I was standing outside the restaurant for maybe four minutes. Which doesn't sound like a lot until you realize I had walked three blocks past it first, then looped back, then stood there checking my phone for something that wasn't there.

The place was nicer than I expected. That was actually the problem.

I had told myself it was just dinner. Just two people having food in a city with a lot of restaurants. I had told myself that about six times during the cab ride over, and the telling didn't really help, but it was something to do while I watched the streets go by.

He had been specific about the location. That was one of the first things I noticed when we were messaging — he didn't say "somewhere in midtown" or "you pick." He said the name of the restaurant, the corner, 7:30. The specificity felt like something. I didn't know what.

So I was outside, and I had this very clear moment where my feet were ready to walk in the other direction. My brain was offering me a whole list of reasons. Traffic is bad tonight. I might be getting a cold. I forgot to feed my roommate's cat — except I don't have a roommate.

I know what that list was actually about.

What stopped me from leaving was something embarrassing. I had told my friend Dani I was going. Just a general, no-details version. And I thought: if I go home right now, she'll ask how it was tomorrow, and I'll have to say I never went in, and I will have to explain that to her, and then I will have to explain it to myself.

So I went in.

He was already at the table. He stood up when I walked over, which — I don't know. When was the last time someone stood up? He was older than his photos, or maybe the photos were accurate and I hadn't really looked at them correctly. He had this calm about him that I couldn't tell if it was confidence or just practice.

We ordered. He asked me things and I answered them and then he actually listened to the answers, which sounds like a low bar, but you'd be surprised.

About halfway through the meal I realized I had stopped calculating exits. I don't know exactly when that happened.

I'm not going to tell you it was perfect. There was a moment where he said something slightly off — I won't repeat it — and I felt the whole thing recalibrate. Like I was measuring something, and I kept doing it the whole night without deciding to.

But I stayed. The whole dinner. We walked out together and he got me a cab without making it weird, and I said I had a good time, and I meant it, and I still don't entirely know what to do with that.

I took the long way home. I think I needed the extra fifteen minutes to figure out what I was feeling, and I still didn't really figure it out, so I just looked out the window and let the city go by.

Update: we've seen each other twice more since then. I'm still measuring things. I'm not sure I'll stop.