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“Wow. Sounds to me like we need to get you out of here, show you a different part of the world.”
“Is that so? What? You gonna fly me to Paris or something?”
“Do you want to go to Paris?” he asks, his expression void of humor.
“Not really no.”
“No?” he questions, cocking his head to the side. “Paris is a beautiful city.”
“I’m sure it is but if I was going to go out of the country I’d want to experience something not quite so touristy.”
“Well clearly you’ve thought about it. Tell me, if you could go anywhere in the world where would it be?”
“Manarola Italy,” I answer without hesitation.
“Well that’s very specific.” Kane chuckles. “Care to elaborate why that location?”
“My dad’s grandparents are from Italy. Manarola is where my great grandfather and grandmother lived. I think I’d like to see where I came from more than I would some fancy tower.”
“I like that.”
“What?” I ask, feeling slightly squeamish under his penetrating gaze.
“That you would rather connect to your roots than visit somewhere just to visit. We should go there someday.”
“We?” I choke around the drink I was in the middle of taking.
“What? You don’t want to travel with me?” he fakes offense.
“Well, I don’t really know you,” I remind him.
“Yet,” he states matter of fact.
“Yet?” I question playfully, taking another drink.
“Give me time, Elara. I just might grow on you.”
“We’ll see about that,” I quip.
Kane laughs at my rebuttal, finishing off his beer before gesturing to my near empty glass. “You want another?”
“I probably shouldn’t.” I place my palm over the opening of my glass. “I think I’ve had too much as it is.”
“Three is too much?” He grins. “Lightweight.”
“I won’t argue there. I don’t drink very much and considering I’ve only had pretzels from the bar to eat I think I’m even more intoxicated than I normally would be,” I say, realizing just how buzzed I actually am. Not to the point that I feel like I can’t function or anything but enough that I feel a bit unsteady on my stool.
“Perhaps food would have been a better idea before drinks,” he offers, holding his hand up to signal the waitress as she walks by.
Asking for the check, he waits until she walks away before turning his attention back to me. “I guess since I got you sloshed the least I can do is feed you,” he teases, his dark eyes almost black under the dim bar lighting.
“How very gentlemanly of you,” I deadpan, taking the last drink of my vodka cranberry before scooting the glass off to the side of the table. “And here I thought you were an asshole.”
“Oh, I am an asshole,” he promises. “But only when I want to be.” He stares at me intently for a long moment before a wide smile breaks across his face.
He looks so much like Kam when he smiles. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure how that makes me feel. A part of me loves how much he reminds me of Kam. Being here with him has shown me just how similar they really are. It’s almost like having a piece of Kam still here on Earth.
But for all their similarities they are also very different. And in their differences I am reminded that he isn’t Kam, no matter how much I wish he was.
