She eyes it for a second—eyes me for a second—and then takes it, pressing it flat against the stain with her whole palm. The blush remains on her cheeks, now dusting her lips in a flush of color too, which only serves to make her more attractive.
"This is mortifying," she says, more to herself than to me, and a short laugh escapes through her teeth like she wants to scream from embarrassment. "I came here to support the hospital and I've turned myself into a disaster before the first course."
"For what it's worth, the dress'll survive." I offer her my hand as I nod at a bench she could sit on. "Green's dark enough that the wine won't show once it dries."
"You're optimistic." She smiles at me, and if I weren't a trained professional, it would take my breath away.
"I'm right, though."
I watch her eyes move across my face, my shoulders, down to my hands where the scarred knuckles show past my cuffs. It's a quick read—she's sizing me up and deciding whether I'm safe, all in about two seconds. Someone has taught her to protect herself, or maybe she's been hurt. Either way, I respect it.
"The shoe, on the other hand," I say, glancing at the broken heel hanging at a ruined angle from her left foot. "The shoe's done."
"The shoe was my favorite." She stumbles a few steps before plopping on the wooden slatted bench, and I stand beside her on the verge of laughter.
"Then I'm sorry for your loss."
That gets a real laugh out of her, and it changes her whole face. The tension breaks around her mouth and her eyes crinkle at the corners. It sinks into my chest and warms me, drawing me in like a siren's song.
She undoes the strap of the shoe and pulls it off, setting it beside her on the bench, and continues working the handkerchief into the moisture, pulling more red out of the green fabric as she mutters to herself.
"I'm an idiot. I can't believe this." I don't even know her name, but I know I want to know it.
"You don't look like a disaster, by the way," I tell her, and I mean it. She's being so hard on herself when all I see is a sexy goddess. "The dress is right on you. The color."
The flush on her cheeks spreads down her throat as she blinks, and I watch her swallow.
"You're being nice because I'm obviously at rock bottom for the evening."
"I have no reason not to be honest with you."
She folds the napkin and presses it against the stain one more time, then holds it out. I take it back and hold on to it, not wanting the wine to seep into my dress shirt and stain it. White isn't as forgiving as hunter green.
"I feel ridiculous," she says, quieter, looking down at the broken shoe. "This night was supposed to make me feel like a queen, and I am definitely no Cinderella."
"So let me take you to dinner." I haven't thought it through as I say it, but the longer I talk, the more I know I want it. Screw Stepan and his kissy faces. "Flat floors. No speeches. No wine. You can prove to me you're not a klutz and I can prove to you that this isn't your worst night—it's the night you met me."
Her eyebrows go up and her mouth twitches, and I can see her deciding whether that line was arrogant or charming. I stand confidently, holding that soggy handkerchief, banking on charming.
"I don't know your name," she says.
"Kazimir," I tell her, and she rises, taking my hand as I offer it to help her.
"Well, Kazimir, I'm Zora Gorin. It's very nice to meet you."
I let the name sit in my thoughts for a second and hypnotize me, because that's what she's doing. She's got me hook, line, and sinker, and I don’t mind one bit. This striking woman could come home with me tonight and I'd enjoy every second of it.
"Is that a yes, Zora?"
"That's a yes."
I'm reaching for my phone to get her number when a man rounds the corner near the stairwell. His eyes find Zora first and then cut to me, and I can see him clock the distance between us and not care for it. A scowl darkens his face as he barks, "Zora. We're leaving."
There is no warmth or compassion in his tone, and I get the feeling this man means something to her. But there's no ring on her finger, and I think I catch a hint of family resemblance which she explains.
She glances back at me, and I catch the flash of regret cross her face before she can smooth it away. "My brother," she says quietly, only for my ears.
"I still need to reach you."
