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These pictures are not actually from the party. They are (obviously) from when I caught the bouquet at the wedding where I had to wear this dress because I was one of The Roommate’s bridesmaids. (By the way, yes, I’m copying other anon bloggers who have posted pictures, by blocking out parts of my face or not showing my face altogether. This makes me a little nervous, but I’ve decided that, in the end, I just don’t care.) So anyway, even though these pictures aren’t from the party that night, I arrived there looking mostly like that.

I did a quick scan of the room, but I didn’t see The Artist. Not that I really expected to spend the evening with him. I expected to sit at a table with my department, which is what I did. All the single girls snagged a table together. From where I was sitting, I inadvertently had an excellent view of the entrance to the ballroom. And a few minutes after I had settled in my seat, I saw The Artist enter the room, also looking fantastic (as expected). Two steps behind him followed a member of the opposite sex. A date! My heart fluttered but did not sink. I was too far away to see who it was, but I thought there was a possibility that she was one of his younger sisters. (Later, someone told me this was not true. And that is when my heart sank.)

Just before the evening officially began, I shot off a quick text to The Media Fan (who had been one of the people pushing me to ask The Artist to be my date to the party). I texted: “I am only going to send you this one text then i’ll talk to you tomorrow. The Artist brought a date.” Less than a minute later, she texted back, “What the?!” and I laughed to myself and put my phone away for the evening.

The Artist and his date ended up sitting on the other side of the room from me, and my back was to their table, which is probably best. It prevented me from staring all through dinner to see if any flirting or cutesy food-sharing was going on. As the evening progressed, I tried to think about the situation as little as possible. The Media Fan’s answer to my text did give me a glimmer of hope that it was just a friend date because if he were dating someone, surely he would have told The Media Fan (and she in turn would have told me).

Everyone performed their skits, and the prizes were given out, and everything happened fairly smoothly throughout the night. Around 10:00, the party was declared over, and everyone began to shuffle around and gather their things, take pictures, and say hi to people they hadn’t gotten to see yet. I had driven myself and the other girl in our carpool to the party, and she said she was going to go talk to a few people before we left. So I made my way over to a coworker of mine whose wife I hadn’t met yet and made small talk with them for a while. When I turned around, I spotted the girl from my carpool up at the front of the room talking to a few people. Standing just a few feet away from that group, with his date, was The Artist. Trying my best to appear calm and natural, I headed toward the front of the room, under the pretense of joining my friend in her group so we could head home. When I reached her group, The Artist’s eyes met mine, so I smiled and walked toward him and his date instead.

He surprised me by holding his arms out for a hug while I was en route. We had never hugged before, and it was not a gesture I was expecting at all, especially in front of his date. Delighted by this wonderful new development, I embraced him warmly then we settled into an easy chat about how long it had felt since we’d seen each other. He did not introduce me to his date, which I felt bad about (for her sake). He seemed engrossed in conversation with me, and he even had his body turned toward me, and away from her, while we talked. The poor girl just stood there and smiled politely while we talked. Finally, when there was a pause, I looked her in the eye and said sweetly, “Hi, I’m Emmeline, by the way.” The Artist blinked his eyes like a cartoon character snapping out of a trance (seriously, that is what he looked like! it was so cute!) and immediately apologized then made a hasty round of introductions. He referred to me as his “carpool buddy,” but did not tell me anything about how he knew her. I took this also as a good sign.

By that time, we had reached an awkward pause and I decided it was time to find my passenger. We said our goodbyes and he said he’d see me in the morning for carpool. Then I left.

When I got home, I called The Media Fan and gave her all the details so we could try to figure out together what it all meant. She did not think it could have been a true date for the reasons I had already outlined in my mind:

1. She didn’t know about it and intends to be offended if she later finds out it was a real date (because they really are very good friends)
2. He hugged me right in front oe tme datg. To me, this was s sign because he has never hugged me before. To The Medai Fan, it was telling because she i confident that had he been kn a real date, he would have obsefved every possible courtesy, including not touching other females ij intimate fashions, even if only for an innocent hug, and certainly not initiating sush contact, which hee did.
3. He failed to introduce me to the date right away. (I like to think this happened because he got flustered by my presence and was so happy to be seeing and talking to me that he forgot she was even standing there. I honestly do think he forgot she was there, but I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say it was because he likes me.)

After The Media Fan and I had exhausted all possible scenarios, we hung up and I got a text from one of my coworkers: “I saw The Artist hug you in front of his date!!! Merry Christmas to you!”

I wrote back:

The next morning (yesterday), I was running a little late for carpool, so I decided to skip getting a lunch, in hopes that I could mention this to The Artist and perhaps we’d go out to eat together. We have never eaten lunch together before, or done anything outside of work or carpool together, as I’ve mentioned before. But my hope was not completely unfounded. There is actually a backstory there.

