Fire, Meet Pétroleuse

Turning your head toward the fellow next to you, his warm brown eyes were perfect circles, his brows disappearing into his honey brown curls. His head swiveling and his neck long to locate a sign. He looks like a meerkat.

"Where are you headed?"

He jumps a little, coming out of his little bubble of concern.

"I, ah, well, I was going to Broadway."

"Times Square Station?"

"Yes, Times Square," though his voice is anxious, it was also warm and accented.

"That's... you've overshot by a bit. Doze off?"

"I, well, no, I was going over this script I'm writing, and I just got lost in it, I guess."

He looks down at his watch, then up at the map, grimacing as he counts the stops.

"Well, it's no big deal, we're crossing into Brooklyn, but you can just jump off and pop back on going the other way."

"I think I am going to miss my appointment." Then he looks down at his feet, his brows tightly knit and the sweetest, saddest pout you've ever seen.

"Eeshh, I'm sorry. Can you text whomever you're meeting?"

He quickly nods as he pulls out his phone.

"If anyone can get this meeting moved to tomorrow, it's Nick." He starts typing away, his phone pings, he reads, snorts in embarrassed amusement at whatever it said, and types some more. Then sighs.

"Sssso, what's your script about?"

This guy. It's as if the clouds parted from the sky, his face radiant. And he launches into a summary, but then starts including asides about influences and particular shots that must reference this or that.

Chuckling, you suggest that he should name the dog after Gene Hackman's character in The French Connection.

His eyes go round again, but this time in surprised delight, and he starts scribbling the note on his script.

"Well, this is me coming up," you sigh, pointing up to nothing in particular. "Nice talking to you."

Then he takes your raised hand in both of his, cradling it and looking into your eyes, the very picture of earnestness.

"Thank you so much for - everything... I just," he sighs, "my friend Nick, he has a tight schedule tonight, so now I am on my own. I guess I can eat dinner at the hotel, but-"

You look at him, for a beat, and surprise yourself-

"Well, if you want, you're getting off here anyway, to turn around- we could have dinner, and then you can head back to Manhattan."

"You wouldn't mind? I would love that!"

"Not at all," you said, and introduced yourself.

"I'm Javi."

The train squeals to a stop, and the conductor announces again that it is the Clark Street Station.

"So where are we going?"

"Well, lots of good places to eat, along the way to my neighborhood- "

"Sounds great. What neighborhood are you in? So many cool Brooklyn neighborhoods from movies! Would I know it?"

"I dunno, I'm in Red Hook."

"Hm. It does sound familiar..."

You don't get all the way to Red Hook, regardless of how sweet this guy looks, you know enough not to bring him to your apartment. You stopped at a café with lots of open seating outside, not too far from the Station.

Javi chats away about his favorite New York movies, but doesn't forget to ask about you and your interests... and your favorite New York movies, Nick Cage movies, and if you like cheesecake.

This is so unlike you to be so impulsive with a stranger, no less. But the man just seems like a walking, talking green flag, and it was kind of nice not to just go home after work and stare at the TV or scroll on your phone... or, let's be honest, do both, only half-paying attention to the show or movie you put on. Thinking this sort of guiltily, you blurt out-

"Is it true that studios push writers to have characters narrate and repeat plot points because we're all splitting our attention between screens?"

Javi sighs the sigh of the woe-begotten and beleaguered, "It is a problem. And of course there are people who notice and complain about the writing being childish if you do it, AND if you don't do it there's people who complain about plot holes, that they didn't know what was going on!"

Suddenly, Javi looks at you suspiciously and waves a forkful of cheesecake at you. "And which one are you?"

You laugh and grimace. And he looks to the sky like he's looking for strength.

"I am both," you admit. " But, but, I don't complain. When I realize I am getting distracted and don't know what's going on, I put my phone down and rewind. I promise!" You cross your heart. "Honestly, I'm usually good, I futz with my phone mostly when I'm listening to the news or other more listen-not-look type things. But I have caught myself being bad." You look at him with big, sad, guilty eyes. "Sorry."

"Naughty," he jokes, wagging a finger. "You have to be a good girl if you want good stories."

You choke a little on your cheesecake, trying to recover with a sip of your drink. Javi just looks at you with concern.

"Are you okay?"

Relieved, he didn't seem to notice your ridiculous reaction. You try to move on-

"Fine! Anyway, Nick Cage, huh?"

The two of you veer into a small park. You know it's time to part ways, but you're just not sure how to do it. Luckily, Javi is so much more outgoing than you; he takes your hand, just like that, so easily, it doesn't feel weird, forced, or too forward... It's just friendly.

"Can I see you again?"

"Oh yes, please," you blurt out, but you refuse to feel embarrassed by it. "I'd really like that."

"Great!!" Javi is sweetly acting like he's the one who has won the big prize at the carnival. He pulls out his phone and you get yours, he takes a quick selfie with you and sets it up for you to type in your details. He texts you the selfie, and you save it and his number.

"So we just went south, you just head up a few blocks to Clark Street and hop back on the train." You press your lips together in a small smile and go to wave. But he steps into your space, brushing your cheek with his soft lips, with a small kiss. You think, oh, Europeans, and you ready yourself to kiss the other cheek... but he murmurs your name and your knees liquefy.

Then his lips reach your ear-

"Until next time. Be good."

His lips curl into a wicked smile that you are shocked to see on this Labrador of a man, and he heads toward the station, leaving you staring, mouth open just a little.