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It could have been a herculean struggle not to let my eyes wander, but there was something else occupying my attention. Her eyes. Bright almond-shaped eyes, blue like the sea on a gray morning, sharp and alert, stared back at me over the table as we sat down. She was magnificent. In every respect, in every shallow description of her appearance, she was magnificent.
I found myself at a loss for words, which was an exceedingly rare thing. But I felt hushed by her beauty. Silenced by the magic of her eyes. Doubled back on my heels by the way her skirt held tightly around her backside and how enticing her smooth legs looked.
I hadn’t felt this way in years.
“Nice place, isn’t it?” I asked as I pulled the menu toward me.
“It is,” she agreed. “I can see the store from here.”
Shit. She routed the conversation back already. I wasn’t prepared to let go of our good time just yet.
“Can you? Oh, hey, before I forget, are you all right with me ordering a bottle of wine for the table?”
She looked at me with an expression that I couldn’t quite read. Perhaps it was because she was trying to readme. My intentions were pure enough. I simply did want a bottle of wine for the table, but I could see where she might think there were ulterior motives to it.
“That’s fine,” she said. “Whatever you want on your bill.”
“My bill?” I asked.
“I assumed we were splitting this?” she asked.
There was a playfulness in her voice that suggested she knew full well that I didn’t intend that at all, but she wanted to make me say it. She wanted me to tell her that I was treating her to this meal. I smiled.
“No,” I said. “This is my treat. An olive branch, if you will.”
“Ah,” she said. “Good. Then something red, please.”
I laughed.
“Of course,” I said. “Whatever the lady would like.”
A smirk pushed up one side of her face before she disappeared behind the menu. I thought I caught a slight trace of red on her cheeks too.
The waiter came by and took our drink orders, including the bottle of rather expensive wine. I rarely drank anymore, aside from the occasional beer in my easy chair, but this was increasingly becoming a special occasion. The way she glanced at me over the menu, there was a duality to her. It was as if at once she wanted to flirt with me while at the same time make sure I understood just how much disdain she had for me.
It was extremely enthralling.
Once the waiter came back to take our orders and pour the wine, I settled into the seat and took a sip. It was dark and delicious. Dry with a hint of blackberry. Succulent and mysterious. Just like Melanie.
“So, before we get onto any other subject,” I said, “I would like to know about you. Melanie Brewer. The person. Tell me about you.”
“What is it you want to know?” she asked, taking a deep sip of her wine. “I figured you would have done at least some research on me by now.”
“A little,” I said. “But what a person can find in old newspaper clippings is a shell of who the person actually is. What’s your favorite color?”
“Red, you?”
“Red,” I answered immediately. It took all my willpower for my eyes not to flicker down to her blouse and her pillowy breasts inside it. “How about your favorite hobby?”
“I crochet,” she said. “It’s silly, but it’s something that connects me to my mother. You?”
“Weight-lifting,” I said. “Nothing competitive, just something I enjoy for myself.”
“Figures,” she said, grinning as she took another sip.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a jock,” she said. “It’s why you wear tight shirts all the time.”
