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March 25th, 2006

Dear Diary,

I just got back with my date with Harold Saxon, and I want to write all of it down while it's still fresh in my mind. It was wonderful to say the least, but I'm not going to say anymore until I've gotten an account written out.

Like I predicted yesterday there was no way I could concentrate. The good news is that today is a Saturday so I didn't have to go into work. Mostly, I spend the day returning e-mails and organizing my calendar and papers for upcoming events. Anything really to keep my mind off what was coming.

Finally at 6:15 I couldn't wait any longer. I shut off my computer and proceeded to shower, do my hair three different ways, and toss a flurry of dresses and skirts on the bed until I found my favorite: a beautiful red evening gown. For a split second I worried if it would be too fancy for the occasion, but it was dinner and I was going out with a person of decently high prestige. Something told me it was going to be lavish.

I felt ridiculous and childish as I practically sat next to my window, waiting for his car to pull up. I had only just met the man, but I was acting like a sixteen year old with her first, real boyfriend. There was just something about him that made my heart jump. I couldn't say that I loved him, after all I hadn't known him for more than a day, but there was definitely something there. Just like the man himself, there was something special.

Thank goodness he was a punctual man. At exactly 7:30 sharp his car pulled up outside my flat right at the address I had texted. It took quite a bit of willpower to not run down the stairs (especially because of the heels I was wearing, if I had tripped my face would've been about as red as my dress) and wait for him to ring the bell. Then I grabbed my bag and coat and walked down the stairs at a more normal, moderate pace, and only when I opened up the door did I realize that I had a smile on a mile wide.

"My dear Lucy Cole," he said as soon as he saw me, "don't you look amazing."

I fought so hard not to giggle when he said that, and my efforts transformed it into a bit of a half chuckle, though the rest was more of a snort. I looked down at my shoes, slightly embarrassed, but he didn't seem to care or notice.

"Shall we?" he asked and I nodded as I locked up the door and took his arm. He was such a gentleman, leading me to the car and opening the door for me, making sure I was comfortable and situated before he closed it and got in the driver's seat.

"So how are you feeling?" he asked. "Or are you still exhausted from that horrible publication yesterday?"

I let out another small laugh. It was so wonderful that he was leading me into conversation, because honestly I had no idea what to say. A silent car ride would've almost been unbearable, but without his help there would've been on way of avoiding it.

"I'm feeling much better now.." I said, having something else to say but trailing off instead. It was then that I realized I had no idea how to refer to him. Mr. Saxon seemed too formal, but I felt uncomfortable saying anything else.

"What the matter?" he asked, looking slightly over at me.

"I'm sorry, it's so stupid," I said looking at my nails. All I could think was that I screwed up worrying about details as what name to use.

"Lucy Cole," he said firmly, "nothing you say will ever be stupid."

It was then that I felt the same familiar calm wash over me when I talked to Harold Saxon. The feeling that I could say anything and everything around him and it would be okay.

"I just don't know what to call you," I said quietly.

He gave me a laughing grin and shook his head slightly.

"Is that it? Lucy you had me worried for a second!" he said, still smiling. "You can call me Harold if you're comfortable with that."

"How about Harry?" I ventured. "Harold sounds so official, so old."

"I like it," he said, "Harry it is."

A few minutes of idle conversation went by before we pulled up to his apartment's address. It was in a tall, red brick building that seemed to be clean and well kept. It wasn't what I was expecting a man like Harold Saxon to live in, but I got over it soon enough. After all, I was with him, and that's all that mattered.

He led me to the elevator and several floors later the doors opened to reveal a hallway of doors. All the way to left on the end was his apartment, and as he opened it and turned on the light I took in my surroundings. It wasn't as I expected a bachelor's apartment to look, so perfectly straight and neat, but that seemed to only make me happier. It would be nice to be with a man who was neat as opposed to me who always seemed to be in a constant state of disarray. Almost as if he read my mind, he commented on the room.

"I hope you don't expect it to be like this always, I did a bit of cleaning before you got here," he admitted, "although, I do appreciate things to be in their place.

I didn't see any table really set, and began to feel slightly confused. For a flash of a second I was worried that going home with a man I had only just met was a horrible idea, but all my qualms vanished when he led me through a door onto the small balcony outside the apartment. There, was a little table set for two, laid out perfectly. I gasped, it was gorgeous.

