On the night of my 24th birthday, Marc took me out to my favourite restaurant. It's a tiny, unremarkable place, but the cuisine is to die for. In true Montreal style, we brought a couple of bottles of wine with us. Upon arriving, the server took our coats, opened our first bottle for us, and lit the candle on our table. With a wink he said, "Let me know when you're ready."
I took Marc's hand and said with a grin, "I love this place."
I found the quirky decor charming, and the bizarre music entertaining. We both scanned the menus, even though we already knew what we wanted.
I watched as he poured the wine, and admired how handsome he looked tonight. Not your typical 'Tall, Dark, and Handsome' type, but handsome nonetheless. He was wearing a collared shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and blue jeans. His smile was genuine, as usual, and his hair was messy. To me, that's the sexiest a man can be. Relaxed, honest, and inspired.
After a glass of wine, we signaled to the waiter that we were ready to order our meal. After ordering, Marc took both my hands in his, and looked me straight in the eyes. He didn't say anything, but that was one of those moments when silence is much more powerful than words. The lambent light from the candles bounced across our table causing shadows to dance to and fro, and the din from the kitchen seemed to blend with the chatter of the other guests creating a soft haze around us. For a moment there was nothing more than my hands in his, and my eyes, locked with his. Simple and complex, effortless and divine.
It was a wonderful birthday dinner. The food and the conversation were both fabulous. When we left the restaurant we were both pleasantly drunk, waltzing down the street arm in arm. I didn't want the night to end. When we reached my front door, I sweetly kissed him goodnight before fumbling through my pockets for my keys. I found them eventually, and after sorting out which key was which, I put it into the lock and turned towards him to say goodbye. Before I knew what was happening, I was being thrown up against the door. Marc kissed me passionately and with one swift motion, unbuttoned my shirt, leaving my black lace bra visible to the world.
"I've been dying to do this all night," he growled, reaching around to undo the snap on my bra. "And I can't wait anymore."