Date 2: Grab those dancin' shoes!

A dancer, he says. I was a little dubious. I've cut a rug with many guys and few are really stellar on the dance floor. Most really just bounce around awkwardly. Not to say I'm a phenomenal dancer, by any means! I'm actually pretty bad at following a rhythm. If I have a good leader, however, I can fake it somewhat; wimpy leaders are a pet peeve of mine.

And so, he picked me up for a night of live music at the New Orleans Creole Restaurant in historic Pioneer Square. With glasses of wine in hand, we headed closer to the music. No one was dancing. Eventually, however, we made sure that changed. He pulled me up from my chair and held me tight, sensually swaying to the music. Once we got comfortable with each other's dancing style, he started breaking out the big guns: dizzying spins, dips, and other fancy footwork. Wow. He was good...REALLY good!

We'd work up a sweat, sit down to sip on our wine, chat with our crazy neighbors at the next table--an overly loquacious southern woman and her pirate-patched partner--and hop back up for more. With each song, we found ourselves closer and closer. With each dip, our noses inched nearer, warm breaths on each other's necks, until it seemed impossible not to kiss.... but, a kiss didn't happen!

At least not on the dance floor.

He drove me home and stopped in front of my house. We reached to hug goodbye and, like magnets, were drawn into each other's embrace, sealing it with a kiss. Nothing awkward, like first kisses tend to be--completely natural and genuine. The perfect end to an amazing night!