There is this old-school, greasy-spoon-looking restaurant that we pass every day on our way to work. It is just down the street from our office. On my first day in carpool, I pointed out the restaurant and expressed my desire to eat there because it looks like it has character. On that day, The Artist said he had been there once, about a year ago, and had been meaning to go back because they had the best fried green tomatoes. I said, “Well, we should go sometime because I want to try it.” He said “okay,” and just as I had been about to suggest we go that day, one of the other girls in the car (back then, there were two others who used to carpool with us) chimed in and said something that eventually changed the direction of the conversation.

So, I met The Artist and the other girl for carpool yesterday morning. She knows all about my crush, so whenever it’s possible without making it look obvious to him, she lets me sit in the front when it’s his turn to drive, and she tries to let him sit in the front when it’s my turn to drive, but he often refuses because he’s so damn courteous all the time!

Anyway, so we drove to work and had the usual morning discussion. He may usually do this, but this particular morning, I was specifically aware of his frequent glances at me while we were talking. There were some pauses in the flow of conversation, but nothing where I could casually suggest we go out to lunch without sounding like I had been planning it all along. So when we pulled into work and I still hadn’t had a chance to bring it up, I wrote it off as a “well, maybe next time” kind of issue. The last thought I allowed myself to have was, “If I run into him in the kitchen while making coffee, I’ll ask him then.” This was more of an attempt to dodge my own mental self-criticism for failing the task at hand. I never see him once we get inside the work building, so it was highly unlikely I’d run into him while I was making my coffee.

We parted ways and said “have a good day” and “see you later” and all that. I went to my office and put down all my stuff at my desk and started my computer. Then I went to the kitchen to make my coffee. While it was sizzling into my cup, The Artist walked into the kitchen. I could not believe my luck. He walked right up to the counter and stood next to me, and we began talking again. Somehow there was a non-awkward way to mention casually that I hadn’t brought my lunch and that I was planning on trying to find an alternative. He mentioned that he hadn’t brought one either. (Oh sweet nectar of the gods, could I really be this lucky?!) We went on to talk about our “bachelor fridges” at home and how we need to clean them out and/or go grocery shopping.

Then my coffee was finished and I could linger no longer. So I picked up my cup and said nonchalantly as I walked toward the hallway, “Well, if you want a lunch partner today, I’ll be free.”

He smiled and said, “Sure, just come by my office and we can figure something out.”

As if I had just thought of it that very moment, I said, “Hey, you know what we should do?”

“What?” he said innocently. (Great job, Emmeline. He doesn’t suspect a thing!)

“We should go to [Greasy Spoon Restaurant]–”

Before I could finish, his face lit up, and he said, “Yeah!”

I said, “Remember how a long time ago [really only two months or so] we said we’d go there, and we never have!”

He said, “Yeah, definitely. Let’s go there.”

After agreeing to meet in the office lobby at noon, I went back to my office beaming and announced to my coworkers that I had lunch plans. They all oohed and aahed and knew exactly what I meant.

It was difficult for me to concentrate the rest of the morning because I kept thinking about our pending lunch plans. Mostly what I kept thinking about was whether The Artist was going to invite some of his coworkers. I figured this was a likely possibility for several potential reasons:

1. I know I’m belaboring the point, but he is courteous! So it would be a natural thing for him to mention that he and a friend were going to [Greasy Spoon Restaurant] for lunch if anyone else wanted to come. Especially if he thought there was any chance that others might actually want to eat there.
2. He mightt be afraid that I was thinking of it as a dat and might invite others to act as buffers and balanse out any possible tension orr oressure betwene us.
3. He might might want it to be a date, but be nervous about it (in a good way) and invite others to balance the tension.

At 12:01, I grabbed my purse and went to the hallway to don my coat amidst well-wishings from the rest of my coworkers. Out in the hall, I ran into a friend who was also putting on her coat. I asked her where she was headed, and she said she wasn’t sure but that a group of them were going somewhere if I wanted to join her. I said, “Thanks, but I’m going to lunch with The Artist.” She, also knowing of the crush (the whole company pretty much knows except The Artist himself . . . who is probably starting to catch on, I’m sure), asked where we were going, and I told her, adding, “You guys are welcome to join us if you want. I have a feeling he’s going to bring some of his coworkers, though I wish he wouldn’t!” She told me that she and the other girls would hope for my sake that it was just him and that they’d go somewhere else but that she wanted a full report when I returned. I promised it to her and went to meet The Artist.

