AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Decker Dunham,” I whisper as if this were a showdown in the middle of a dirt road, giving him the longest cursory glance I’ve ever graced on someone’s person. Starting at his feet and working my way up, I would be offended if he were doing the same to me and remember myself, finally forcing myself to meet his gaze.
Mouth in an amused purse, he gives me a mock bow. “At your service.”
There’s a tidy red bow-tie at his throat winking in my direction with tiny white polka dots that looks quite dapper with the navy blue suit, his tan dress shoes polished to a shine.
Oh la la, Decker Dunham is fancy.
Mister Fancy Pants.
Decker also looks like the type of guy who spends way too much time at the office, holed up behind his desk. Dude hasn’t had the sun shining on his skin in years.
Freckles dot the bridge of his nose.
He’s cute, that’s for sure.
His voice doesn’t match the vision of him I had in my head, but still, he’s a pleasant surprise.
“You must be Miriam.”
“At your service.” I repeat his words, extending my arm for a handshake then pull it back in. Too formal and unnecessary, this is a wedding reception not a business meeting.
It would be a business meeting if you were letting him hire you…
But you’re not.
So, it isn’t.
“How did you know it was me?”
Instead of answering, Decker crosses the stone patio and walks to the bar, which was my intended destination, pulling out a bar stool and offering it up to me like a gentleman, and despite myself, I blush a little.
Clear my throat and move toward it, sliding onto the metal seat and get comfortable, my purse on the countertop in front of me.
Decker orders for the both of us—wine for me and a Manhattan for him—then turns his attention to me, his big, brown eyes wide. Dark sooty lashes that have no business being on a man when I spend so much money on extensions and serums.
Ugh.
“So” I say. I know he’s going to plead his case again. “How did you know it was me?”
He shrugs. “How many people do you know who work events and feed people their lines? A modern day Cyrano De Bergerac.”
“Cyrano de who?”
Decker laughs. “You don’t know who Cyrano is?”
The bartender sets down my wine glass and I waste no time taking a swig.
I mean—sip.
“It’s a famous story about a man—Cyrano—who was in love with a woman named Roxane. But because he thought his was unattractive and his nose was too big, he didn’t have the confidence to woo her.”
I have no idea where this story is heading, or how it’s even close to what I’m doing.
“He begins to send Roxane love letters. She believes they are from another man, a man who then has Cyrano continue writing them. He hides in the shadows while Christian woes her beneath the balcony, feeding him sweet words to use on Roxane from the shadows.
Ahh. That makes more sense to me.
“Well, Decker, what I’m doing doesn’t exactly have a romantic element.” I wave my hand through the air airily.
