Te Iubsec...Forever.

2 Days in Constanța

From that evening on, we were together, most of the time anyway. I stayed with her my entire trip, she insisted, and wouldn't have it any other way. And why would I argue? She was engaging, brilliant, and so easy on the eyes. And every time she moved, I watched with anticipation. There was something so purposeful in her movements. It was like she had practiced every articulation of every joint in her body. She moved with command and deliberation as I had never seen; it was simply breathtaking.

"Have you ever been a dancer?" I asked one morning.

She was clearing our breakfast dishes and stopped to look back at me for clarification, I presumed.

"Long ago, when I was young," she said with a slightly distant smile.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's the way you move; there's something about it. I used to, well, I had a girlfriend who was a dancer, ballet, of course, and well...." I was stammering, looking for the right words, and trying my best not to trip over the wrong ones.

"So my movements are familiar to you?" She asked from the kitchen.

My monkey brain was jumping up and down and screeching at me.

'Careful with your words, Nick; you could be out on the streets. Never talk about women of your past with a woman you want in your future. '

"Only the way you move. Dancers seem to move differently."

"Do you watch me move?" She asked with the most even tone you could imagine.

What did I have to lose? Besides taking up residence with this incredible beauty?

"Ches, yes, in all honesty, yes. I would have to be blind not to notice, plus you sometimes put your hair up in a ballerina bun, you know, real tight, pretty. It's different from other, well, buns," I answered, smiling at my own words.

"Nick, silly, yes, it's called a Greek knot, and as a matter of fact, that is where I learned to do that. I haven't thought of that in years," she said, suddenly stopping to play with the ends of her long beautiful strands.

"It was a long time ago. I was too tall."

Her eyes wandered around, lost in a memory that she smiled away. She returned to the banquette and scooted in beside me, close.

"How old was your friend Nick?"

"She was twenty-seven when I saw her last."

"Was she still dancing?" Ches pressed.

"Sort of. She became an aerialist too but still did quite a bit of dancing, not quite formal ballet though."

"How exciting!" She smiled.

"Still so young too."

Ches leaned and rested on me, putting her head on my shoulder.

"You never told me how old you were, Nick," she whispered.

I didn't mind answering. I didn't feel old; hell, forty wasn't old, not really, anyway. I had been a little conscious of it due to societal norms, expectations, etc., but all without a real reason. There was no way she was that old. I knew she was a doctor, so she couldn't be too young; besides, with all she knew, the way she carried herself, all that came with age.

"I'm forty, Ches, turned forty last September. Am I too old?" I asked, lifting her chin to look up at me. Our eyes met, and she smiled and pressed her lips to me for a kiss.

"No, just right. And how old am I, Nick?"

I paused. My monkey brain threw his hands up and walked out. No safe answer there, the best thing to do was to stall. Eventually, she would come out with it on her own when she became a little more comfortable and less self-conscious about it.