Is green a slutty color? Why is every one of my dresses some form of shiny emerald or jade? I don't even know where we are going! It could be a black-tie sort of thing or an elegant kimono type of event! I had typed out a message to email him but ended up deleting it, I don't want to sound dimwitted or dull. I dig through my drawers and closet like a madwoman, searching for any kind of middle ground. I settle with a dark green A-line dress with black stockings and a dark grey button-up coat. I try on a couple pairs of high heel boots before settling with a more practical pair of ancle booties. A hard knock at the door makes me stumble, nearly falling right out of my shoes.

  Mr. Yashido smiles at the sight of me, earning a flustered smile of my own. I am immediately relieved to see him in only a simple suit nice enough that I still can't figure out what kind of place we are going to.

  "Please come in, Mr. Yashido. I am sorry, I didn't make tea since we are going to likely have some where we are going. I assume there will be tea at the uh, restaurant?"

  "Yes, of course. I fine assortment of teas as every real establishment should have. You won't be disappointed." He seems unbothered if not a little amused by my awkwardness.

  "You look quite nice, like a precious stone hidden in the pond."

  After a few minutes of me fumbling around attempting to be hospitable, he whisks me away in his nice little white car. He explains during the trip that he inherited the Mazda Cosmo from his grandfather who passed several years ago. He looks younger when he talks about his childhood adventures, mostly staring him and his grandpa. How old is he again? I think I remember reading that he turns sixty-eight this year. Is a twenty-two-year-old like me even on his romantic radar? Maybe I am in a little over my head, this is just a formal meeting. I bet he takes anyone out to dinner if he has things to talk about, since he doesn't seem very vocal when he checks in around our offices. Maybe I overdressed after all.

  The restaurant isn't as flamboyant and intimidating as I had imagined. It definitely is on the nicer side of things and though some other women have glanced my way, it is not with distaste. Mr. Yoshido pulls out a seat for me and scoots me in before sitting down himself. The classy waiter arrives promptly and Mr. Yoshido orders for us. Everything he said sounded good even though I wasn't sure what it all was. The Jasmine tea was a familiar comfort.

  "So, how have you been liking working for Mr. Hashido? Have you worked with him long?" His keen eyes look right through me. His cup of tea is more of an ornament in his bony grip.

  "I have only been here for less than a year. Mr. Hashido can be a bit immature but it is his first time running a business so you couldn't expect him to be very good yet." He lifts an eyebrow at me. "Oh, but he is a good boss! He is kind and passionate about the anime industry." I hide behind a big gulp of tea. Despite my crude remarks about the man he hired for his life's work, Mr. Yashido merely chuckled and thanked the waiter as he conveniently intercepted with our food. The food that I would have never ordered for myself and here I am about to eat some dry nutty salad to appease an old man whose chiseled face is far too handsome to say no to.

  The rest of the dinner goes by without another mention of my boss or any of my work. I tried to ask him about his books but always got interrupted by the waiter or Mr. Yashido himself. Apparently, he ran away from home as a preteen because his parents were ragging on him about his poor immature decisions, namely his decision to become a manga writer. He slept in temples and park benches while he wrote his first few short stories. Eventually he got a job and an apartment then settled down with a nice woman here in Tokyo. She got cancer and passed on only a couple years ago.

  "My condolences, Mr. Yashido, that must be so difficult. I couldn't imagine the pain." I sigh, placing my hand lightly over his. I rub his thumb slowly without any thought, this was something my mom would do when I was distraught and there were no appropriate words for her to say. His mouth turned up into a half smile.

  "Please, just call me Ryoichi. And if it alright, may I call you by your first name as well?" My entire body lights on fire and I pull my hand away into my lap, twiddling my thumbs. Mhmm, I nod lamely without even looking at him. "Hana." We lock eyes and I know I must look so ridiculous, but I could not help from smiling.

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  The drive home was relatively quiet. He kept his eyes on the road, and I did my best to keep mine off of his very lean, very strong figure. I don't think I have ever seen such a strong looking man his age. I suddenly wonder what my mother would think if she knew I were fawning over this old man. I look at my hands in my lap for the rest of the ride.

