He Wants You. Unfortunately, That Is Not the Whole Menu

There is a wonderfully optimistic habit in dating where one person discovers that another person finds them wildly attractive and immediately begins adding things to the order that were never actually requested.

Sexual desire appears, looking enthusiastic and very convincing, and suddenly commitment, emotional depth, exclusivity, future plans, and perhaps Christmas with the family are quietly being placed beside it on the table.

Unfortunately, attraction only ordered one thing.

This is where dating can resemble two people sitting in the same restaurant while somehow reading entirely different menus. One person thinks the evening is developing into a seven-course relationship tasting experience; the other is having an excellent time and wondering whether dessert is available.

Neither necessarily lied. They may simply have arrived hungry for different things.

Sexual attraction is powerful partly because it is so wonderfully obvious. Someone looks at you differently. They flirt. They touch your arm. They make their interest unmistakable enough that even your most skeptical friend eventually says, “Oh, yes. He definitely wants you.”

And she may be absolutely right.

The difficulty begins with everything that comes after the word *wants*.

Wanting someone sexually does not automatically tell you whether they want Sunday mornings, difficult conversations, exclusivity, shared holidays, emotional responsibility, or the privilege of hearing the same work story three times because apparently Tuesday was very complicated.

Those are separate questions.

Yet desire can look so flattering that it is tempting to assume the rest of the meal must be coming. Surely this much chemistry means something significant. Surely someone this eager would not be interested in only one part of the experience.

Human beings have built entire imaginary relationships out of less.

Of course, someone can want sex and also want love. In fact, this happens every day and has kept both romance novels and hotel breakfast departments gainfully employed for years. Wanting sex certainly does not mean someone *doesn’t* want something serious.

It simply does not prove that they do.

That distinction is less glamorous than chemistry, which is probably why chemistry gets better publicity.

A person can find you irresistible and still have no particular desire to reorganize their life around you. They can adore your body, your laugh, your perfume, and the way you look across a dinner table while remaining entirely undecided about whether they would like to know what you are doing next month.

This can feel contradictory only because we tend to bundle desire and intention together, as though they arrived as one complete dinner package.

But people are perfectly capable of ordering à la carte.

One person may want affection, companionship, sex, exclusivity, and a future. Another may want warmth, attraction, and an enjoyable Saturday night. Someone else may not know what they want until three months later, by which point everyone involved has developed opinions about the service.

The confusing part is that enthusiasm can look remarkably similar in the beginning.

A man who wants a relationship may flirt enthusiastically. A man who wants sex may also flirt enthusiastically. A man who wants both may, rather inconveniently, flirt enthusiastically.

The flirting department is therefore of limited help.

This is why sexual pursuit can sometimes acquire meanings it never claimed to have. An invitation becomes evidence of emotional investment. Strong chemistry begins wearing the hat of future potential. Desire receives several promotions and is suddenly running departments it has never visited.

Meanwhile, desire itself is sitting happily at the table wondering how it became regional manager.

There is also an amusing assumption that effort settles the question. Someone plans dates, drives across town, remembers your favorite wine, and generally behaves like a person willing to leave the sofa, so surely this must reveal deeper intentions.

Perhaps it does—or perhaps they are simply highly motivated.

People put tremendous effort into things they want without necessarily wanting every possible consequence attached to them. Anyone who has driven forty minutes for an excellent croissant understands the principle.

Effort tells you there is appetite.

It does not always tell you what else is wanted.

And perhaps that is the most interesting distinction hidden inside all this romantic confusion: being desired is real, flattering, exciting, and sometimes wonderfully meaningful, but it answers a surprisingly narrow question.

Does this person want you?

Possibly very much.

What else do they want?

Ah.

That is where the waiter returns with another menu.