We finally scored a great table on the ship – right on the railing, all by ourselves, just taking time to relax and enjoy our dinner. It was a long day on the water, and the sunset is just the perfect end to the day.
We’ve been enjoying a glass or two of wine this evening, waiting for our table, and then sitting here, we have that perfect blend of attentive, but not around, service. It’s really great.
The appetizers arrive and you’re making eyes at me, and just about everything that possibly can be is a suggestive reference. And that look. That smirk.
You start with the shrimp, making a show of slowly pulling them from your lips, distracting me, and taking delight in the effect it’s having. Of course, I’m not complaining, just eating up the attention and the looks you’re giving me.
The main course arrives, we’ve both ordered the fish–the filets are magnificent and just flat out amazing cuts of meat. I pick at the potatoes, then start cutting a piece of the fish to take my first bite.
As I lift up my knife and aim, your foot slides up my leg from underneath the tablecloth, wiggling, working its way up my leg. I really, really, really didn’t expect that.
I jump in the moment, and you giggle, pressing on with your foot.
But with my jump, comes the ever-so-graceful shove – I press a bit too hard against the plate and the fish flies off, almost as if it’s still alive, through the railing uprights and into the ocean.
I’m stunned, embarrassed, amazed at the fish acrobatics. You? You’re sitting there grinning at me, taking it all in. Then we both burst out laughing.
I hold up my wine glass to make a toast, and you join me – “To the one that got away… ”
We both sip then burst out laughing again…