately became alert. „Yes.“
„I was afraid today that it wouldn't fit in reality.“
I nodded slowly. „Me too.“
„Not because of you,“ he said quickly. „More because news sometimes builds its own little world. And then you sit across from each other and realize the real person doesn't fit into that world.“
„And?“, I asked quietly.
David looked at me. His face was open, but a bit cautious. Perhaps he was as afraid of my answer as I was of his.
„You fit better,“ he said.
That wasn't a loud compliment. Not an over-the-top sentence. But that's exactly why it hit me.
I felt something soften inside me.
„You too,“ I said.
He smiled. Not triumphantly. More like relieved.
We stood there for a while saying nothing. I noticed our shoulders were almost touching. Just almost. That tiny distance that suddenly gains so much meaning when you like someone.
David pulled a hand out of his coat pocket.
Not demonstrative.
Just because.
His hand hung between us, open enough that I could have taken it, but not so obvious that I felt pressured.
I looked up shortly after.
Then I took her.
His fingers were warm.
He intertwined his fingers with mine, calmly, as if it were no big deal. As if my heart hadn't just decided to act like an overenthusiastic teenager.
„Okay?“ he asked.
I nodded. „Yes.“
„Good.“
We continued, now hand in hand. It was so simple and yet so much. Two men on a wet street, somewhere between the restaurant and the subway, no longer strangers, not yet familiar, but for that moment, brave enough to be visible side by side.
„I like it,“ David said after a while.
„Walk?“
„Also.“
„Hold hands?“
„Very.“
I smiled. „Me too.“
We stopped at the subway station. My train would be here in four minutes. Four minutes is an insult after a good date. Far too short for all that's still hanging in the air, and far too long when you don't know if you should kiss.
David looked at the scoreboard, then at me.
„I'd like to see you again,“ he said.
„I love you too.“
„Good.“
„Very good.“
We both smiled, a little embarrassed. I liked that. That he wasn't suddenly smooth and confident. That he felt this moment too and didn't quite know what to do with his hands, even though one of them was still holding mine.
„May I kiss you?“ he asked.
My heart became calm.
Not smaller. Not colder. Quiet.
As if that exact question had made everything safer.
„Yes,“ I said.
David stepped a little closer. The kiss was gentle, almost careful. No grand scene, no perfect film angle, no fireworks. Just his hand in mine, his lips warm and soft, and that small moment in the middle of a subway station that still felt like the world had briefly turned down the volume.
When we parted, he smiled.
„That was nice,“ he said.
„Very.“
My train arrived.
Of course.
Romance obviously has no understanding of schedules.
I got on, but stayed by the door. David stood outside on the platform, one hand in his coat pocket, the other he briefly raised in farewell.
Just before the doors closed, he said, „Write to me when you get home.“
I nodded.
Then the train set off.
I sat down, saw my reflection in the window, and recognized that silly, soft smile on my face.
At home, I wrote him:
„Arrived. No plants damaged.“
His answer came a minute later.
„Good. Then Date two can take place.“
I grinned.
„Already planned?“
„I thought of a bookstore, coffee, and a plant that we can't kill together.“
I laughed quietly in my apartment, alone, but not lonely.
Then I typed:
„Risky. But I'm in.“
His answer:
„Then date one was probably successful.“
I looked at this message for a long time.
Date one.
No meeting.
Not maybe.
Date one.
As if this evening had marked a beginning, without promising too much right away.
I put the phone down next to me, leaned back, and thought about David's calm voice, the second glass of wine, wet streets, warm hands, and that kiss at the subway.
Maybe something beautiful starts just like this.
Not perfect.
Not dramatic.
But with two men, both a little nervous, both trying not to hope too much, and yet staying long enough to realize:
Sometimes someone fits better in person than in any message.
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