Ethan and Leslie chose a date that was fun, a crowded Saturday night farmer’s market. They laughed over ugly shaped carrots, debated over the tariffs, suspiciously examined artisan soaps that looked like pastries and treated themselves to ice cream.
By the time they ended up in the park, the moon was climbing high. Ethan congratulated himself on keeping things smooth.
And then, thwack.
He turned around, eyes wide “We are slapping butts now?’
Leslie was a step behind him, hands tucked innocently behind her back, her grin anything but innocent “Well, you were not doing it, so I had to take the initiative”
“My mom raised me better than butt slapping on a first date” Ethan said, trying to mock seriousness.
“Oh, really? What else did she teach you?
He pretended to think hard, then leaned in, keeping a playful tone “That once the butt has been slapped, the only logical progress… is to kiss”
Leslie blinked, then broke into uncontrollable laughter “Wait… did she really teach you that?”
“Well” he said with a crooked smile “maybe not in those exact words”
They were still laughing, when she tugged him closer by the front of his shirt and kissed him, soft, hesitant, like testing the water before diving in. When they pulled apart, she was still grinning.
“So” she teased “What else what would your mom say?”
Ethan pointed to the button that had popped off his shirt ” She would probably say “If you are going to rip my son’s favorite shirt, you better know to sew”
They wandered back through the stalls, shoulders brushing, pausing to sample some honey, linger by a guitarist playing La Folia and when Ethan walked her to her car, Leslie slipped something into his pocket.
He found the note later than night when he emptied his jeans, a paper heart torn from a flyer, scribble across in looping handwriting:
“Next time, you can be the one to take initiative”
Discover more from Ocean Nib
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.