  "Thank you, Ryoichi, for taking me to dinner and for seeing me home." I bow and turn to open my apartment door, but he steps closer, close enough I can feel his warm breath on my forehead.

  "I would be most grateful if the night did not have to end so early. Wouldn't it be nice to enjoy some tea before I go?"

  "Oh, um. Y-yes, of course." I stamper and open the door. "Please come in, Mr. Yashido." I hurriedly remove my coat and put up my purse then go swiftly to the kitchen. The kettle is already started as he gets comfortable on my sofa. The air feels thick in our silence. His eyes drift over my small apartment briefly before resting on my back. The screaming kettle nearly knocks the teacups right out of my hands. I hope he doesn't take notice of my shaking when I put down the tea. I sit as far to the opposite side of the sofa than him as I can, looking at my hands folded in my lap. I have to say something, anything, to cut through this unbearable silence. Maybe I could ask about Ryota now.

  "So, I was wondering if I could ask about your characters, if that is ok?" he nods so I go on to ask about his decision to give his protagonist a name which means "presently stout" when she is not a very big woman. To which his dry reply was that people with that name are usually ambitious and strong with great physical prowess. Halfway through my next question he finally picks up his tea, gives it a sniff then puts it down and replaces his hands in his lap. He doesn't seem very interested in this sort of conversation, I am sure that he gets a million questions like these from other fangirls and reporters, I don't want to bore him away. "I am sure your children are very proud to have such an esteemed father figure to look up to."

  I meant it as a way to end the conversation but instead he clears his throat and says, "We never had any kids, she was unable to carry. It was the reason we experienced marital problems shortly before we discovered the cancer." Damn. I always know just how to get the water boiling, don't I?

  "Oh. Well, I am sure she passed on happily with you by her side in the end." He straightens up (he is so tall that I hadn't even noticed he was slacking) and stares down my inferior tea.

  "She did not. And I did not come to pretty young woman's home to discuss my late and miserable wife." After a pause he excused himself to the restroom, leaving me to stew in my embarrassment. When he returned, I had replaced his tea with a gou of sake which he took to immediately. I feel his body relax as he exhales and suddenly realize how close he has sat down next to me. If I move at all our elbows may rub against each other. Though it is warm in here, a chill runs through my body and my heart carries a strange heavy feeling. I wait stiffly for him to say something, growing increasingly tense and aware of the mess around us; books and papers scattered on almost every table and mostly empty food containers left on the kitchen counter. I did not prepare for him to make such a visit at all! The idea never crossed my mind!

  The clink of the dish on my coffee table saves me from my panic until he turns to me and a new panic overloads me. I only ever dreamed that his face would be so close to mine for his nose to slightly brush against my own. Before I knew what was happening his lips were pressed firmly against mine. I-I just couldn't move. My brain turned to mush, and darkness seemed to close in around us because all I could focus on was his face, his closed eyes and his tongue becoming more aggressive with his excitement. His fingers graze against my leg sending a jolt through my entire body. I push him away and jump to my feet, instinctively putting my hand over my mouth to rub away the kisses. I stand there dumbly, shaky knees bent together, and my other hand clenched in a fist at my side. The gods know why but I just began apologizing until he eventually got up and rubbed my shoulders.

  "I should have asked first, that was rude of me. I felt like we bonded today." My head darts up to meet his eyes. I insist that I felt the same but that it took me by surprise, and I wasn't ready. I quickly explain that I had just gotten out of an engagement, though I don't admit that it hasn't hurt as much as I had thought it would, and I would need more time before I got involved with a man again. "I understand and I will be patient, though I would like to see you outside of your work more often if I am allowed." After some hesitance he adds, "we don't have to call it dating, for now."

  He finally leaves after more sake, with an awkward wave at the door and then I watch my "not-boyfriend" go down the stairs and into his car. Next week he promised to take me to a museum and then to lunch. I let go of the breath I'd been holding as his car disappears.

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