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nbsp; “That’s quite a string of compliments.”
“All true.”
Oh, my! How he smolders, the attitude of him almost pristine, but not priggish. He’s starched shirts all the way, elegant collar and cuffs. I think of Heinrich when I see him, because he’s the same in many ways, though the difference is obvious. It’s not the color of his skin as much as it is the vibration of his presence. Perhaps I used to feel this from my husband, but it was so long ago, I’m not sure I’m remembering anything right about those other times.
“So what is charming about me?” I ask.
“Your laughter, your wit, when you quit frowning and fuming about your miserable life.”
“I don’t complain about a miserable life,” I object.
“Now that’s a lie,” he assures me, “you do it all the time.”
He doesn’t say it as an accusation, and coming from him so affectionately, I’m not put off as much as I should be.
“So what is unique about me?” I move on.
“Your sexuality, your bookstore and your hair,” he rattles these off like he has them written down on a legal pad and checks them off as he goes.
“My hair?”
“Yes, I like it, but have you ever thought of letting it grow?”
“It won’t grow long like Makaila’s if that’s what you want.”
“But it might change the way you feel about yourself—and your life—if you change your hair.”
“I never considered it. No one’s ever made that suggestion.”
“You’re a womanly woman, though sometimes you do things to push away your femininity.”
I never considered that either. I think for a minute before I speak again. He’s said a lot in a few words, and suddenly I’m thinking of a complete overhaul, time to reinvent myself. I did so with Heinrich. Perhaps now, post Heinrich, I need another incarnation in order to get away from the past; so much still lingers in spite of my attempts to call my life new.
“Is this why you’re buying lunch, to tell me this?”
“I’m telling you because you’re a friend. I’ve been damned hard on you. A lot has changed, and perhaps it’s time you thought about other men. You can only have me in short bursts because that’s all I can handle of you, Anna.”
I want to blush but instead I laugh at myself a little.
“I want you at my house Friday night.”
“Another session?” I ask. It will have been two weeks.
“Perhaps. We’ll see what happens.”
He’s being purposely obscure. “You know I hate being teased.”
“Really, and why’s that?”
“I want to know what’s happening.”
“So this will eat you alive because you’re not in control?” he cajoles happily.
“I’m never in control.”
“Oh, bullshit.”
