Last in the Napoleon Saga, I had spent my Valentine’s Day making out and playing MASH. Basically, a pre-teens dream Valentine’s Day. After that we had spent a lot of time watched Netflix and drinking together.
The following Tuesday, we made plans to hang out. He came over around 6pm so I’d have time to come home from work, spend time caring for Gizmo, and make myself look less worn out from the day.
When he came in the door, he immediately grabbed me and pulled me in for a kiss and then suggested we go for – big surprise here – sushi. We tried out a place just around the corner from me that I had never been to before. I don’t think he had either.
We ordered a spicy tuna appetizer and a couple of rolls. We shared all the food and ate it all along with 2 large bottle (maybe 3?) of hot sake before we fell into a sushi food coma and were begging to lay on the couch and relax.
When we got back to my house, we plopped down to watch some Netflix. He was very cuddly and touchy feely. It turns out I’m not really a touchy feely person. I don’t mind a hand hold or a snuggle on the couch here and there, but that might be where it ends for me. Like, it’s totally okay to put your hand on my leg, but don’t start drawing circles or writing letters with your finger tips on my knee cap. Just like, don’t. Holding hands is totally adorable sometimes, but don’t rub your fingers around my hand in weird patterns. It’s more annoying because it feels jittery and unsettled to me. I’m weird. Whatever. Move on.
Nothing too exciting happened that night. A few nights later, I volunteered to make us dinner. He came over and I made of my more signature dishes: chicken Marsala with mashed cauliflower and baked garlic green beans. Everything came out delicious except, for the first time in ever, I burned my Marsala. You can’t know this, but I do not burn food. Ever. I don’t think I’ve ever burned food – save for the times I was drunk or fell asleep. This could have been taken as a sign (like in the Movie “Because I Said So”) but I ignored it, did what I could to better the food and served it. He claimed he liked it, so we’re good.
That night he spent the night. We made out on the couch for a while, but soon moved to my bedroom. Clothes started coming off, but in a really slow and purposeful way. There was nothing drunken or urgent about it. Just making out with fewer and fewer items of clothing. I reached toward his pants when he stopped me. “Not tonight.”
Understandable frustrated, I sighed loudly, said okay, and rolled over to go get ready for bed. When I came back to bed, he was already asleep under the covers. I curled up on my side, resolved to not worry about things, and get to sleep.
In the morning, I got up, got dressed, made coffee, and left a note for Napoleon:
“Good Morning. I didn’t want to wake you since you don’t have to be somewhere early. There’s fresh coffee in the pot. All I ask is that you lock the bottom lock of the door when you leave. Have a good day.”
He texted me around midday to say thank you for the coffee and that he had fun the night before. We chatted back and forth for a bit when he asked when we could hang out again. The next day I was available was two days later. So we made plans…for National Pancake Day.
Come back next Monday for the breakdown of National Pancake Day (and why I am awesome) and the big offer the changed the direction of our dating-ship in a big way.