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Chapter Eight
We end up at his place, which I should have expected. Somehow, I didn’t see it coming. Maybe I’m too naïve to be playing his games. Maybe I should be catching the next Uber out of here, I tell myself.
All the while my ass stays glued to the wood-topped stool overlooking the modern, shabby chic kitchen while Kyle struggles to pop the cork on a bottle of white wine.
“Do you need help with that?” I ask, smiling behind folded hands.
“Nope, almost got it. It’s loosening up now,” he says, then frowns. “I think.”
He’s been working on it for several minutes, wiggling and twisting the corkscrew while he tries to carry a conversation and maintain good humor.
The only one who’s laughing is me though.
Extending my hand over the counter, I say, “Here, give it to me.”
He glances up at me with a strong look of doubt and resistance, then finally he places it in my hand.
“Good luck,” he says as I tuck the bottle under my left arm and grasp the popper. “I think they glued that thing on—”
Pop!
Grinning, I hand the now-open bottle and popper back. “I think you’re losing your touch,” I say with a laugh.
Kyle begins filling two glasses. “Beginner’s luck. I loosened it for you.”
“Ha! Just admit it, you’ve never opened a bottle of wine before.”
The signs are everywhere. Kyle may drive a beamer, and his studio apartment may be decked out with all the finest trims, but his style is eclectic, from the furniture to the artwork hanging on the walls. Even his clothes are mid-level, not too cheap or expensive. Clearly, he enjoys nice things, but he’s maintained some humbleness. Nothing here is over the top.
“I’ve opened wine,” Kyle protests.
I accept the glass he hands me and take a small sip. It’s smooth, slightly sweet, and goes down nice. Kyle, though, doesn’t seem to have the same appreciation for it.
“When was the last time you had wine?” I ask, suspicious.
“Um...” He holds the glass at eye level, inspecting it. “Never.”
“Never?” I say with a gasp.
“Honestly,” he says, setting the glass down on the counter, “I’m more of a beer guy.”
Truth be told, I’m more of a beer girl. Mirroring him, I set my glass aside too. “Then why the wine?”
His smile is crooked and bashful. “I thought it would impress you.”
I hold his stare, trying to fashion a response that won’t sound stupid, but I can’t find any words. Breaking eye contact, I look around the apartment once more, absorbing what I’ve already observed for the second time. It’s obvious that he’s worked hard to shake that country boy exterior, but on closer look, I can see the subtleties that show me he hasn’t been too successful at it.
The rough, dark-stained, wood-slab table in the dining room, the old leather recliner in the corner of the living room, the old wooden bowl on the sideboard by the door used to catch his keys and spare change, and several other elements indicate he hasn’t gotten too far away from his roots.
For some reason, that comforts me.
“You don’t have to impress me, Kyle.”
“You’re the big city girl now. You can’t tell me you don’t love all the better things in life.”
I turn to him again and look up into those big blue, earnest eyes that speak truth straight to my soul. It’s hard to believe this man is the same one who broke my heart with lies. “It’s nice to have nice things, but they’re just things,” I respond.
“But...”
