Day 139 - Sharing

 SHARING

Prompt - Sharing : Write about sharing something with someone else

"Tiramisu please"

"Certainly sir"  

The waiter moved to my adjacent table and asked the same question.  I'd been thinking about the lemon torte, but a little caffeine and cocoa kick suddenly appealed so I gave the same answer.

A couple of minutes passed.  An attention seeking throat clearing prefaced "Excuse me gentlemen."  We both looked up from our screens.  "My apologies, but there's only a single portion of the the tiramisu left, would either of you like to make another choice?"

He'd asked first, I'd be happen with a citrus bite, but before I could answer he said "Why don't we share?"

I took my first proper look at him.  When I have to eat alone I generally keep my head down, concentrating on my food (surprisingly good so far, given the overall scruffiness of the place) and scrolling lackadaisically through the usual nonsense on my phone.  I'd been planning to return to my hotel room as soon as I'd finished, read up my notes for the morning's meeting, maybe a bit of TV and a read.  A quiet night before what could turn out to be an important day.

He was about ten years younger than me, with a well scrubbed look to his face, spiky blonde hair, wearing a short sleeved check shirt in reds and purples.  Beyond that three things stood out.  In his left ear a small sparkling stud.  The smile on the broad mouth was warm and, somehow, incredibly genuine.  And his lashes were... amazing.  Had to be fake, didn't they?  Outside of a drag club I'd never seen a man with lashes that long and think and  silky black.

"OK.  I was getting a bit full anyway."

"You can always fit a bit more in though, can't you?"  He grinned at the waiter who shrugged and made hi way back to the kitchen.

Before I could say any more he was up, across, had his jacket on the back of the seat and was sitting opposite me, elbows on the table.

"Matt."  His eyes were ready to hook a response out of me.

"Hi, I'm David."

"You don't sound local David, here on a visit?  And yes, they are really real and no I don't put anything on them."  I looked down at the table, suddenly aware how intently I'd been studding those flashing lines above the grey eyes.  "Don't feel embarrassed, everyone does the same.  My blessing and my curse" he said with a well rehearsed laugh.  "Mostly a blessing though..."

I looked back at him.  "They're certainly eye catching.  Em, sorry, that wasn't meant to be a bad joke, just came out that way, I..."

"Like I say David, happens all the time.  And they do have the useful superpower of being good at starting conversations I'd like to have."

I wasn't sure what to say next, but the waiter returned before the need became pressing.  Two bowls with what looked like pretty standard portion sizes, looking like the chef had just scraped out everything that was left and decided quantity trumped presentation.  Good move.

When we'd both scraped our bowls to near cleanliness we had our starter to get us going.  How good was that, what had we each had before, and what were we doing here, eating alone?  He lived alone in a nearby flat, hadn't tried the place before and decided to give it a go when he'd ended up coming home late from work.  I told him where I'd come from, where I was going in the morning, and, in response to teasing questioning, a bit about my aims for the meeting.

We paid our bills, went out into the damp night air, walked along together, chatting inconsequentially.  

"Pint?"  Matt had stopped.  I hadn't even noticed we were passing a pub.  It wasn't in my plans, but... why not?  I could read my notes on the bus in the morning and the stained glass and real ale ads promised to be a step up from the sterility of my uniformly samey hotel room.  We went in, ended up squeezed side by side onto a bench seat under a long mirror, amid the raucous chatter, punctuating laughter and clinking glasses .  Had to lean into one another to be heard.  I had to keep telling myself not to watch those lashes, but they were like multi pronged magnets, exuding their own mesmeric force.

Three pints in, it's a bit quieter now, we have the table to ourselves, and still we lean in, talking conspiratorially, secrets seeping into the mundane.  I realise his hand is on my thigh.  I realise I don't mind.  I realise... that this is what's happening.

I'd always thought of myself as the straightest of straight guys, a sexual A to B man .  An Italian dessert, and a fringing of eye hair, told me otherwise.