I stepped through the cedar double doors into Tony’s and approached the hostess through the low lighting. “Um, so I have a reservation for two?” I said.

“Under what name?” she asked.

Oh fuck.

He was different from the rest. Genuine, funny, handsome in an effortless sort of way. We had a wonderful whirlwind first date, lost ourselves in the magic of conversation until the waiters had to inform us we were half an hour past closing time, rested on a bench overlooking the waterfront, the moonlight rippling across the dock waters, kicked up the leaves while strolling through the park on the way to his flat, cuddled beneath the covers until the Sunday morning light found us bare. And now it was our second date and I had no idea what his name was.

In retrospect this was totally my fault. I had asked him his name when we met, and he told me, but it was kind of loud and I didn’t catch it. And I probably should have asked him to say it again, but we were in first-impressions-land and his name was foreign-sounding enough that I didn’t want to make him go through that microaggression-y thing where all people with foreign-sounding names are tired of having to say their names twice, even though in retrospect he probably would have gladly said it again. And then I must have had so many chances to ask his name, during the dinner conversation, the stroll along the avenue, the bedroom bliss, but as the night grew longer and the chemistry deeper, the prospect of popping the question of name became ever more awkward. And I tried to discern this vital piece of information in ways that would not ruin the magic of the night—sidelong glances at his phone, his credit card, his walls—but to no avail. So in my contacts he was simply Him.

And he’d made a reservation at Tony’s for us under his name, and I’d arrived first, and now I had to guess it.

“Um—” I said.

What if he actually made a reservation under my name? That would be unlikely, and I couldn’t remember what he had texted me about the reservation this afternoon, but maybe it was worth a shot?

“Tracy?”

The hostess let her fingers glide fleetly over the computer keys. “I’m sorry, we don’t have a reservation for Tracy,” she said. “Perhaps it’s under a different name?”

Uh oh. “Okay, um—”

What if I just told her, sorry about all this, I’m just going to sit down in the waiting area until my date comes? But if he sees me sitting in the waiting area when he comes in, he might ask, well, why didn’t you check in? And I’d have to admit sorry, I don’t actually know your name and then the magic would be lost.

So ideally I would not be in the restaurant when he arrived. Could I stage a second arrival, ideally right after he checks in for both of us? Or meet him outside instead?

“Sorry,” I finally said, “I think I’m going to take a walk outside for a bit.”

“Oh,” she said, “is there something wrong?”

Something about her concern suggested that I might be able to confide in her? Okay so I’m supposed to meet my date here, and it’s under his name, and I don’t know it. I know, really embarrassing, right? But there were a few more patrons waiting to speak with her, so instead I just said, “Nope! Just need a breather,” and left before I could embarrass myself any further.

The wind was brisk, the sky a wintry slate grey. I crossed the street and found an inconspicuous park bench to camp out on while I waited for his Uber to drop him off, ideally in front of Tony’s. I sat down, pulled the hood of my parka over my head, and obscured my mouth and nose with my scarf.

Oh wait! What if I walk in with him, and he sees the hostess recognise me from before? Then he’ll know I came inside without him, and he’ll wonder why I didn’t just check in for us both, and I’d have the same problem. Was it worth rushing inside to Tony’s again to draw the hostess into my confidence, to tell her, whatever happens, you haven’t seen me before?

And then he came around the corner, his luscious brown locks recognisable in an instant. He didn’t seem to notice me across the street as he walked into Tony’s. As he disappeared behind the cedar double doors I removed my paper-thin disguise and made my way across the street back into the restaurant.

I caught up to him just as he reached the hostess and gave him a playful tap on the shoulder. “Hey,” I said, with a beaming grin. He turned to me with a warm smile.

“Hello again!” said the hostess.

And he glanced at her, and he glanced back at me, and that’s when everything fell apart.