“I’m not ignoring you,” she insists. “I’m deciding what to eat. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing.”
“I bet you have that entire menu memorized already.” The way she starts blinking furiously tells me I hit the nail on the head.
“What is it that you want, Declan?”
“To get to know you,” I tell her honestly. “Is there something wrong with that?”
She rears back, clearly not expecting that answer.
I wait, not wanting to push my luck. Maybe Ty was onto something with his wild animal analogy. She spooks easily, and at any second she could take off running. I don’t have any snacks to help tempt her to stay, though.
“Why?” she finally asks.
Good question. It sounds shitty on my part, but I’ve never felt the need to get to know any women I’ve been interested in. Though I really can’t remember the last time I was interested in someone, at least beyond the bedroom. Or the back alley behind a bar, or the back seat of the beat-up truck I drive when it’s too cold to ride my bike.
I haven’t been all that picky over the years. I find women to hook up with to scratch an itch. Sometimes it goes well and it becomes a regular thing, sometimes it doesn’t. I date casually, never letting anything or anyone last long enough to become serious. A few have tried over the years, but for the most part, the women I spend my time with are on the same page as me – just looking to have a good time.
What is it about Elsie that has me wantingmore? Fuck if I know. I’m in over my head here, treading water in unchartered territory. I haven’t so much as kissed her yet and I can’t get her out of my head, can’t stop making a mental list of all the things about her that I want to know. She’s a puzzle in my head with too many missing pieces. I can’t help wanting to collect all of them to get the full picture of Elsie.
“I just want to know you.” The words slip out of me before I can stop them, surprising both of us.
She opens her mouth and closes it, then repeats the motion again. I can practically see the wheels turning as she weighs her options.
“Okay,” she finally says.
Okay. You’d think I just won the Nobel fucking Peace Prize, the way my chest puffs out and I sit up a little straighter, thrilled that Elsie’s giving mesomething. Turns out I’m the wild animal, chomping at the bit for any scraps she’s willing to throw my way.
Fuck, I don’t even care.
“Have you always lived in Port Myles?”
We’re interrupted by the waiter returning to take our orders. Elsie orders a caprese panini with a side of fries and I fill in another blank in my mental list. I order a burger with fries and whatever the fuck aioli is. I heard Elsie order it for her fries and apparently that meant I had to order it for mine, too.
“Good choice,” Grace calls from across the table. “The fries are to die for.”
I nod in acknowledgment before turning back to Elsie. I worry the waiter’s interruption killed whatever fleeting desire she had to talk to me, but she launches into her answer before I have the chance to ask again.
“We moved here when I was a freshman in high school,” she explains. “I grew up in a small town in Vermont, but my dad is from Maine. He went to college in Vermont and stayed because he met my mom. I don’t really know why they decided to move back to Maine. I was a teenager who was mostly just upset they were making me move, though I didn’t tell them that.”
“How come?”
“How come I was upset?”
“No.” I grab my Coke and take a sip. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
Her brow furrows, like it hadn’t even occurred to her. “It’s just… not something I do.” She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. All these years later, I guess it doesn’t. “I’m a people-pleaser,” she admits ruefully, like it’s a character flaw, something to be ashamed of. “It seemed easier to keep the peace than make a big fuss about it.”
Before I can ask any more on the subject, she turns the conversation on me. “What about you? Where are you from?”
“I thought this was supposed to be my time to get to knowyou,” I remind her.
She offers me a small smile and my world tilts on its axis. Just the slight quirk of her mouth and I’m done for.
I’ve seen her smile before. Watched her chat and laugh all day long with her customers. But it’s the first time that she’s smiled atme.
I’m a hoarder, a collector of all things Elsie. I immediately want more. I want to do whatever it takes to have her look at me that way again.
“It works both ways,” she says. “If you’re going to get to know me, I want to get to know you, too.” She blushes and I want so badly to reach out and cup her cheeks, to feel the warmth of her heated skin beneath my palms. I grab my drink for something else to do and take another sip.
