Holding hands, we walked into the dimly lit bar at the top of the hotel. It was near the end of the night, so the place was far from hopping as everyone was out elsewhere.
“Two snifters of Macallan” was his order after examining our options for single malt Scotch choices. The bartenders enjoying the small talk as we were ordering, gave us two generous pours. We took our drinks to a table that overlooked the evening city – overlooked the venue we had chosen to stay away from for the night instead doing our own thing – and sat.
We each sipped the scotch – savoring the burn, the oakiness, the flavors – and both moaned at that first sip, smiling at each other at the perfectness of the moment.
We held hands as we spoke about the things wandering through our brains. Partially caused by the perfect Scotch for the night, partially caused by the endorphins of our play and the energy exchange we always feel, partially caused by our trust and familiarity with each other. We spoke about love and life and loss and friendship and family and fate and growing up and everything that wandered through. We laughed, we had moments of seriousness, and we had everything in between. And in between, our bartender served us more – fueling our conversation and energy moment with more scotch.
Perfect. One of those moments that will forever be etched in my brain. One of those moments that was so what it should be – so good. The perfect moment with the perfect person at the perfect time.
And I, once again, realized how blessed I am to have it – to have him- to have that moment.