Pee-Pee leans back slightly. “Did you enjoy yourself at all?”
“I did,” I say. “In a contained way. Like you enjoy a perfectly acceptable meal that you wouldn’t actively seek out again.”
“And at the end of the evening?”
“She asked if I wanted to go back to hers,” I say. “And I almost said yes because that’s what I normally would have done.”
“But you didn’t,” she notes.
“No, I didn’t,” I confirm. “I couldn’t risk the wrath of Christa. She would have never let me hear the end of it. And I didn’t think my dick was willing to come out and play in any case. So I said I had an early start the next day.”
“And afterwards?”
I hesitate, because this is where I start judging myself.
“I felt relieved,” I say. “And then immediately guilty for feeling relieved, because she didn’t do anything wrong and I’m apparently now the sort of man who feels bad for not wanting to take his shoes off at someone’s door.”
Pee-Pee nods slowly. “So you weren’t holding yourself back. You just didn’t want more.”
“That’s what worries me,” I say. “She’s lovely. On paper, she’s exactly the sort of person I should want to keep seeing. And yet I was already imagining a third date and thinking, oh. This again.”
She studies me for a moment. “Tell me what you believe you know about Sophia.”
I open my mouth, ready to list things, then stop.
“She works in communications,” I say eventually. “She likes podcasts. She’s travelled. She’s thoughtful.”
Pee-Pee raises an eyebrow. “That’s all first-date information.”
“I know,” I say. “And it’s only been two dates. That’s normal.”
“It is,” she agrees. “I’m wondering whether you’re responding to a lack of spark or simply the fact that you haven’t met the person underneath the polite conversation yet.”
I frown. “So you think this might be premature.”
“I think,” she says carefully, “that you’re used to either diving in quickly or walking away decisively. Sitting with uncertainty might feel uncomfortable.”
“That’s a generous way of saying I’m impatient,” I mutter.
She smiles. “It’s a fair observation. Chemistry doesn’t always announce itself immediately, especially when you’re more guarded than you used to be.”
I lean back, considering that. “So, what you’re saying is, I might be bored because I haven’t let myself get interested yet.”
“I’m saying,” she replies, “that boredom and unfamiliar calm can feel very similar. The question is whether you’re willing to give it a little more space to see which one it is.”
“And if it’s still boring?”
“Then you stop,” she says simply. “Kindly. Clearly. Without telling yourself a story about what that means about you.”
I sigh. “I was really hoping you’d tell me to trust my instincts and run.”
She chuckles. “Your instincts don’t seem panicked. They seem cautious.”
“That feels worse,” I say. “At least panic has energy.”
She smiles. “Caution can be useful. It can also slow things down enough for you to notice what’s really there.”
I picture a third date. Another dinner. Another conversation. This time maybe asking better questions. Maybe listening for something underneath the surface rather than ticking boxes.
