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My stay in Wagga Wagga is becoming more promising.
I finish my glass of Shiraz as my waitress returns. “Her name is …”
I cut her off before she can finish her sentence. “No, I don’t want to know her name.”
I can see this stumps her, but money is money. “Ben’s sister is her best friend and they’ve come to spend the summer with him. She met Ben and Zac for the first time today.”
Good. That means she isn’t dating either of them.
If the guys are students in the wine science program at the university, I’m guessing they will be at the vintage dinner at the school on Friday night. They’ll be anxious to showcase their wines. I wonder if she’ll be there as a guest.
I pull another bill from my wallet and hold it up for Blondie to see. “This is yours if you can find out what their plans are for the vintage dinner at the university on Friday night. I want to know if the brunette will be there.”
She smiles again. “I could play this game all night.”
Ten minutes later, she returns with another Shiraz and an update. “The guys will be presenting their wines at the dinner, and both girls will be guests.”
I slide the well-earned bill across the table. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“It’s been my pleasure. Would you like me to keep the Shiraz coming?”
“Yes.”
I spend the next hour stealing glances at the beautiful American through the crowd of people between us as they shift. I’m disappointed when the foursome gets up to leave, but I see the perfect opportunity for a convenient face-to-face encounter when she moves toward the restrooms.
I migrate in that direction and wait for her to emerge for our chance meeting in the hallway. When the door to the ladies’ room opens, I walk toward her, but she’s looking down into her purse. She attempts to dodge right, so I move with her. “Pardon me.”
Her accent is so unusual. And endearing.
She steps to her left and I move with her like a mirror image. “So sorry, Miss.”
Look up at me.
“Wanna dance?” she laughs as she lifts her eyes from her purse.
“I’d love to.” Her smile spreads with my reply. We lock eyes and I try to identify the color of hers, but I can’t. It’s too dark in the narrow hallway.
I was right. She is the one.
She seems embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Asking someone to dance is an expression we use where I’m from. You know? Like when two people try to get around one another as we just did.”
“I’m familiar with the expression, but one can always hope.” I step around her toward the door to the men’s room. “I think I would have enjoyed a dance with you.”
