“Do you like seafood?”
“I do.”
“I’ll make the reservations at Harbor Fish House.”
“Isn’t it in Fisherman’s Wharf on Pier 39?”
“Yeah. I know it sounds like I’m a tourist, but I love Fisherman’s Wharf. Are you good with that?”
“Of course. I love it there. And the views are spectacular. I don’t go there very often, so this will be a treat.”
He squeezed the top of my hand and smiled. “Great. Give me your number so I can confirm with you.” He pulled out his phone.
We exchanged phone numbers and chatted about San Francisco, our backgrounds, and what brought him to northern California. Cory Bracker came from the St. Louis area where he grew up with three siblings. Like me, he was the middle child, and we talked about how that affected us for a bit. He studied at the University of Missouri and graduated with a degree in business administration. He’d been working for a company in St. Louis when the opportunity came up for him to move to San Fran and work with a real estate development company. His job was to secure investors for the multimillion-dollar projects they had.
We spoke easily, and he certainly was generous in buying me drinks. It didn’t seem like he was trying to get me plastered like some guys do to loosen up a woman. He was polite and interesting, and I soon quashed all second thoughts about giving a stranger my phone number.
Sofie and Colin were hitting it off, and when I glanced her way, she waved me over. “I’ll be right back,” I said to Cory.
She pivoted on the barstool toward me. “Looks like you and Cory are getting along.” She giggled while she looked at me with a slightly unfocused gaze.
“He seems nice. You and Colin have been chatting up a storm.”
She giggled louder and nodded. “His cute English accent is making me so damn horny.” A peal of laughter bubbled from her lips.
“Which part of England is he from?”
“Uh… I don’t remember.” She leaned in close to my ear. “I’ve got a confession. I can’t understand half of what he says, but I love listening to him.” Another burst of laughter.
The two barstools next to Sofie opened up and I plopped down on one of them, putting a napkin on the other. “I’m going to get Cory. Make sure you hold these for me.” I scurried over to him, and soon I was leaning against the bar, sipping a Bailey’s Irish cream.
As I talked with Cory, Sofie grasped my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Mr. Prescott is here.”
All at once my brain turned to mush, the predictable flutter that always came alive whenever I was near him unfurling in the pit of my stomach. I had no clue what Cory was talking about. “Where?” I said.
“Where what?” Cory replied.
“I was talking to Sofie.” I spun toward her. “Where is he?”
“By the pool tables. At first I didn’t recognize him without his suit, but when he looked up, I saw his eyes. They’re very distinct.”
“Are they? I hadn’t noticed.” Yeah right. They’d been haunting my dreams ever since I’d laid eyes on him.
“He’s a good-looking guy, but not as cute as my Colin.”
“Now he’syourColin?” I said, bumping my shoulder against hers. She bobbed her head, her curls falling across her forehead as she leaned against his bicep.
I turned my attention to the pool tables, and that’s when I saw him watching his opponent make a shot. He wore a pair of jeans that fit just right and a T-shirt stretched across his chest that molded to every muscle. I licked my lips and watched him, mesmerized by the way he leaned down low, light catching the muscles in his back. His biceps tightened as he held on to the cue stick and made his shot. Every movement he made hit me between my legs. I squirmed in my chair, yet I was unable to turn away from him.
“You doing okay?” Cory’s voice broke the spell and I swiveled around, nodding.
He looked past my shoulders and for a brief second, a dark shadow fell across his face, but then it was gone. He glanced at his watch, then past me again.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
A long pause ensued and I didn’t think he heard me. As I was about to repeat the question, he looked at me again. “No. I have to go. I didn’t think it was so late. I enjoyed our conversation. I’ll call you about Thursday.” He slid off the barstool and shrugged on his leather jacket.
A sinking feeling assaulted me. Lifting my chin, I stared him right in the eyes and asked, “Are you married?”
