He's worse than a freaking bug zapper...

Continued from "This only happens in the movies..."

Yes. Yes I did remember to put on deodorant. Thank god.

We stroll over to a "wee little bar" called Albar (I think...) down the road from the main area of the octagon. I'm trying not to be awkwardly quiet and in trying to not be awkwardly quiet, I end up being awkwardly quiet....for about 2 minutes.

We snagged a nice window seat looking out onto the sidewalk dining area and chatted about a vast variety of subjects. Ranging from the correct pronunciation of "orange juice" to the standard discussion of "tell me about your family".

Again, I cant tell you what he was thinking, but I was melting into a puddle of pheromones. Even the pauses in conversation didn't seem awkward, just filled with comfortable contemplation of each finished topic punctuated by a sip or two of beer.

Get it together LP! Goodness!

He walks me back to my hostel, roughly 2 blocks away and as we're saying goodbye, that damn eye contact kicks in.

He's worse than a freaking bug zapper.

.....we may or may not have made out like high schoolers for an undetermined length of time.

I fell into bed like a giddy feather with some stupid grin plastered on my face.

ENTER: Canada Day!

The Canadians Birthday was the next day, so we ran around town shopping and being girly (not my area of expertise, but I can work with it.) In one store, I came across the most adorable polka dot dress. After trying it on, it was an immediate purchase. Hitting my mid-thigh with a modest top, it was too stinking cute to pass up.

A little bit of messaging back and forth with The Professor during the day leads to plans for another casual evening out.

Polka. Dot. Dress. You're up slugger. Get your game face on.

Ok, so it was a little cold that night. And I heavily debated wearing my jeans. But damn it! It was our last night in town.....and that dress.....screw it. It's not like we're going hiking, I wont be outside for that long.

I hustle over to our meeting spot and lean myself up against a strategically placed flower bed. My legs are lookin' looooong. In an effort to not appear too eager, I fiddle with my phone to keep myself from scanning the crowd.

A familiar looking pair of shoes appears in my line of sight. Up shoot my eyes again. It takes all of my will power not drool. This man knows how to wear a button down shirt. And conveniently for him, I know how to stare at men who know how to wear button down shirts.

Which I do. While I remember how to use my tongue for making words come out of my mouth.

"Well, hello."

Really self?! That's the best you've got? Weak sauce. Tsk tsk.

And off we go. Starting with a pint at the same bar we started at the night before. This time however, it seems like maybe 5 minutes after we sit in our window seat the bartender swings by muttering something about "Last Call". A quick change of plans has us strolling back up through the center of the Octagon and after a few turns, he leads me down this abandoned looking alleyway.

"Ah, yes. I was wondering when you were going to get around to killing me in some alleyway and hiding my body." I say in a joking manner.

He chuckles at me and leads me around a corner into a tiny parking lot surrounded on all sides by brick walls. One of which, has a few tiny windows glowing with candlelight flanking a heavy looking wooden door.

ENTER: Pequeno - aka the most adorable bar ever.

Pushing open the door, you immediately feel at home. Thick velvet curtains sit along one wall, candlelight and firelight flick lovely shadows along the walls. The room is not overly large, but is dominated by a very gentlemanly looking bar. Overstuffed leather couches are strewn along the other long side of the wall creating nice little cozy nooks. The whole place feels at once very intimate in a very non-imposing manner.

We stroll up to the bar and he turns and asks me what I would like. I haven't a clue about whats available beer-wise in the area, so I let him pick one at random. I take a quick sip, nodding that it tastes great and should do just fine.

He tilts his head at me and says, "Now don't just say you like it just to say so. Its your last beer, so you'd better make sure you like it." His quick reference to my previous serial killer comment catches me off guard in the most delightful way as I fight the urge to choke on the sip of beer I just had.

Which brings me to number 5 (if you're still keeping count):

5. He's the most adorable bullshitter I think I've ever met.

Earning points left and right.

Again, he walks me back to my hostel. Again, we may or may not have made out like teenagers. (In the middle of which, a lovely drunk fellow comes up to us and asks for directions. No, that's cool, we're clearly not busy. Happy to tell you where to go, drunkie ... Really?) At this point, its my last night in town. Last. Night. In. Town. Polite words are exchanged, he says "Night gorgeous." and I regretfully hold tight to my dignity and walk upstairs to sleep in the cold top bunk of our stinky hostel room.

Dumb. Ass. He said "Night gorgeous." With that accent. Wearing that shirt. I say again, Dumb. Ass.

Continue...