I arrived at the Buffet Diner fifteen minutes late and found David seated in a corner booth with food mound on three huge platters, munching on a chicken leg, and reading a thick novel.

“I can’t do that.” I tried to swallow my embarrassment for my tardiness.

“Do what?” David asked, peeking over the rim of his mystery-thriller, lips curled into an unforgettable smile people would kill to receive.

“I can’t read and eat at the same time. If I do, I either read at the speed I’m chewing, or chew at the speed I’m reading. Either one could be hazardous to my health.”

I paused, my mind tumbled through a jumble of words to locate an eloquent apology. “I’m sorry I’m late.” My weak repentance stole my confidence.

The glow in David’s eyes lit the room. He motioned for me to sit. “Please accept my apologies for starting without you. My schedule is tight.”

I’m the one who’s late and David offers the better apology. My legs turned to jello. A brief fight with the long, red tablecloth, ended with me seated across from him, hoping my nervous excitement didn’t register on my face.

His long, manicured fingers slipped the book inside the chest pocket of his stylish brown suit jacket. The word ‘perfect’ printed across the chest of David’s deep blue T-shirt, the exact color of his gorgeous eyes, could be read. Maybe the shirt said more, but the descriptive syllable said it all to me.

He pressed his linen napkin to his lips, then spoke. “I can’t read a book without chewing on something, even if it’s only a toothpick.”

We’d run into each other at the library twice. David behind a big desk piled high with opened books, and I at the copy machine close by, paper spitting out copies along with our conversations. It lead to this, our prearranged get-together, as David titled it.

The solid, even tone of his voice had a way of making you relax and forget any cares you might have brought with you. I decided I really liked him on my round through the salad bar. I chose the small bread dish over the big salad plates and hoped he had noticed, and didn’t count me a big eater, equaling an expensive date in the hopeful near future.

David applied impeccable table manners. We talked, ate, and drank endless glasses of lemonade, compliments of our perky waitress. His gallant style and flashy smile drew her to our table often, sending a jealous bolt through my spine, and locked my frame into a ‘prepare for battle’ position.

At the dessert station I maintained self-control. Three tiny servings, all of them involving chocolate. With each scoop I sent up a silent prayer, hoping David would ask me out again. I ate small bites, lingered between each dessert, and nodded and smiled at his witty and humorous explanation of weather pattern shifts. He had a gift of putting words together and creating splendid sentences guaranteed to hold your interest and infiltrate knowledge.

With my fork poised in mid-air and my gaze centered on him, I ran down the check list on my invisible evaluation sheet. Good looks. Intelligent. Witty. Self-assured. Polite. David possessed the full package and scored high. My heart actually beat signals of falling in love with him.

The last bite of chocolate mousse still lingered on my tongue when David announced he had to go or he’d be late for a meeting.

He paused, and touch my hand for a brief moment. Did I see an earnest desire in his eyes to ask me out again, or had I imagined the possibility? I gulped and hoped a polite smile had found it’s way onto my face. “Thank you for lunch.”

“I thought you were paying.” He pulled his hand away and touched his napkin to his lips.

I laughed at David’s humorous reply and the cute way he shoved the check across the table with a heart-stopping wink.

An abrupt end to my laughter came after he slide from the booth, removed his jacket, turned, and walked toward the double glass door.

My mouth dropped open. It wasn’t the quote on David’s T-shirt stretched tight over his bulging middle, bearing the words, ‘I’ve been perfecting this shape for a long time.’ Nor his denim cut-offs, thread bare across his rear, exposing more than a hint of red boxers. Or the plump pieces of fried chicken poking out and bulging through his dingy white socks. It was the complete, unbelievable picture. The man my heart clamored for me to fall in love with.

I tossed money on the table and bolted out the door after David.

He caught my eyes clamped to his ankles, and wore a taunt grin, like a thin piece of leather stretched over a thick chair seat. A dinner roll dropped from his jacket pocket. “Why the discomfited look on your face, or am I misreading your perplexity?” Confidence anchored David’s words and award winning smile. “I’ve got lunch for the next two days.”

I jabbed my hands onto my hips. “That’s stealing. If the Buffet Diner allowed us to take food home, they’d hand out doggy bags.”

David shrugged his shoulders. “Everybody does it.”

I locked onto the ankles of the next three people walking out the double doors. “None of them have chicken legs stuffed in their socks.”

“It’s an art form they haven’t developed or adopted yet.” He marched down the parking lot. Both socks sagged from the added weight, exposing another drumstick and a big, meaty white piece.

My eyes followed him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. There went my dream guy.

Laughter won.