A small shiver just went down my spine as I try to put together in words my weekend with Ike. It was honest, relaxing and romantic without being contrived, without trying too hard. It was Friday night through Monday morning spent glued together, talking, singing songs, grinding beans and brewing coffee, watching movies, juicing, napping, cooking, doing dishes, holding hands and strolling, shagging, moving from one activity to the next in an organic manner without getting sick of each other. Not in a long time have I felt it this natural, this facile to spend this much time with someone and not run out of things to do or say nor feel any pangs of uncertainty or distrust.
There were no mindgames but it was still a bit of a (pleasant) surprise to hear him refer to himself as my boyfriend. Admittedly a slip-up but I’d like to think that underlying it was a reasonable amount of “like”. Am I ready to be his girlfriend? Probably. Not just because I believe in the moment but because it feels right. Are we going to be called boyfriend-girlfriend? Probably not, he prefers to wait till he finds his feet in Hong Kong. But both he and I always seem to be referring to ourselves as “we” and he said in so many words that he already was my de-facto boyfriend and was not seeing anyone else.
He told me that he was impressed that I was a modern woman because very early on, I had offered to pay for parts of our dates. I confessed that I wasn’t really all that modern because I do love being treated to dates, being wined and dined. But I had consciously decided to make an exception for Ike because I wanted to stop (or at least pause) thinking about what should be and give what could be a real chance.
P.S. Besides, I am not completely obnoxious, I would not expect someone who was between jobs to take me to Robuchon. I have able and willing girlfriends to share those experiences with.