the one that got away

I met him the very first day I moved here, at the very first place I went to.  (Okay, except for maybe Walmart).  We were at a brewery opening in the late afternoon.  The sun streamed down, a band played, and outdoorsy people stood around sipping beer.  My good friend Amy was there waiting for me, ready to introduce us.  Amy had helped me find a job and a place to live, and was already working on snagging me a boyfriend.  Kurt was her first pick.

We met, and he seemed nice.  He was a burly guy with a beard (always a plus for a mountain mama such as myself) and a ski patrol (EMTs of the ski hills for those of you non-ski-townies).  And let’s be honest, anyone whose job involves saving people wins automatic hotness points.  Nonetheless, there were no fireworks that first time.   I was still reeling a bit from my summer’s escapades and to find myself in a new place.  I didn’t feel ready to turn my attention to anyone else.

A few weeks went by, and I slowly settled in.  Summer romance gradually dimmed in my mind.  I went out one night with some friends and ran into him again.  After making some eye contact, we started chatting.  He was quietly interested and bought me a beer.  As soon as Amy found out, she started plotting our next move.

The same brewery where we had met was showing a ski movie that Friday night, and she made plans for us all to meet up.  He and I talked some that night, but he spent more of the evening talking with friends.  I couldn’t quite read him.  But at one point when I got in line for a bathroom, he did something that became his signature move:  he met my eyes from across the room, held my gaze, and gave me a small, but very sincere, smile.  It stopped my heart for a moment, and not for the last time.

About a week later, Thanksgiving was upon us.  Amy invited me along to have an intimate dinner with another coworker – and a mutual friend of Kurt’s.  He was invited as well.  I painstakingly made my first sweet potato pie, whose crust I browned just a tad too much.  I arrived to a table beautifully set with candlelight, and Ella Fitzgerald playing, but no Kurt.  I helped the girls with the last preparations.  At last he arrived. 

We were seated next to each other, and spent the meal talking and engaging in subtle flirtation.  He complimented my pie and listened with amusement to my fumbling excuses of why it was a tad overdone.  When I went to help with the dishes, he locked eyes with mine and again gave me that signature, startling smile.  Long after dinner, when we had all talked and ate ourselves out, he and I went out to start our cars.  Out there in the chilly evening, he asked for my phone number.  I was glowing.

It was a few days before I heard from him, but I forgave him this when Amy told me that he had been agonizing with her over what to do for our first date.  She, knowing me so well, suggested beer and pizza as the perfect no-pressure first date.  Finally he called to ask me out.

Of all the dates of my life, this has to be in the top 3, despite it taking place in a ski bum pizza joint.  We talked our hearts out – about our families, our siblings, our best friends, our favorite things to do, our lives’ paths.  On my way back from the restroom, he caught me again, with that heart-stopping smile.  The air crackled. In the parking lot we hugged goodbye, which is normally my idea of the appropriate farewell to a first date.  But after a brief hesitation, he asked if he could kiss me.   It was a sweet, gentle kiss that sent my insides rocking. 

After that, there were a few more dates.  I still couldn’t let myself relax and trust this good thing that was happening.  Whether I couldn’t trust it from my own anxieties about love or from an inexplicable sense that something was wavering, I can’t be sure.  There was a constant knot in my stomach because I knew I liked him more and more, and I knew I was vulnerable.

On our last date (I did warn you this was a non-love stories blog), he cooked me a delicious dinner in his apartment, and we talked for a while, and then headed to the house of a friend to use his hot tub.  We cuddled in the hot water as snowflakes floated down.  He told me his was so glad we had met.  I was unsure what to say and gave some casual reply.  When we headed back to his apartment, we kissed for a long while in his doorway, my stomach in a knot as I wondered if he would ask me to stay.  When it became clear that wasn’t his intention, I said goodnight.

After that, things started to go awry.  His texts were cool, and we never could seem to work out when to get together.  I tried not to let it bother me, despite the sinking feeling in my stomach.  One night Amy and I were out for after-work drinks, and she asked me how things were going.  I confided my fear that he had lost interest.  She was genuinely puzzled, and decided to do some surreptitious investigating.  She texted him to ask how things were going with me.  He replied that he just didn’t think that either of us was looking for something serious right then.  Again, my stomach sank.  Basically, he wasn’t looking for something serious.  He wasn’t into it.

I went home for Christmas and tried my hardest to forget about him.  When I returned, Amy had the story for me.  Apparently in the past he had had an unstable girlfriend that none of his friends had liked.  Despite this, they were very serious.  He had brought her out to meet his family, and even his family told him to cut ties with her.  He had finally broken up with her and tried to move on.  However, it turns out that she managed to get back into his life.  He didn’t want me, a nice girl, to be in the middle of it.

Amy tried her best to convince me that it had nothing to do with me, that he had said I was a great girl.  However, it’s impossible not to take these things personally.  I kept thinking that if he had just liked me a little more, she would not have been a factor.  I felt cheated out of something great, and it wasn’t easy to take.

But time went on, and there were other boys and other adventures, and he faded in my mind as all things past eventually will.  To this day I feel a little pang to think of him, but as Amy keeps telling me, this one was just not meant to me.  That’s hard to accept, but I guess everyone has at least one that got away.