A Valentine’s Day story
I first met my second husband in the summer of 2002 when my kids were 3 and 5 years-old. My first husband and I had recently separated after 7 years of marriage.
The kids and I had stopped in at my future husband’s restaurant to get a take-out lunch after picking up uniforms next door for my daughter’s pre-school. It was early and the restaurant wasn’t busy and he took our order himself. He asked the kids their names, not mine, and introduced himself, gave us our food and we left.
A few months later, I was with a friend at my local bar, my Thursday night hangout when my kids were with their dad. This guy, my future husband, came up to us and asked me how my kids were.
He asked about them by name. I was a little freaked out that he remembered them. Then he left us and went over to his girlfriend who was listening to the band and smacked her on her ass. She seemed to enjoy that.
I started seeing more and more of him, not just at the Thursday night bar, but also around our little town. At the grocery store, the gas station and the times that my friend and I would go have lunch at his restaurant, not just because the food was good, but also because I wanted to check him out.
We became friendly.
We flirted and talked and learned a little more about each other. I was dating someone else who would also show up at the bar on Thursday nights. One night, I was talking, in the back of the bar, with my future husband. The body language must have made it obvious.
My boyfriend at the time came back to use the bathroom and saw us. He was a real jealous, controlling type. He wanted to know if there was something going on that he should know about. Of course not. When he went in to the men’s room, my future husband leaned over to me and said “You might as well make the trouble you’re now in worth your while.” He wanted me to kiss him. I laughed and said no and went back to my seat outside.
But I had wanted to.
Obviously, I broke up with the control freak. He cried and said we were meant to be together and that one day, we would be. The next week, my future husband asked me out. I turned him down. I just wasn’t ready to deal with dating again. He took that as rejection. But it wasn’t.
It was another 6 weeks before I was ready. And wow, did we start off with a bang. That first night together included high-heeled black boots, a bathroom and incessant talking on my part into the early hours of the next morning. Enough fodder for many more blog entries. We’ve been together ever since.
It’s been almost 20 years. And yes, he does smack me on the ass from time to time and yes, I do like it.