I waited in the lobby for maybe thirty seconds, and he emerged with a couple of his coworkers, greeting me and saying, “A couple of people are going to come with us.” Since I had expected this, I was able to smile coolly and express my feigned enthusiasm for such an idea as the whole of The Artist’s department began to filter into the lobby.

Out in the parking lot, it might have just been me, but I felt like the rest of his coworkers seemed to know what was going on and were intentionally giving us a wide berth, all heading to their different cars instead of riding with us, except for one guy. He followed along behind The Artist and me and rode over to the restaurant with us. Luckily, he was polite enough to let me have the front seat.

Once at the restaurant, there were so many of us (twelve, I think) that we had to push three tables together to be able to sit all together. I ended up across the table and one down from The Artist, sandwiched between two of his coworkers. I am actually glad it worked out to sit across from him because it’s more difficult to talk to someone when you’re sitting right next to each other and also trying to eat. One of the other people who was there was a guy who also went to college with The Artist and me, and he sat next to The Artist and directly across from me. So we kind of formed a little triangle of conversation between the three of us.

The Artist was attentive to me the whole time. He only spoke to the two of us all throughout lunch. He didn’t really even act like other people were there. He told me all about how good the fried green tomatoes were then asked “the table” if anyone would like to split an order with him. I’m not sure if the blanket question was really supposed to be directed only toward me or not, but after hearing him describe them so succulently, I had already decided I wanted to try one, so I volunteered.

As it turned out, they didn’t have any fried green tomatoes, so The Artist picked something else off the menu for us to share instead (fried pickles, I think). He told me with an apologetic smile that if I didn’t like them, he would cover the cost. I told him I was sure it would be fine. I hate pickles. But I intended to choke them down and pay for my half no matter what. Lucky for both of us, they turned out to be really good, especially dipped in ranch sauce.

At some point during the lunch, The Artist and I got to talking about The Media Fan’s upcoming visit to our city. He is really excited because he hasn’t seen her for three years. I told him that she’s coming right after Christmas and leaving during the day on New Year’s Eve. (Unfortunately, her husband has to work the following day, so they can’t stay and party with us on New Year’s. I had kind of been counting on them being here for that because I was pretty sure if she was, we’d have found a way to spend New Year’s Eve with The Artist.)

So while we were talking about her visit, The Artist said, “That reminds me. You should come to the New Year’s Eve party I’m going to . . .” and he went on to describe the details of the party. It is being held at this really fancy new/old hotel downtown (a really old hotel building that has only in the past year been remodeled, elaborately furnished, and reopened for expensive business). He said there would be drinks and dinner and lots of people. I said it sounded fun and expressed my interest in going with him. So I hope that pans out.

All too soon, it was time to pay the bill and get going. I was satisfied with our lunch outing, though. Conversation always seems to flow easily between The Artist and me, and I don’t know if that’s because of my social skills, or his, or just because we click. It’s difficult to tell at this point. But a couple of times, we finished each other’s sentences or made the same joke at the same time, and I again just felt like we are really on each other’s level.

When we got back to work, I went swooning back to my office and divulged all the details to the rest of my coworkers, who all had positive reactions and optimistic predictions about “what’s next.”

Later in the afternoon, I was going to stop by The Artist’s office to look at some drawings he had told me to come see. On my way there, I stopped in the kitchen to chat with some of my coworkers who were making mugs of tea and hot chocolate. The unfortunate part is that The Artist came in with a couple of his coworkers and they sat down at a table to have an informal meeting about some things (meaning I couldn’t go look at his drawings right then). However, as my coworkers and I stood on the other side of the room chatting, I had a peripheral view of The Artist and noticed that he seemed to keep looking in our direction. I could never get a good enough look to see if he was looking right at me, but I definitely saw his head swivel several times in my general direction.

I felt like we were disturbing them after a while, these colleagues of ours who seemed to be actually trying to work, in contrast to the five or six of us, who were just standing around talking and sipping hot beverages. So I made a move to leave the kitchen, and as we were on our way out, one of the other girls who was with me spoke to The Artist and the two people sitting at the table with him. She apologized for our disturbing them. Even though I hadn’t said a word and his two coworkers were looking at the person who had spoken, The Artist definitely looked up at me that time. I’m sure he was smiling, but I was too nervous to make eye contact and averted my eyes like a freaking fourteen-year-old. As we walked down the hallway, one of my coworkers nudged me and whispered, “He was looking at you!” I tried to deny the claim, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

*In my last post, Weesle made the comment that it seems like The Artist’s feelings and mine are definitely mutual, based on my recounting of his behavior. Normally, with any other guy, I would be inclined to agree, but I always hesitate to interpret The Artist’s actions toward me as anything more than general goodwill and courtesy because I just feel like that really is his personality. So . . . I am still being patient and we will see what happens next.

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