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It only takes me a second to take him in. He’s handsome in his black slacks, dark blue button-down, short blond hair and brown eyes. According to his profile, he’s thirty-five.
My eyes land on the red roses he has in his hand. I feel terrible that my first reaction to seeing them is to roll my eyes. It’s not Marc’s fault that him bringing flowers isn’t anything special. I get them on a weekly basis. I don’t think getting flowers will ever be the same for me again, unless I get them from Sterling. For some reason, getting them from him always brings a smile to my face.
“Are those for me?” I ask with a gesture to the flowers when he just stands there and stares at me.
Coming out of his daze, he looks down, and then back up to me. He clears his throat before saying, “Yes, sorry. You’re just much prettier in person than you are in your profile picture.”
I blush and look down at my heels, feeling oddly strange by his compliment. I lift my head when I see him holding the roses out to me.
“Thank you. Would you like to come in while I put these in water?”
“Sure,” he says, and I take a step back to allow him to enter.
I go to the kitchen and pull out one of the many vases I have from my roses from Sterling. It seems wrong to put Marc’s flowers in one of them, but with a shrug, I do so anyway.
Marc doesn’t follow behind me. Once I’m done, I walk back to the living room to find him looking at the family pictures I have on my wall.
“All done. Are you ready?”
He gives me a friendly smile. “Yes.”
I lead him to the door after grabbing my purse and phone. Once I lock the door, we walk to a white, newer style SUV. Normally, I tell my dates I’ll meet them at the restaurant, but the last two times I haven’t. I’d prefer to keep my address anonymous. You’d think, especially after last time, I would continue with that. But Marc seemed like a genuinely good guy. No, I don’t know him that well, but we’ve talked over the phone a few times, and through chat more often, and I never got a creepy or nefarious vibe from him. He’s been sweet and kind, and seems to be very open about himself. Any questions I’ve asked, he’s answered without hesitation. Yes, he could be lying, but again, I don’t get that vibe.
Regardless of how nice he is, though, after tonight, I won’t be seeing him again.
Marc takes me to a nice Italian restaurant in the heart of Atlanta. I’ve never been here, but I pass by it almost daily. Besides the custom low-lit interior with small intimate tables draped in white linen cloths and a single rose in the center, there’s outdoor seating, but we both opt to sit inside, even though the weather is nice.
“So,” I say, trying to make conversation while we wait on our wine to arrive. “You said you work in real estate. What exactly do you do?”
He links his fingers together on the table and looks at me as he talks. “I’m a realtor. I sell personal properties. I don’t deal with commercial properties, although that is my goal for the future. The market is finally starting to rise and the potential is definitely there.”
“And how long have you been a real estate agent?”
“Two years next month.” He beams a proud smile at me. He has a really nice smile.
The waiter appears with our wine and pours
both of us a glass. I pick mine up for a taste. It’s Moscato, and it’s delicious. I’m very selective with my wine and Champagne choices. Moscato is definitely one of them.
After the waiter takes our order, I turn back to Marc.
“Do you like what you do?”
“Actually, I do. I know it may sound corny of me, but I like knowing I help people find their dream homes. A place they will grow and possibly raise a family in.”
“I don’t think it’s corny at all. I think it’s great that you enjoy what you do. You become a small part of their future happiness.”
“What about you?” I raise my brow in question. “Do you enjoy being—you said you were a personal assistant to some big hotshot businessman, right?” At my nod, he continues. “Do you enjoy essentially, no offense to you or him, being a gofer for someone else?”
I take no offense to his gofer comment, because that’s basically what I am. I do the things that Mr. Knight doesn’t have time to do, or doesn’t want to do. I run errands for him, fetch things he may need, do tedious and mundane tasks, but I don’t mind it. Not only because the pay is good, but the environment is welcoming and friendly. It’s not lost on me that my job and situation could be much worse. I could work for a grumpy old man that likes to berate his employees and demand twelve-hour work days, or run his employees to the bone. Mr. Knight has been a very kind and generous boss.
“No offense taken, but I do enjoy my work. My boss has been very nice to me and the other people he employs. I got this job at a time in my life when I wasn’t doing so well financially, and I desperately needed money. He took me on with no experience. I also met my best friend there.”
I reach over and break off a small piece of a breadstick and pop it into my mouth. The last time I ate was this morning. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until we got to the restaurant and smelled the delicious array of food.
“Does your family live here?” I ask after washing down my food with a sip of wine and wiping my mouth with my napkin.
Marc’s eyes flicker away from mine and he fidgets in his chair. Hmm… that’s interesting. Obviously, this subject is something he doesn’t like to talk about. I can understand that.
