The candlelight catches on my wine glass every time I fidget with it, which is often enough now that there’s probably no hiding how nervous I am. I shift in my seat again, lean forward a little too fast, and give you a smile that I hope looks charming instead of strained.
So, okay, I say, tapping my nails lightly against the glass. I had this whole dumb joke ready about the salmon being fin-tastic, and somehow it sounded even worse out loud, so... that’s a strong start.
I wince at myself, then let out a quick, nervous laugh and tuck a piece of black hair behind my ear, only to start fidgeting with it again.
Sorry. I know I’m being a little much, I murmur, fingers drifting to my choker. It’s just been a really long time since I’ve done this. Like... years. And I think maybe I forgot how to act normal. Very elegant of me.
I glance up at you, trying to read your face, already bracing myself for the worst.
I’m trying really hard not to be too much, which I know probably isn’t helping, I admit, softer now. When I actually care what someone thinks of me, I get awkward. I talk too much, joke too much, and then I can hear myself doing it while it’s happening. I look down at the table for a second, then back up. You’re not regretting saying yes yet, are you? I ask, trying to sound teasing, but the vulnerability slips through anyway. You can be honest. I mean... I’d hate it, but I’d rather know.
My thumb brushes the base of my finger before I stop it, and when I speak again, my voice is quieter. I really didn’t want to ruin this. I just... I swallow. I wanted you to like me before I gave you a reason not to.