She found me from one blurry club photo

I do not go clubbing very often, especially after working at the salon all week. Most Saturdays, I am tired enough to go home, eat something, and stay there. One weekend, a few friends convinced me to go out with them.

That was where I met Sofia.

I was trying to move across the crowded dance floor when we bumped shoulders. She turned around quickly, probably expecting some careless guy who had pushed into her. I apologized, and she said it was fine. We exchanged names, talked for a minute, and then the music got too loud to hear much of anything.

Sofia was 32, Hispanic, and there with her cousins. I was 36 and probably looked uncomfortable enough that she could tell clubs were not my usual scene. We danced together for part of one song, but her group moved to another area before I thought to ask for her number.

I assumed that was it.

A few days later, Sofia walked into the nail salon where I worked.

She told the receptionist she wanted a manicure and asked for Kevin. When I came to the front, it took me a second to recognize her without the club lights and loud music. She smiled and said she had found me through a photo one of my friends posted online.

I was a little surprised by the amount of effort she had made. The photo was blurry, and my friend had only tagged me in the corner. From there, she had found my profile and then the salon page.

Her first appointment was normal. She needed her nails done, and I did my job. We talked about Prescott, her family, my work, and how neither of us spent much time at clubs. She was easy to talk to, but I stayed professional because she was sitting at my table.

Sofia booked another appointment before she left.

Then she came back two weeks later, even though her nails still looked good. After that, she became one of my regulars. She always requested the last appointment of the afternoon, when the salon was quieter and we did not have to rush through our conversations.

I liked her, but I kept telling myself that she was a customer. I had seen salon situations become awkward when someone misunderstood friendliness. I also did not want my coworkers wondering if I was giving her extra time or special treatment.

The problem was that Sofia was not hiding her interest very well, and neither was I.

One evening, I finished her manicure and noticed we had been talking for almost twenty minutes after the service was done. The salon was nearly empty. She finally asked how many more appointments she needed before I would invite her somewhere that did not smell like polish remover.

I laughed because she had said exactly what I had been avoiding.

I told her I wanted to ask, but I was worried about crossing a professional line. Sofia said she had found my salon because she wanted to see me again, not because she suddenly needed perfect nails every other week.

We agreed to meet for lunch on my day off. I chose a casual place downtown because I did not want the first date to feel like a big event. It was much easier talking when I was not holding one of her hands and filing her nails.

After that, she stopped pretending every visit was only about a manicure. I stopped pretending I had not been looking forward to seeing her name on my schedule.

We dated quietly for a while before telling our friends. By then, there was not much to explain. Sofia had already done most of the pursuing. All I had to do was finally meet her halfway.