There he stood, looking cautiously around, wearing one of those shirts that makes him look inexplicably and indescribably adorable.
She stood off to the side, holding her book, noticing him looking for her. And then she walked toward him, and he saw her. A smile lit up his face, as one was surely lighting up hers. He reached her first, grabbed her hand in his, interlaced their fingers and kissed her square on the lips.
"Hi." He drawled.
"Hello." She said, her voice barely above a whisper.
They walked over to baggage claim, he kept holding her hand. He kept sneaking glances at her. Her brownish hair with golden highlights (natural, of course) falling softly around her shoulders in loose waves. He looked into her eyes and told her about the comedy of errors that was the second leg of his flight. Crying babies. iPods on so loud he could hear the bad music playing clearly through him. A woman who sniffled her nose incessantly. Turbulence. Anything else he could think of. And he looked at her. And he smiled.
She told him about her wonderful dinner with a friend. A dinner at a random local restaurant that, it turns out, also exists in the city he just left.
He gripped her hand then released it to take his computer bag off of his shoulder.
"It's like I'm having a hot flash or something." He was visibly warm.
She stood in her coat, happy to be so warm and standing next to him, feeling his presence beside her.
She looked at him. Examined the dimples around his smile, remembering all over again why she finds him so unbelievably attractive, even if another woman might pass him by without a single glance.
"Where's the luggage? Is the thing broken?" He seemed impatient to get out of the airport and on the road back to her apartment.
"It's on it's way. It's okay."
He told her about dinner the night before. He told her about the fancy sticky buns he had packed with an ice pack so they would be fresh upon arriving in California. Then he stopped, and just looked at her.
"You look great."
"Thank you." She smiled at him.
The slowly moving luggage carousel finally started pumping out more than the initial run of about fifteen identical black suitcases.
He started to look for his.
"You have your suitcase and a box?"
They stood side by side and watched.
Would anyone ever say that standing in the airport waiting for luggage is romantic?
Probably not at first pass.
But with a little context, it becomes obvious, that sometimes it's the most romantic date you could possibly imagine.
He suddenly shot forward, grabbed his suitcase and a small cardboard box off of the metal carousel.
"That's it?" She asked, grinning at him.
"Yep. Let's go."
"Alrightee." And she led him out the door of the small airport and towards her waiting car in the parking lot.