"I hope you don't mind eating outside," he said. "It was such a warm night and I figured we'd better not waste it."

All I could do was nod and smile, but it didn't matter. He seemed to be enjoying himself just as much as I was. He pulled my chair out for me, let me sit down, and then lit two little candles in the center of the table.

Even though the dinner happened less than two hours ago, I can't for the life of me remember what we actually ate. All I remember is the champagne and conversation, his incredibly charming voice, and feeling so warm and at ease.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself Lucy," he said about halfway through our meal.

"More than you can imagine," I said, and then instantly blushing. It seemed like such a stupid and juvenile thing to say, and I fought to keep the redness in my cheeks to a minimum as I muttered an apology.

"No need to apologize," he assured me. "I'm having a wonderful time too, and I just love talking to you."

I looked up at him again and into those beautiful brown eyes. It seemed that a smile was perpetually on my face, and the urge to giggle with glee like a schoolgirl was always so near.

"Thank you," I managed to get out before a small laugh escaped. All I could think was that he must've assumed I was drunk, even though I hadn't finished my first glass.

"So, Miss Lucy," he started. "You know so much about me I assume, from the book and the media and all that, but I feel at a disadvantage. I know nothing about you. Tell me about yourself."

I felt in that moment like I was being interviewed, and I would've dismissed the questions if it wasn't him and if he wasn't so right. Even though I wasn't directly involved with writing the book I read bits and pieces, as well as watch the news. He was all over it: Harold Saxon, the success story. What could I possibly say that would compare to that?

"Well," I said, trying to think of how to organize my life in a way that wasn't long or boring, "I went to boarding school, only the best for the daughter of Lord Cole I suppose, where I made most of my childhood friends. It was a prestigious school, a bit secluded though, I never really saw anyone outside the campus except on breaks. A lot of the students there were from good family too, so I suppose that's all they wanted us to associate with."

He nodded, as if he understood. It was like he was genuinely interesting, absorbing every word I said. Why did he care? I hadn't met anyone who cared before.

"I learnt Italian there, I'm bilingual, even now, although I'm out of practice," I admitted. "Haven't had enough time to exactly fly to Italy."

"Maybe one day I'll take you there," he said, "and you can speak Italian on the streets while we see everything Italy can throw at us."

I was taken aback by his direct and extravagant suggestion. Though I had to constantly remind myself that I had only met him yesterday, before then I thought he remembered perfectly well. Though I'd be lying if I said that his offer didn't make my stomach flip and my cheeks turn red again, I wasn't sure for a second if he was serious. Yet, he looked at me, genuine as ever, with his chin resting lightly on one of his hands, and all I could think was how I would love to see the world with Harold Saxon by my side.

"Why don't we get through dinner first?" I finally said and we shared a laugh, "but don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer in the future."

"I'm looking forward to it."

We spent the rest of the evening chatting and swapping stories. The level of comfort I was experiencing was unreal, and it seemed as though I was chatting with a childhood friend from years back as opposed to a man I had only spoken to for the first time yesterday. Finally, after the plates had long since been cleared and the champagne bottle was half empty, he offered to drive me home.

"Don't you-" I asked, finishing my sentence by gesturing to the liquor bottle. As much as I felt at ease around him I wasn't about to get into a car with a man who was still feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"I haven't taken a sip in at least twenty minutes Lucy," he said, brushing off the statement. "I'll be perfectly fine, and I swear to you you'll arrive home safely."

Just like that, I trusted him completely, with good reason as well, because just as he promised I stepped out of the car in front of my flat with not even a scratch on me.

"See," he said, taking my arm and leading me to the door, "perfectly safe."

When we arrived at the door and it was time to say goodbye, I felt a pang of sorrow. I didn't want my night with Harold Saxon to end, my perfect night with my perfect politician.

"Don't worry Lucy," he said, seeing the sadness in my eyes, "I'll be in touch, I promise. I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

It was right after he spoke that he leaned in and kissed me, our first kiss after our first, wonderful date, and I wrapped my arms around him as if to tell him that I was happy he leaned in. His lips tasted like champagne and his whole body was as warm as the spring night. Finally, when we broke apart, I unlocked the door and he swung it open.

"Until next time Lucy Cole," he said, his eyes full of promise. "Until next time."

- Lucy