Our Love Story: Part 3

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Here’s the thing about this love story of ours. It’s long. And drawn out. And mushy gushy. And even a bit cheesy. But it’s true. And I’ve decided to take my time writing it, capturing all the special details of those moments I never want to forget. So if mushy-gushy, cheesy love stories aren’t your thing, I totally get that.  Just know that I’m writing this as a gift—to my family, and my children, and their children—and also, for Ben and me—so that on those days when the kids are screaming, the laundry is overflowing and the bills are rolling in…on those days when it all just seems so hard, we’ll have this to remind us of those first moments when we fell in love. And if sappy, detail ridden love stories are your thing, well then you’ve come to the right place. All previous chapters can be found here.

***

Just like our sack lunch “date”, our kicking the soccer ball “date” ended with me lingering a bit too long in hopes that he would ask me out on a real date.
And again, it didn’t happen.

He juggled the ball a few times and then passed it over to me.
We continued on like this with casual conversation in between passes for about 15 minutes.

Ben: You know, you’re not half bad.
Me: Thanks, I think. You’re not half bad yourself.

I passed the ball back. Harder this time.

Me: Sooo…what do you normally do when you get off from camp?
Ben: Usually just hang out with my brother and his wife.

He paused for a few seconds.

Ben: Listen, this was fun. But I should really be getting back. I’m sure my brother is looking for me.

He wasn’t taking my bait.

Me: Yeah, I should get back too. Thanks for going easy on me.

He smiled, then used the top of his foot to flip up the soccer ball.
He caught it in his left hand and held the door open for me with his right.
I tried not to look impressed.

I accidentally brushed his shoulder as I walked by him to go inside.
Again, my heart hit the floor. That was the first time we had touched.
And even though it was only for the briefest of seconds,
it was long enough to know that I was in trouble.
He was playing it cool…and I was already smitten.

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***

Friday (6 days left):

I woke up 30 minutes earlier than usual Friday morning.
I got dressed, made my morning hot chocolate {I was on a diet Swiss Miss kick},
and stopped to take a look in the closet mirror on my way out.

This is a big day Ashley.

This was it.
My last chance to get him to ask me out.
I wasn’t working over the weekend,
which meant we would go two whole days without seeing each other before Monday.
Two whole days without tummy fluttering eye contact.
Two whole days without finding an excuse to work in the same room as him.
Two whole days I didn’t want to spend wondering if he was actually interested in me.
And then, at then end of next week, he would be gone–probably forever.

I was on a mission.

***

I had never “dated” before.
Sure, I had boyfriends–and we even went on dates.
But they were already my “boyfriend” when we went on those dates.

So I didn’t really know what to expect from an official date with someone who wasn’t already a part of my life. I wanted that first date experience, and I wanted it to be with him.

I wanted to be the girl who tried on 50 outfits until I found the one that was just right.
I wanted to feel the anxious anticipation of his knock at my door.
I wanted to give a shy thank you when he opened my car door.
I wanted to agonize about ordering the least messy meal on the menu.
I wanted to ask about his hopes, his dreams, his fondest childhood memories.
I wanted to feel that moment when we both knew the conversation was leading to the first kiss…
And we would both lean in, wondering if the moment would be awkward or perfect–both of us hoping for perfect.

I wanted to feel that moment.

***

I wish I could give you some story about how we spent the whole day stealing glances at one another from across the gym. Tell you that we shared another priceless conversation over a shared sack lunch–that we kicked the ball around intermingled with passive flirting.

But the reality is, Ben spent most of the day running errands outside of the gym while I was bogged down with end-of-the-week clean up duty. The day wasn’t going as glamorously as I had played out in my mind the night before.

So there I was, at the end of my shift.
Camp was over. The coaches were wrapping everything up, getting ready to head out.
I had conveniently placed myself on cleaning duty at the main exit of the building–that way our paths would surely cross one more time.

From the corner of my eye I watched him throw his backpack over his shoulder, shake a coaches hand and wave goodbye to the rest of the staff. Then he turned and walked out of a back exit I didn’t even think he knew existed.

My heart sank.
He was gone.
Woah, I guess that’s it.

A million thoughts began to race through my head as I mindlessly vacuumed the same spot over and over again. But mostly those thoughts could be summed up in five words:
I’m an idiot. Lesson learned.

I kept vacuuming. Staring off into the distance.
Is that a lump in your throat Ashley? Are you holding back tears?
Oh no, don’t do this. No boys, remember.

I shook it off, broke my vacant gaze into the oblivion and took a deep breath.
All right, back to real life.
Look’s like this won’t be your “Summer Love” after all.

And then, sure enough, with timing that could only be described as “cinematic”,
he came in through the front entrance of the building and stopped just a few feet short of the spot I was vacuuming. He had walked the perimeter of the building to make his grand entrance.

I turned off the vacuum and stood there–speechless.

He smiled. I melted.
But I was noticing that the confidence he had shown in the days before wasn’t quite the same in this moment.

Ben: So as you know, I’m only here for a few more days…but I was, uh, I was  thinking maybe you would want to hang out some more. You know, outside of work.

Smooth.

He kicked at an invisible speck on the ground and held tight to both backpack straps that were over his shoulders.

Ben: Maybe we could, uh, go out. Ya know, to like “putt putt” or something.

This time he was the nervous one.
And his nervousness was my answer.
He liked me too.

Me: Yeah…I would like that.
Then I gave him my half smile with a slight head tilt–it was my signature flirt “move”.

And in the next moment,
I was writing my phone number down on a napkin for a cute boy for the very first and very last time in my life.

***

Part 4 coming soon–and it will have pictures.
Sorry this is dragging out–but that’s how I think I’m going to keep writing this…with all the details.
Because this is as much for me and you as it is for Lil W and our future kiddos. This is their story too.
And I want them to know all the details, all the reasons this love is real.