Jack shows up in the same green sweater he wore on their first date last Sunday.  Lacy likes that. He isn't trying to impress her.  People trying to be impressive made Lacy uncomfortable. Jack seems recognizable already.  She likes predicting him.

They meet at the hip, indie bar in town.  Except it isn't really hip anymore.  The fraternities and sororities have started to plant their flags of Delta Zeta Whatever in the ground.  They've started to serve martinis.  That's not the point; the point is Lacy and Jack are still just meeting. Lacy wants to get picked up in her driveway.  She wants Jack to knock on her door and be barked at by her dog.  Lacy wants to sit in Jack's cold car and flip through his radio stations.

She knows tonight has to be the first kiss.  If he doesn't kiss her tonight, she is going to start questioning their chemistry, or his sexuality.  She's going to get scared and insecure, maybe call the whole thing off.  Maybe.

They both order hard-to-pronounce imports and taste one another's beers.

"Yours tastes like pink grapefruit." Jack says, handing it back to her while making a sour face.

"Yours is so thick, it tastes like a meal."  They always did this, talking in simile or story. Well, they didn't always do anything, but for four nights they have.  Jack can tell a story that makes Lacy laugh so hard the corners of her eyes get wet.  Whenever she wipes them away, he feels the same release as after finishing his long evening runs.

The two sit outside in front of the fire place; the back porch of the bar is covered in strings of red chili pepper lights.  The green booths are worn in and sag where they sit.

Jack orders a french dip, and Lacy gets chicken tenders with ranch, instead of honey mustard.  "How do you feel about fat-free ranch?"  Jack asks, like this is the question that will decide things.

"I'm totally against it.  Two things that cannot have the fat taken out of them are ranch and cream cheese."

"I'm glad you feel that way."  He says putting on his serious eyebrows, and Lacy laughs, but not too hard.  She notices he has some unruly eyebrow hairs and this imperfection is endearing in the same way his repeated green sweater is.

Jack's food arrives, and the waitress has forgotten about Lacy, so she has to wait.  Jack offers his fries, and they both go for the soggy ones.

"I've never met anyone else who likes the soggy fries; it's always the crispy ones people want."  Lacy says, as she dips a limp fry deep into the ketchup; she wants to show her lack of restraint.

"Nope, I like the soggy, soft ones.  That's how you really taste the potato.  The crispy ones don't taste like much of anything to me.  Anyways, I'm a sucker for the underdog in any situation."  Jack says as he wipes the salt off his hands and pushes up the bridge of his black glasses, leaving a small smudge on the glass.

Lacy's food arrives and she shares her ranch with Jack.  It's mediocre, they agree.  Jack tells her about the preference game he plays with his niece.  He makes her choose between things, like yesterday she chose ketchup over macaroni, and Cinderella over him.  Jack holds up both hands, palms towards the air to weigh each choice as he tells Lacy the verdict.  Lacy laughs and says those choices seem logical enough to her, staring at his lips.  She likes his lips more than his glasses, which she likes too.  His top lip puffs out just enough to be sucked on.  These are the thoughts she tries to stop.  She wants this relationship to be more than the usual lips and skin.  His lips though, he has the smallest scar on the top right.  She wants to touch it.  It is in the shape of a small C, a little letter there on his lip.  His full beard frames it all.

"So, then I asked her to choose between Cinderella and her mother, and she chose my sister over Cinderella.  These are the big decisions a three year old must make."

Jack takes a gulp off the top of a new beer, and the foam makes a thin line on his top lip.  He licks it off without even noticing this action.  He does this again and again over the course of two hours.

After glasses and napkins litter their table, Jack walks Lacy to her car.  They are full of dark beer as they walk through the first cold night of winter.  Lacy sits on the hood of his small car, then stands right back up.  She's not sure what is allowed.   The car moves up and down with the weight of her, and Lacy's cheeks redden.

"What are you doing now?"  Lacy is always asking this question of him, and touching her hair.

"I'm standing here with you."

They both look at their feet.  The downtown street is dark and maybe dangerous at this time of night.  It is quiet in the way things are quiet before a starting point, a beginning.  Not the quiet of an ending.  The difference is slight or the same, nobody knows yet.

"That was awkward."  Jack says, and at the same time coming in to kiss her.  Their eyeglasses make a tapping sound against each other as they move their heads and necks, but neither one hears this.  Jack puts his hand in her hair, and Lacy smells like citrus and the deep fryer. Lacy grasps his shirt sleeves. They kiss and breathe, breathe and kiss.  They are so relieved that the other one is good at this.  They are so relieved.