Fretting Through the Music.

"I worry about you." That's what she said.

No, it's not one of those jokes from my youth. It really is what she said. Besides, it's not funny. "That's what she said" jokes are always funny. I was never good at them. I was never that funny.

What she said, she didn't say when she opened the door. That's a relief. I mean she could have, I was running late. If she'd moved the worry to the past tense, it would have been perfect.

How could I be late? Ask MyEx. She doesn't know either, but she does have a list of times that it happened. I was actually late once picking her up at the airport . It's ok, she foraged sunflower seeds from the terminal lockers for the first three days.

Lost: The Airport Version.

No, that didn't really happen. Oh, I really was late, but it was only a little. What's a little? Well in the case of MyEx and the Airport, it's a lot. In the case of the Pirate Queen and I, it's still a little.

A little confused yet? Yeah, me too. I'm nervous too. That's what dating is like. I went out with one person once and was told we didn't date.

"Wha?"

It's ok. It's fair. Some people really do wish I wasn't around. It's just weird when you realize that you're "not dating" them. It's just one of those things you understand when you look at old pictures and realize that you're not in any of them.

"huh…"

These are the monsters swirling through my skull as I'm circling the block trying to find The Pirate Queen's hotel. Every bad connection, every personality conflict, comparing and contrasting with their moments with this one. Meanwhile, my iPhone and the Napa street signs are disagreeing on what's the best way to refer to the street.

"Highway 221"

"No, Napa Road"

It's just like dating. If you can't get the two on the same page, then it's time to drive past. This is my third pass on Napa Road. I'm not ready to give up. That's easy when your in your 20s, but at 40, suddenly you start to wonder about the signage. Which signs, which brands are really important?

Criteria unfold on a whole new battlefield. I discovered that all the signage is important. If somebody reads like they're going to flank you, accept that that's who they are, it doesn't matter that you were hoping for a tete-a-tete.

Me, I always had a crush on Snow White's Step Mom. I mean evil or not, she wasn't confusing. You knew who you were dealing with. There's something to be said for that. Snow? She didn't know if she wanted to be a maid to 7 elder miners or just a single prince. Life's choices were just too daunting to her; on the eve of her discontent she checked out. She bit the apple. She took the sleep. After that, all life's choices were wiped away, like spittle from her chin, until somebody made up their mind for her. I don't want somebody like that. I want somebody with a spine.

"I worry about you." That's later. Right now I've found the secret entrance to the Pirate's hotel cove. I'm parking my car while worring about first impressions, four months after we've technically met.

When I arrive at her room I worry about her peep hole--the door, my pervy friends. After knocking, I notice that its glass eye stares right into my chest. I'm not tall, at four-foot high, this thing must have been made for the seven dwarves. What if Grumpy answers the door? Will she leave me outside with a "Hi, ho!"

It's not Grumpy. It's Sexy. She's a little known dwarf. She's a second cousin to Bashful and Sleazy. She was overlooked for the movie. Quite a shame.

I'm still worried about me. Oh, I may look like I'm calm and relaxed, but inside I'm wondering what this beauty thinks of me. I've got on my poker face though. She'll never suspect a thing.

"You look nervous." She says, giving me a hug. After 7 hours on the road, every mile drips away in her arms. This feels so good. I probably should have tried to kiss her here. I wanted to, but as we relaxed our embrace, she turned and drifted towards the couch. My lips settled for, "I'm sorry I'm late."

"You're only a little late." She chides over her shoulder. "I opened the bottle without you. I hope you don't mind." She lifts a champagne glass. It's mostly full. It also explains why she's much better at this nervous game than I am.

Maybe I should catch up. The empty glass on the table is a wine goblet. "They only have one." she explains, unfolding into the sofa. I shrug. With a goblet, I'll catch up in no time. I fill the glass and reduce the nervous miles.

It was déjà vu, we'd talked about this moment. Now we're living it. She'd made speculations about it. I had too. We'd said things about all these things until there was no things left to say. Now we're sitting staring at each other in a Napa hotel room looking for the right words.

I try mine first. My collection of words includes, "uhm," and "nice." It was nice.

It was a very nice room too. I made a point of looking over every detail while we sat there, collecting visual data on the DVD player, her hazel eyes, the marble bath, her smooth defined legs, the balcony overlooking a large river, and her full lips.

A man in a boat drifted past. The river, not her lips. The boat was more of a kayak really. I felt distracted. I wondered if the hotel paid kayaks to circle daily to enhance the mood. Maybe it was for nervous divorcees: a last minute escape when they realize they're not in Kansas any more: Kansas doesn't offer getaway boats.

And why would I want to escape this lovely woman across the couch? Because, I'm divorced. I've been burned before. I've had my share of half starts and non-dates. If life is a journey I'm not sure how many times my Kansas world can afford to be side tracked into an Technicolor dreamland, before I give up on reality completely.

"Well that's a horse of a different color."

