Breaking protocol

I’ve gotten into the bad habit of staying in bed on Saturday mornings and reading until most of the morning is gone. That’s why I was still under the covers after 10:00 when the phone rang. I assumed it was Mica. I picked up without checking caller ID and answered it with our customary, “Allo.”

There was a pause followed by a chuckle. “Uh, allo.” Blaine. Blaine! Blaine?

I explained I thought it was Mica calling. With a tease in his voice he asked what I was going to tell her about our date. All I’ll have to tell her is what he wore and she’ll know my feelings about the evening. I didn’t share that with him.

Later in the call he said, “I know I’m breaking protocol. If it’s too intrusive, tell me.” I smiled and wondered if his word choices become businesslike when he’s nervous. “Or you might already have plans,” he offered. “If not, would you like to see “The Post” this afternoon?” It’s the movie we were going to see last weekend. We changed our minds when we discovered “Darkest Hour” was showing.

A few hours later we were settled in the movie theater recliners. As last weekend, we raised the center armrest and settled the container of popcorn on the seat between us, our thighs stabilizing it. New this weekend was how our shoulders touched and, after the popcorn was gone, our hands interlocked.

When we got back to my house, Blaine came in for a minute. As we were saying goodbye, he asked if I was getting tired of him yet. Even though our body language shouted that the answer should be obvious, I crinkled my nose in contemplation. “Hmm...Not yet.”

“I’m willing to push my luck. Should we try again next weekend?”

And so we shall.