Living the French Movie

A few weeks ago I received an e-mail via yet another internet dating site from a guy I'll call Luke. Luke's profile was basically blank and his picture had a lot to be desired --- but his e-mails were charming and well-written, and his sense of humor was endearing. Luke was on the tail end of a nasty divorce and entering the dating game after 10+ of being married. He was therefore clueless about dating games and without the unpleasant, jaded aftertaste that so many of us professional daters cannot shake. After a witty exchange of e-mails, I reluctantly agreed to meet Luke for a drink. 'Reluctantly', because I was not attracted to his picture and because I've dated the newly-single and heartbroken before -- and it's never fun to be the Rebound Chick. But I still met him.

As on many blind dates before, I was surprised when I met him in person. But for once, it was a pleasant surprise. He was better looking than the crappy picture he had posted for the background scenery. The conversation was easy and we found we had much in common. Yet, he had lived in many countries, spoke several languages and had life experiences that intrigued me. He admitted to being nervous, and acted it, asking at the end of the long date if it was appropriate to say he would like to see me again. It was, we did, and things progressed quickly.

It was obvious that he was emotionally and financially unsettled in light of his divorce. It also became apparent that he wasn't comfortable being seen in public until his child custody agreement was final, which I understood. Last, it was crystal clear that he would likely be moving for work within the next few months. It didn't take a genius to realize that this had no future.

In the past I would have run, not walked, to the nearest emergency exit. But something about Luke kept me engaged and I went with my gut (and my libido). Things got physical very quickly. As he promised with his intoxicating European accent, this would be a way to get to know each other better. And, I must admit, he was right.

We've been seeing each other twice a week for about 3 weeks and speak or text almost every day. The sex is incredible, he makes me laugh, and he cares about what I feel and say. We talk openly about everything, including the fact that this will likely end soon. We joke that we're living the French movie --- and perhaps because we both know that movies only last for about 2 hours and a bag of popcorn, we're able to enjoy this stolen time together without thinking about life outside the bubble.