Her iPod is dancing between Dianna Krall and Robin Trower. Yeah, we've both spent a long time crossing our bridge of sighs.

The sofa was a nice turn of the century upholstered style with cascading arms. We each took our corner of the couch and leaned against one. The arms were comfy, but hardly the arms either of us wanted to be nestling.

Sure, we'd had four months of precursor cuddle time. Four months of getting to know each other's tastes. Four months to get comfortable with the sound of each other's voice, and four minutes ago we'd seen each other for the first time and shared a hug. What now? She smelled so good. I couldn't believe how badly I wanted to kiss her. What about her? Were those lips slightly parted for the same reason as mine, or was there something in the air clogging her nose?

Have I really changed since being a kid? I'm still the insecure and frightened little boy who stole a kiss from Melissa Gabriel in the school parking lot before my dad picked us up. The adult version just has different fears, and he's the one expected to do the picking up.

"I worry about you."

See, when you spend time getting to know somebody over a distance, you learn lots of things. If you're smart, you learn whether they're who they pretend to be. I've been stupid before, but this time, I was fairly certain. What I wasn't sure of was whether I'd be who she thought I'd be.

She wondered if I'd still find her attractive when we met in person.

Drinking her in over my champagne, there wasn't doubt in my mind. She was more attractive than her pictures let on, and her body language seemed to show that I was the hairy troll she wanted to spin between her fingers. She smiled, she talked, she flirted. What's more she didn't make an excuse for me to leave the room:

"Rob, I forgot to get ice. Could you go get some?"

"Uhm, but there's ice in the bucket."

"Oh, that's old ice. I need the fresh stuff."

"Ok."

Instead she'd hand me a room service menu, lean over my shoulder and touch my hand. She allowed me to touch an old war injury. Things were good.

But still things were awkward. Why is it, the distance across the couch is like the distance between now and my first kiss with Melissa? Age doesn't change that it's harder than hell to figure out the best approach for a safe landing. I'm flying blind and my instruments are useless. We're at two ends of a sofa, with a world of cushion separating our lips. What do we do?

I thought I'd move in with subtle charm and grace. I'm looking for an excuse to move over to her side of the couch, when she says, "This is so comfortable. Do you mind if I rest my feet in your lap?"

Ok, this is a great familiarity sign, but when it comes to kisses, I've got the feet.

After more conversation, and a Tony Rocky Horror foot rub, she senses my dilemma. "You know what might be better? If I turn around here." So the Pirate Queen moves so that her head is in my lap.

Sounds perfect doesn't it? It was. Except that mid-section bend that's required to reach her lips. And yet those lips are there, and calling. Then there's the other problem: her head wasn't there nearly as long as her feet were. There was one great potential kiss moment when she looked up at me, and I think she missed my movement because she stood up.

At this point all I need is a singing crab and I've got a Disney movie. Finally she lays down on the bed. I can't think of a better invitation. I move over and we finally kiss. It was a great kiss: soft deep and telling. I'd love to tell you how long it lasted, but I lost track of everything but her two lips lightly massaging mine. It seemed to last forever, but yet it didn't last nearly not long enough.

Did she like my lips? I'd recently had lackluster reviews so I was a little worried. I shouldn't have. The Pirate Queen moved forward and we kissed again.

See, after divorce it's easy to let yourself get shaken up. You're coming out of a relationship where somebody who you'd hoped would be there forever has rejected you. After that, there are going to be fits and starts. It's just like dating in High School, except now you have some really cool baggage to share that you didn't have to share back then.

In high school, if you date people who aren't what you hoped, or aren't who they seemed, it's not a problem. After a divorce, it's just adding to the insecurity bank. That's normal. And what's more, you should expect a few bad dates. Embrace them. They will happen, but just like in high school, they aren't necessarily a bad thing. They'll help you to find what you're really looking for, so don't get discouraged.

Me, I'm a lot closer to what I'm looking for. Even in person, the Pirate Queen is an amazing woman.

The iPod moves to a track by Snow Patrol called "The Lightening Strike."

What if this storm ends, and I don't see you, as you are now, ever again…

She draws away, looking into my eyes, "I like this song now."

"You didn't before?" I can't look away. The rest of the room doesn't matter anymore. DVD, sofa, balcony, river, they're all different places. Different times. Right now is her lips, her eyes, her words.

"Oh, I did, but now it will always remind me of this moment."

"Oh." I lean in for another kiss.

That kiss led to a wonderful weekend of wine, trains, and pineapple charades. On Monday night, we were talking and she said, "I worry about you."

"Why?"

"You seem like such a nice guy. I'm worried that somebody is going to come along and take advantage of you."

I smiled and shrugged. It's happened before. Maybe it will happen again. Still, I'd rather be open and be wrong than cold and unyielding. I'd been there before. I don't want to be that person again. That's what worried me most.

"Don't worry about me." I wrapped my arms around her touched our lips together, "I worry about me enough for the both of us."