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“No.” He leans forward, reaches over and removes the pin that’s holding my hair in a bun at the nape of my neck, causing it to cascade down my back. “You have really unusual hair, Goldie.”
There is nothing unusual about my hair. Except for the fact that my sister and I share its light shade, but no one else in our family does. Blonde hair is not common in the Italian community. Bianca and I are the only ones who take after our Norwegian grandmother.
He takes a few strands between his gloved fingers, lightly brushing the locks.
Tell him to stop! He’s crossing boundaries.You can’t let a random stranger do that.
I ignore the voice of reason completely and look at thestrand of hair he’s holding, noticing he’s only using the first three digits, while the other two remain slightly rigid and bent. I wonder what happened with his hand.
“So, you were waiting for me,” I say. “Why?”
“Is there anything wrong with my wanting to take a beautiful woman out to lunch?”
“That usually comes after the necessary introductions, Kurt.” I smirk. “Do you have something to hide? Is there a reason why you don’t want to tell me your name?”
“What could I possibly have to hide?” His gloved fingers release my hair and brush against the skin along my upper arm in the process, sending an excited shudder throughout my body.
“I don’t know. Are you an ex-con? A politician with a wife and three kids at home?”
“I don’t have so much as a speeding ticket to my name. No wife or kids, either.”
“Why not?” I raise an eyebrow. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four. Having a wife and kids was never something I planned.”
“And do you have a set plan for everything?”
“For most things, yes.” He looks into my eyes. “Would you like to apply for the wife position?”
I burst out laughing. It’s not the question itself, but the way it’s delivered in a completely serious tone. “Sorry, Kurt. I’m not exactly on the market. You’ll have to search for a likely candidate elsewhere.”
“Do you have something against marriage? Are you afraid of commitment?”
“Nope.” I shake my head in bewilderment over discussing marriage with a man I’ve just met. “I have a well-founded fearof ending up tied to a man I don’t love. Too many bad examples in my family, I guess. At one time, my sister Bianca and I had an agreement that we’d never get married. We planned on being cat ladies, living in houses that smelled like pee.” I reach for my cappuccino. “That was until she upended her half of the bargain and married a scary Russian guy. I changed my perspective on marriage for real after that.”
“How so?”
“Strangely, I saw how good it could be. Those two are... like damn soulmates or something. I’ve never seen two people so fucking in love. They could be on a Hallmark card.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I can’t explain it. You’d have to see it to understand.”
“You plan on marrying a scary Russian guy, as well?” he asks.
“Of course not.” I laugh. “I don’t like scary guys. What I’m saying is that I won’t settle for anything less.”
“And you said you weren’t romantic...” His finger lands on my bare forearm and traces a line down to the blue veins at my wrist. I swear my heart truly skips a beat.
“Maybe I am, a little.” I shrug, aware of his finger moving upward again and trying to suppress the need to simply close my eyes and enjoy his touch.
“Has that guy been bothering you again?” he asks. “The one from the bar?”
“Randy? Nope. I heard he suddenly left the city, hasn’t even called. Thank God.”
“Good.” He nods and moves his finger to the back of my hand. “Is anything else new?”
“Other than a bunch of bizarre stuff happening? No.”
“What bizarre stuff?”
“Well, I could start with me going on a date with a man whose name I don’t know.” I grin.
