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He re-arranged the flower on the table for about the fiftieth time. He knew it was just nerves, of course. And he knew that odds were she probably might not even notice the stupid thing. But there was just as much of a chance that she might. So he wanted to make it just perfect for her.

He stood back from the table, examining it, then sighed and turned away from the table. If he touched the thing once more it would probably wilt up and die.

He forced himself to just sit on the bed and turn on the TV. He knew he was early. Besides, she wasn’t due to show for another half hour. But that didn’t do anything to settle his nerves. He knew he shouldn’t be nervous, hell they’d been talking to each other for over a year now. But now they were actually going to meet due to a series of fortunate circumstances that gave them both layovers in the same city at the same time.

He almost hadn’t had the guts to ask her to meet him, and when she’d admitted she was waiting to see if he had the nerve . . . that had settled it.

And now here he was.

Waiting.

For her.

There was a soft knock at the door and he rose to his feet in a rush. Even while watching TV his eyes had strayed to the clock every five minutes until finally he had just turned the TV off and stared at the clock. Every neon click seeming to draw the moment inexorably closer until finally . . . the gentle knock was repeated.

She was here. Waiting outside. So . . . well, now that she was here maybe it was time to open the door.

He took a deep breath and then let her in.

The spring weather had turned unseasonably warm, so her jacket was draped over her arm. That meant he could take in the rest of her. Her shoulders were bare, and the light summery dress she was wearing suited her coloring perfectly. He had honestly had no idea what to expect, and though they had been sending pictures back and forth for the past month, seeing her in the flesh made the pictures pale in comparison.

There was no doubt it was her, though. The pictures had been real enough and the little thrill of excitement he’d had prior to their meeting was suddenly justified. He could see her looking at him as well, almost studying and comparing, and he was thankful he had been equally honest in his own photo deliveries.

“Come in. Come in.” He was suddenly nervous and unsure of himself now that she was here.

He saw her own uncertainty in her eyes as she moved into the room. Her eyes drifted from his face to the room itself. She took in the table with its bottle of champagne, and its’ twin glasses. He saw her smile at the flower, and her smile made all of the early preparation worth the effort.

“Nice choice.” She said. Her voice was soft and warm, and he felt it flow around the room like a velvet stream. “You remembered.”

“The flower?” He grinned. “Yeah. Your favorite. I remembered.”

“How did you find one the right color?”

He laughed. “It wasn’t easy.”

Just those three words were enough to let her know how hard he had worked for this meeting to be just right.  

He took her jacket from her and hung it in the small closet provided then pulled the chair out for her to sit. As she sat down, he couldn’t help but notice how lean and smooth her legs were. She was obviously fit. Her waist and hips were perfect to him, and when she caught him checking her out he had to laugh.

“Sorry. Natural reflex.”

She laughed with him and nodded. “I know. But don’t worry. I’ve been checking you out too.”

“And . . .?”

Her eyes sparkled with merriment. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He had to laugh with her at that. “Yeah. I was ready to say you had the wrong room, if it wasn’t . . . you . . . on the other side of the door.”

“I was ready to say the same thing!” She laughed. “I was ready to say sorry . . . wrong room, and then I was going to just run!”

They laughed together for a moment at their shared plans, both of them secretly pleased that hadn’t been necessary. Then they were quiet.

“So . . . you want a drink?”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

He reached over and unscrewed the top of the wire mesh, then popped the cork. She squealed when the champagne sprayed a bit, but it was a funny, happy squeal and he didn’t mind it at all. He poured the first two glasses and offered her one.

Then they stared into each other’s eyes.

“We should propose a toast.”

A nod. “How about . . . to lucky chances.”

They smiled as one when they clinked their glasses together.

“Perfect. To lucky chances.”

Her eyes were twinkling as she sipped her champagne, and he felt as if he should have ordered a keg of the stuff just to see that reflection in her eyes.