I sit next to a guy with a guitar, who tells me his name is Remy. A bit of a player; you can tell ten seconds into the conversation. He also thinks he’s the next Elvis, so there’s that. I try to cut our chat short when he asks me ‘how a beautiful girl like me is alone on a Sunday night?’

Remy stares into my eyes for a long minute before grabbing his guitar and blowing me a kiss. “The next one is for the lovely Maya whose eyes are like the ocean,” he says out loud, and everyone turns to look at him.

He starts playing, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’, and while I smile and act flattered, inside, I’m rolling my eyes.

Across from me, on the other side of the fire, a woman and two men are talking and laughing. They seem to be having a great time. When Remy starts playing, they all stop talking, although I’m not sure if they’re listening to him or not. He’s not bad; a bit karaoke-sounding, but not awful. I try not to look in Remy’s direction and encourage him, so I stare at the fire instead. One of the men who’s sitting across from me must be doing the same, because our eyes meet for a second. The wind blows the high flames and makes shadows dance, his face only lit up for a moment. He gets up and walks away and I look away. That was an intense stare. I wonder if he was thinking this is all amusing, with Remy making a spectacle and me being the target.

How wrong is it that I wish Max would look into my eyes like that? I wish he was here and that feeling is getting stronger and stronger as the night advances. I’ve tried to put the thought out of my mind, but this incredible day is coming to an end and the excitement and adventure are almost over and I feel wistful.

I so want to talk to him, to see him. And I love our game, but I wish we could just talk without numbers and questions. Just talk the night away. But I wouldn’t know where to start and what to say, so I go back to the only thing I can.

Give me a number, I text.

33, he texts back.

Oh, this should take you a while to tell me all about. The question is: What’s your favorite day? Of all days. Could be early childhood or anything. I’m sure you have tons.

You’re wrong, he texts almost instantaneously.

You don’t have tons?

It won’t take me a while to tell you all about it.

How come?

Because it’s today. Today is my favorite day, he texts.

I gulp. I’m jumping out of my skin with excitement and nervousness and all the possible and impossible feelings I didn’t even know I could have. Did he say what I think he said? I reread the last messages three times to make sure I didn’t misunderstand. All I want to type back is: ‘Mine too. Of all days. It’s my favorite day, and you are the most interesting, selfless, funniest man I’ve ever talked to.’ I’m holding my phone and in the middle of the song, in front of that beautiful fire, I just start typing and press send so fast, I don’t allow myself to change my mind this time. It’s now or never.