I hadn't remembered the floor plan of the restaurant very well. The bar was as I'd remembered with two separate Hibachi stations in the center of the floor across from the bar; but I'd remembered the walls being lined with booths. They'd redecorated. Booths lined one wall, but the other had several small four-chair tables.
I'd wanted a booth. It would allow distance between us and a face to face conversation. He knew I wasn't a same-side-of-the-booth person. But all the booths were taken. The Hibachi was out of the question since we wanted to be able to talk so we chose a table by default.
Any ideas I'd held that he'd sit across from me were quickly dispelled. He pulled my chair out, seated me and then chose the seat caddy-corner and immediately pushed his chair to the very edge of the table.
"Is this okay?"
The expression on his face was so hopeful that I couldn't/wouldn't say anything negative. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"
"I know you have your whole personal space thing, but it's been so long since I've been around you, I just want to be as close as I can. If you're uncomfortable, or if you get uncomfortable, just tell me and I'll move across the table."
"No, you're fine. Really." And though I didn't think I meant the words as I started to say them . . . I did. It was fine. I wanted the closeness, too, though admitting it to myself cost me something intangible.
He smiled. It changed his entire face and I realized that whatever it had cost me was worth it.