We meet at a Starbucks on a Sunday morning in August, and I can’t believe how absolutely gorgeous he is! Holy shit. This is who my cousin sets me up with? She really thinks I’m good enough for this? Really? Wow. All of a sudden I genuinely love my cousin.
Anyway, so I approach him and say hello. I even hold my hand out to him to shake. He blows off the shake and goes straight for the hug. That was completely unexpected and I’m not much of a hugger, but day-umm. From him? I’ll take it.
“I just walked about a mile from my condo, which is why I’m so sweaty.” Yeah, he’s sweaty, but he’s not “gross-sweaty.” Which is good, because “gross-sweaty” is…gross. “It’s hotter than I thought it was going to be,” he continues.
We approach the counter where I order a grande, iced, hazelnut latte. He says “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ll just have a regular old hot coffee. Grande.”
Really? He doesn’t want it iced? It’s a million degrees outside, he just walked a mile in said million degrees, and he’s starting to “gross sweat.”
Please don’t order the hot coffee, Starbucks Guy. You are a babe. Please don’t ruin your babe-a-liciousness by “gross sweating.”
I think the guy behind the counter is thinking the same thing and must be giving Starbucks Guy some “guy” look, because Starbucks Guy says, “She’s making me nervous, I’m already sweating.”
OK, cute. He’s charming. I guess I can allow a little “gross sweating.”
So it’s going pretty good, right? He gave me a hug, he paid for my coffee, he told the Starbucks dude that I make him nervous, and he hasn’t started “gross sweating” yet. These are all fabulous signs. I’m feelin’ good.
Blind date going well. Until.