Then the door chimed.
They talked for three hours. About how the L train was always broken. About the new Arcade Fire album. About how she’d once delivered a package to the actual Beastie Boys’ studio and pretended to be calm. About how he was writing a short story about a man who wakes up as his own voicemail greeting.
She smiled. The real one this time. Wide and unguarded. “Tomorrow, then. 11 PM. I’ll bring the book.” blind dating 2006
“Leo?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from him. Up close, she had a tiny scar on her chin. He noticed everything.
“Nina,” he said. Not a question.
Nina tilted her head. Rain beaded on her eyelashes. “You’re not going to wait the mandatory three days?”
She pulled a worn Moleskine from her backpack. Not to check notes, but to draw. A quick, effortless sketch of the salt shaker between them. “I do that when I’m nervous,” she said. “Sorry.” Then the door chimed
“I hate small talk,” he said, quoting her own bio back to her.