After over a week of “online dating” without actually going on dates, I decide to give the in-person thing a shot. Several of the guys I’ve been conversing with have asked me out—and dozens of guys to whom I have no intention of responding —have asked me out. But I’m eventually won over by “Johnny” when he, in our online chatter, calls Taboo (my favorite board game of all time) the “thinking man/woman’s Cranium.”

In previous chatter about our favorite hangout spots, I’ve mentioned that Toro—a super hip, always packed Spanish tapas spot—is my favorite restaurant in America. So when he suggests it for our meet-up, I’m thrilled. We plan to get there at 8 on a Thursday night, which is prime time for Toro. Due to my 7 p.m. drinks date with friends, I arrive 10 minutes late with two glasses of wine under my belt, walk in, scan the scene and catch sight of Johnny. He’s hard to miss. At 6-foot-five he’s just like his profile said and looks like his online pics, which is a huge relief.

Before we’ve finished our not-too-awkward intro, I hear my name from a familiar voice. It’s Betty, one of Boston’s biggest fashionistas and the owner of a super successful, super chic local fashion chain. So before I’ve really finished introducing myself to Johnny I find myself having to introduce him to Betty and a girlfriend. She likes his shirt (major points for him), and they start chatting about its origins (it’s vintage). Meanwhile, I hear my name again: It’s another set of friends who also happen to own the restaurant (he’s the chef too). After I’ve said my goodbyes to the second set of friends, I pry Johnny away from Betty.

Once we’ve settled into our table, we start to talk. More like, I start to talk. When I get nervous—I really talk, and talk I do for almost four hours. There are a couple of breaks, like when my boss, who also happens to be eating at Toro, comes up to say hi and introduce herself. And when I have to take a break to chat with one of the cooks in the kitchen who made me a mix cd of his favorite songs the previous weekend. But generally, we—mostly I—talk for four hours straight. We talk about my job and my background, and about how he’s studying for the MCAT and is from Michigan and wants to be a pediatrician.

It seems like a normal hang-out session, not how I’d imagined an online meet-up. The additional few glasses of wine may be helping, but I even begin to forget that’s how we met. We close out the restaurant, he pays (I promise to pay next time) and he walks me home. Though I’d usually leave this part out if there was a kiss, I can tell you because there wasn’t. (Personal rule: Kissing on a first date is okay; kissing the first time you meet someone in person is not.)

I’m thoroughly impressed that he was able to hold his own with the revolving door of characters that I’d subjected him to by accepting his offer to go to Toro. I need a guy who can keep up. But though it seems like I could potentially really like this guy, it’s hard for me to accept that my first online in-person date was even okay—much less fun—and the possibility that I might really like him. The good news: I’ve learned online dating isn’t as scary as I thought. The bad news: I can’t tell yet if I’ll still like him on a second date. (To be continued…)