Double Dutch

"Was everything okay for you?" I asked the Dutch couple on table eight was I cleared away their empty plates.

"Yar" the woman said.

"Yar" the gentleman said.

The man was tall. Really tall. He was silver-haired, lithe, and tan. When he passed me his plate, I noticed that his hands were the size of baseball mitts. Bizarrely, I also noticed that his nails were the perfect square shape. They were man's hands. They were the hands of a man that would hold you close, hold you tight, and hold you like he meant it. They were, in short, perfect.

"Ohmygosh" I whispered to my boss as I picked up the pudding menu ready to take over to them. "That man has to most incredible hands I have ever seen. And his accent... oh my."

"Calm down" my boss said. "He is married!"

"I know that!" I said, edgy at any inference that I am one of THOSE women. "I have been with my very own boyfriend forever, remember. But his hands... I am mesmerised..."

I took the pudding menu to them. I tried not to stare at his hands. The beautiful, perfect, do-you-think-he-would-mind-if-I-asked-him-to-touch-me hands.

When I went to take their order, I had gotten myself in quite a state. She ordered the brulee.

"And for you, sir?" I asked, trying not to meet his eye but struggling to stay aloof.

"Yar. For me, the hot, hot, rich, chocolate..." he trailed off.

My knees, buckled. Just slightly.

It took me a second to realise that he meant the hot chocolate fondant. But for just that second... oh, the possibilities...