fakediary

On our way back to the hotel, we decided to stop at an English pub for a late-night drink and something light to eat.

The place was warm and lively, with dark wooden furniture, dim lighting, and the pleasant hum of conversations around us. We found a table and settled in, grateful to rest our feet after another long day of walking.

David ordered himself a beer and, without even asking, ordered a tonic water for me.

I smiled.

He remembered.

I’d told him before that I was an absolute lightweight when it came to alcohol. A single drink was usually enough to make me embarrassingly tipsy, and apparently he had taken that information seriously.

It was a small thing, but I liked that he remembered such details about me.

We ordered a few snacks to share and continued discussing the musical.

I was still thinking about Orpheus and Eurydice, particularly the ending. There was something terribly frustrating about the idea of making it all the way through the underworld, only to lose everything because of one moment of doubt.

As David took a sip of his beer, a question occurred to me.

“Would you travel to the underworld for me?”

He looked at me over his glass, amused.

I knew. It was terribly mushy and cliché. The sort of question a woman asks after spending an evening watching a tragic love story, fully expecting her boyfriend to give her an equally ridiculous answer.

But I wanted to hear it anyway.

“Of course,” he said.

I grinned.

“Even if you weren’t allowed to look back?”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t look back.”

“That’s what Orpheus thought.”

He laughed, and somehow our conversation turned into a surprisingly enthusiastic discussion of Greek mythology.

I had always been interested in mythology, particularly the way ancient stories attempted to explain human nature through gods who were often even more flawed than the people worshipping them. David turned out to know quite a bit about the subject himself.

He brought up different gods, their relationships, and some of the more complicated stories surrounding them. I found myself pleasantly surprised by how easily he followed the conversation.

“How do you know all this?” I eventually asked.

He shrugged.

“From a game I used to play when I was younger.”

I stared at him.

“A game?”

He nodded, looking rather pleased with himself.

I burst out laughing.

There I was, impressed by his knowledge of classical mythology, imagining that he had spent his youth buried in books about ancient Greece.

Apparently, I had a video game to thank.

Still, I was genuinely impressed. He remembered an extraordinary amount, and I enjoyed how animated he became when explaining the stories to me.

I had always liked people who could teach me something unexpected. David had a curious mind, and the more we talked, the more I discovered interests and bits of knowledge that hadn’t come up in our previous conversations.

Our snacks gradually disappeared, his beer glass emptied, and my tonic water grew warm as we continued talking.

At some point, I returned to my earlier question.

“You know, I don’t think I’d want you to go to the underworld for me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Because knowing Greek mythology, we’d probably both end up cursed.”

He laughed.

“And I’d much rather we just stay here, eat good food, and occasionally watch depressing musicals.”

“A much better plan,” he agreed.

I smiled and reached across the table for his hand.

Perhaps we weren’t destined for some great mythological adventure.

Which was just as well.

I was quite enjoying our very ordinary one.

We were still deep in conversation when the bartender announced last orders.

I looked around, surprised to find that the pub had nearly emptied. I hadn’t realized how long we’d been sitting there. What had started as a quick stop for drinks and snacks had somehow turned into hours of conversation.

David asked for the bill, settled the tab, and we gathered our things to leave.

Outside, the night air was pleasantly cool. The streets were quieter now, although New York never seemed to run out of people entirely.

David had enjoyed a couple of drinks. He wasn’t drunk, but I could tell he was a little tipsy from the way he smiled more freely and occasionally leaned into me as we walked.

Still, his awareness of our surroundings hadn’t diminished.

I noticed the way his eyes scanned the people approaching us, occasionally glancing over his shoulder or checking the street ahead. Whenever someone came too close, he would subtly guide me toward his other side or draw me a little nearer.

It was rather amusing, actually.

He had the appearance and instincts of a guard dog. Alert, watchful, and not particularly welcoming toward unfamiliar men.

Yet the moment he turned to me, his whole expression softened.

He would smile, squeeze my hand, or lean down to steal a kiss before returning his attention to the street.

A guard dog to the rest of the world, but a puppy just for me.

I found the contrast ridiculously endearing.

At one point, he caught me smiling to myself and asked what was so funny.

“Nothing,” I said, squeezing his hand.

I wasn’t quite ready to tell him that I’d mentally compared him to a large, slightly tipsy dog.

He kissed my cheek anyway.

As we approached the hotel, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and drew me against his side. I slipped my arm around his waist, matching my steps to his.

Until then, I had mostly known David as a man—confident, composed, and protective, with a quiet intensity that I found incredibly attractive.

But every now and then, a boyish side of him would peek through. In his mischievous smiles, his playful teasing, or the way he became a little more openly affectionate after a couple of drinks.

I was beginning to discover that beneath the man who seemed so determined to look after me was also a boy who simply wanted to be close to me.

And I rather liked that about him.