I spot him immediately when I walk into the bar. He smiles at me like he knows me, despite the fact this is a blind date and we’ve never met before.

Nerves take hold of my body and my hands begin to tremble as I approach him.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi, um, hi. Are you waiting for me?”

“All my life,” he says, before he wrinkles his face. “I’m so sorry, that was awful. I’m cheesier than a four-cheese pizza when I’m nervous.”

“I’m nervous, too. I’m a blind-date virgin.”

Now it’s my turn to cringe.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go gentle. That came out all wrong,” he says, laughing with embarrassment. “Did you want to sit down?”

He looks over at me and winks before he leaves the bar, with his date. What was that wink for? To let