Heart to Home

She had no sooner taken a step into the room when she caught his attention. It's not that she was one of those "beautiful people" who demands recognition or takes command the minute they arrive.

Her arrival was subtle, almost unnoticeable because she just fit in with the crowd. She could easily slip in and out and no one would even know she was there.

He did.

Never moving from his place in the corner his eyes followed every move she made. From the host's "Hello!," through every polite introduction to make her feel welcome, the man continued to smile.

He knew in truth that his chance of meeting her was slim, but there was something about her he would not, could not, let go of, let alone define.

"Love at first sight," is a lofty ideal woven into the fabric of love stories, best told in old age when the real details become foggy.

"Falling in love" sounds almost tragic, as if someone could get hurt.

Sometimes they do.

She wore a fitted blue cocktail dress with slight beading at the neckline accentuating her slim face and short blond hair. No muss, no fuss. Just enough to say, "I'm out and about," with no real purpose in mind.

Her shoes were simple enough to add a bit of shine but, from the looks of them, the other women in the room would not be blown away with name dropping Jovani, Jimmy Choo or Prada.

It was perhaps that balance of sparkle and JC Penney that added even more intrigue.

It wasn't until hours later that she would even come close to where this man was standing. But he never saw it as time lost nor did he lose interest.

Then, he apparently became distracted for a moment, looked up and she was nowhere to be found.

Panic at first overcame him,then the realization that it just wasn't meant to be.

Why would he ever think there was any potential there. I mean the girl of your dreams doesn't just drop into a room and this girl attending this party wouldn't even be in his league.

She was a guest.  He was the bartender.

He went about his business and she apparently went on with her life never knowing her forever lover was there eagerly waiting to make her dreams come true.

It would be a long night for him and as the evening came to a close, he began to close up the bar, clear the room of glasses and head into the kitchen.

As he opened the door, hands full of empty glasses, a bar towel draped over his shoulders and the smell of liquor overwhelming his cologne, he stopped suddenly.

It was one of those "jaw dropping" moments we remember long after they occur.

There she was, sitting at the kitchen table with a glass and a lemon wedge floating inside it.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know any guests were still here. May I get you a drink?"

She didn't answer at first not realizing he was speaking to her.

"Miss, may I get you a drink? I thought everyone had gone," he said.

"Oh, no. I really wasn't drinking. This is just water," she replied.

"When you attend these events you need to give the appearance that you have a drink in your hand to be polite and fit in. The thing is I really don't fit in anyway," she said.

He smiled and said quietly, "No, you don't fit in, you stand out."

"Excuse me?" she said.

He thought immediately that he overstepped his bounds. He was just a worker, a bartender hired through the caterer and should never mix with the guest let alone make a comment like that.

"Oh, Miss. It's late, I'm over tired. I am so sorry. I didn't mean.."

She interrupted him, "Please, no need to apologize. It's was such a beautiful thing to say. I mean, I usually make an appearance at these things for my father's sake and then fade into the kitchen or hide in a corner somewhere. My father loves to include me in these things and I hate to do it," she said smiling.

He stood there awkwardly for a moment searching for the right thing to say. Music played softly in the background adding a dream-like illusion to the unexpected meeting.

"Well, if I can get you anything, please don't hesitate to ask," he said, then turned away to go about his business.

Appearing to enjoy his company she reached out with her hand as if motioning, "wait, don't go."

She now struggled for words in an effort to hold onto the one person she felt comfortable speaking with.

"Do they have any more of those little chicken things?" she asked.

"Pardon me? Chicken things?" he replied. "Oh, the hors d'oeuvres?"

"Well, yes. I am sure I can find some," he added.

Upon his return she had poured a fresh glass of water for herself and one for him.

"Lemon in your water?"

"Oh,  I...."

"Please sit with me. These are really great. You were probably too busy to have any," she said as she pulled out a chair for him.

Just then a guest happened to walk in.

The man suddenly jumped to his feet knowing he was violating the rules.

"Oh, I see you found him," she said.

The man now completely confused nodded his head slowly.

"You may not have noticed Miss Lillian, but this man couldn't take his eyes off of you all evening. I watched from afar. You know how boring these events are, so I just watch people. At one point I asked him for a rum and coke and he gave me something in cranberry juice. It was then I noticed his eyes were following you," she laughed.

He stood there, "chicken things" in hand not knowing how to respond.

"Really," the young woman said in a rather campy fashion. "Then we really should continue our conversation," she said smiling.

He looked like a deer caught in head lights.

They spent the next hour just talking,laughing and learning about each other.

"So, that's how we met," he told me as he reached for her hand. "I fell in love with her. She only wanted me for the "chicken things."

Yes, I learned all of this from saying "hello" to the couple sitting next to me. Imagine all I would have missed if I didn't.

As she put it, "It went from Heart to Home."

"I wish you enough!"
J
~ Bob Perks ~

Good news - Bob Perks' first book, "I Wish You Enough," Embracing Life's Most Valuable Moments... is now available for ordering. Here's the "Link" to get your copy of Bob's book: I Wish You Enough from Amazon.com.

[ by: Bob Perks Copyright © 2011 (2believe@comcast.net) -- {used with permission} ]