Mile High City

He’d been hesitant to call her. There was no denying he wanted to; he just couldn’t shake the nervous feelings that came with asking a girl out. She’d been interested—he knew that much, but she also seemed too nice to let anyone down without doing it easily. He could think of a million reasons not to call her.

But it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to see her again more than anything.

It was harmless. He just needed a chair to sit down with some friends from his hometown who had come to visit. He never expected to look up and discover a beautiful girl. Hell, he’d been in Denver long enough to know there were pretty girls. That was the thing about Denver. Every woman thought she was a model, but something told him, the only girl that could actually be one didn’t even realize how beautiful she was.

She was a girl. Young. Doe-eyed. Innocent.

He racked his brain, trying to remember every detail about her. It seemed like a dream. He was so comfortable around her, despite the fact that he hadn’t mastered his English. It’s as if she’d opened her arms and wrapped him up in them; like a little girl bringing home stray
animals.

He was no stray animal, but his last relationship left its wounds. He wasn’t one to sit around wallowing in the scars of a past relationship, though. He’d found himself growing more comfortable each day. It wasn’t all easy. He’d struggled. He saw the bench more than a starting goalie should.

But greater times prevailed.

He was on his game and really grew to love the city of which he could see mountains from.
His gaze met the piece of paper he’d been eyeing up for the past hours since they met.
“Maybe I’ll just text her.” He thought to himself. There would be less risk of him messing up his English that way.

“Hello Emily! It’s Semyon from the café. Would you like to come to dinner with me on Wednesday night?”

He impulsively sent the message before he could talk himself out of it. He hoped she would be free on a Wednesday night. His schedule kept him busy on more opportune nights like a Friday.

It wasn’t until eight o’clock that night that he would receive a response.

“Sure :o)! Just say when and where.”

He grinned at the little nose she’d added to her smile. He may have also been smiling at the fact that she had agreed to dinner.

Wednesday night could not come sooner. He didn’t mention his date to any teammates. Not yet. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. He arrived at the restaurant a couple minutes earlier than he told Emily to come. He picked a low-key place in an effort to avoid a crowd.

He thumbed at the menu, trying to distract himself from the impending arrival of his guest. He was seated in perfect view of the door, and caught sight of her just as she walked in.

He’d seen the clichéd movies where the beautiful woman walks down a hallway---hair blowing unnaturally by a fan as she walks in slow motion.

This was sort of like this, but it was happening in real time. He willed his brain to take a mental picture. He didn’t want to forget how she looked so he could remember it later. Before bed. During a game. On the plane during a long trip.

A silk red dress draped over her porcelain skin; perfectly white, smooth ivory. Fragile. The dress was a modest length, but it struggled to hide her endless legs. She wore silver heels that looked stolen from a Hollywood starlet’s closet. She hadn’t seen him yet, so his eyes remained glued on her. Her hair fell down her back in loose ringlets—the color of milk chocolate. It bounced with each step, so she brought a hand to her face to brush the fallen strands from her face. She had high cheekbones that met a thinned nose. As she grew closer, he could see the faintest sprinkle of freckles across the bridge. Just below was a set of bee-stung lips that resembled a rose bud. Her eyes finally met his and those lips
curved into a shy smile.

He flashed a toothy grin and rose from his chair to greet her.

“Emily!” he exclaimed happily, taking her hand in his to give it a polite shake.

“I…” she began, a pink hue rising in her cheeks “I don’t want to say your name incorrectly!” she admitted, obviously embarrassed. He laughed.

“You can call me Varly.” He reassured her “but it’s Semyon” he said slowly, hoping to put her at ease. Still, she seemed tense.

“Semyon!” she repeated. “I’ll get it.” She declared with determination. The pair finally took their seats. He wasn’t shy about looking at her. She didn’t make eye-contact as often as he’d like. He could sense she was shyer, but he felt a personal victory each time he go to see her brown eyes meet his.

He initiated the conversation—discussing their hometowns, childhood, and anecdotal memories. She was encouraging. She seemed to know what he was trying to say when he struggled, and eagerly urged him to continue talking. She opened up a little seeing this too. She was quirky. She talked with her hands and changed her voice inflexions throughout conversation. She was lively and animated.

She made him laugh and, as he took note, he made her blush.

Their conversation didn’t seem close to concluding, but their dinner had been finished for some time.

He accepted the check and paid for their meals. He could see Emily shift in her seat uncomfortably as he did this.

“Thank you!” she said gratefully, an appreciative “you-didn’t-have-to” smile forming on her lips

“That’s how this works!” he laughed, amused at her reaction.
He stood and took her hand in his as he waited for her to stand and walk with him out the door. She smiled and looked down at her feet as he led the way.

He tapped his fingers under her chin to bring her eye-contact back and flashed a reassuring grin. He was gifted with a small smile.

“Where are you?” he asked, indicating the cars along the street. She took the lead and stood in front of an old Chevy truck in great condition. Her grip loosened a little, so he released her hand.

“Thank you for dinner.” She beamed, her brown eyes finding his without prompting this time.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded inching closer.

She clasped her hands in front of her and careened from side to side. She bit her lower lip nervously and impulsively placed her hands on his chest which was now only a few centimeters away. She planted a light kiss on his cheek and pulled away slowly, her eyelashes brushing his face.

“Goodnight!” she blurted, entering her car quickly.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stood in place, taking in the small kiss he’d just received.

It was turning into something of a 90’s film, because his hand found his cheek and remained there—feeling the exact spot her lips met his face.

“Goodnight Emily.” He said to no one, a stupidly happy smile dancing on his lips.