They walked side by side-ish through the baking summer sand away from the laskeshore and toward the bustling row of shops and eateries lining the boardwalk. He carried her large beach bag, like he’d said he would, she had her purse. They didn’t say much for a few minutes, just kept sneaking smiles at one another and laughing a little.
He was ridiculously good looking. When he’d come over, when he’d approached her, Zahra had been saying every prayer she knew that he’d be tolerable. ‘Just don’t let him be an asshole!’ She’d begged. ‘Please don’t let him be a conceited, macho, egotistical jerk!’ She’d stipulated wildly. ‘Just this once let a guy be good looking and also not a complete tool, and I swear I’ll do all good deeds all the time for a year!’
So far, if knowing him for fifteen minutes was any indication, it looked like Zahra would be helping out at the soup kitchen and volunteering at the animal shelter. She wasn’t ready to make a decision yet. He wasn’t so long on conversation… good thing that smile of his helped her forgive a lot.
“Listen buddy,” She said with a fair amount of sass as they neared the end of the sand and the beginning of sidewalk. “Let me remind you that this was your big idea; it isn’t my job to keep the conversation going here, alright?” She was busting his balls and he smiled ruefully.
“Yeah, sorry, it’s…” He searched the air in front of them for help, but nothing seemed to be coming. He let out a little puff of air and seemed to just seize on the truth—he seemed to be in the habit of doing this. It was a refreshing change from most men she’d met. Usually when they went all thoughtful they came out with some really obvious Don Juan bullshit. When this guy struggled to find the right words, he ended up just speaking the truth. It made butterflies lift and dance in her belly. “Making conversation’s never really been a problem for me before.” The poor fella looked genuinely baffled, but not altogether upset about it.
“Well, Nolan Delaney—“ She said, teasing him with his very name because she liked to see him smile and because she liked the sound of his name on her tongue. “It seems I’m not meeting you on your best day, hnn?”
His eyebrows lifted and fell as he studied the white-striped ground at the crosswalk as they waited for a chance to cross safely. “Actually, I think you might just be.” He said with a hopeful sort of importance. Then he chanced a glance at her, turned those stormy blue-gray killers on her and she read the meaning as clear as a neon sign.
Her lips made something like an ‘o’, but only barely, and only just for a second because he’d caught her so thoroughly off guard. Was this guy for real? She searched those eyes, they looked like the sea in a tempest; powerful, mysterious, deep, layered, sexy as hell… Then she had to look away if she was going to keep her wits about her. The traffic had stopped and the clusters of chatting people around them began to cross. She nodded and stepped down off the tall sidewalk and into the crossing lane. “Well.” She said, using that candidly flirty tone she wore best. “That set my little heart a flutter, so I guess I’ll give you a break.”
He laughed richly and her nipples reacted as if he’d addressed them specifically. Down, girls, down. Sheesh. It was the kind of laugh you’d want to hear every day. Over breakfast, or maybe after work while you lounged together, lazy in a warm bath for two… C’mon Zahra, get a grip, be cool.
“I appreciate it—more than you know.” He said with sincerity.
She shrugged and flashed him one of her best smiles. His feet tripped up a little as he stared at her and she hid the chuckle she couldn’t help in response. “Ok.” She said, taking charge. “How about this: We’ll take turns, asking each other questions, playing getting-to-know-you and what not; that way neither one of us feels pressured to steer.” It sounded both reasonable and like a fun little game the way she phrased it. “Sound agreeable?”
He pretended to mull it over but ruined the effect with that giddy grin that kept breaking his attempts at casual cool. “That sounds very equitable.” He said approvingly.
She made a pleased sound in her throat. “And, since you’re having an ‘off’ day, for whatever reason—“ She slipped him a sly look and the earnest expression he gave her stole a little of her breath there for a second. Damn, he was cute. “I’ll help you out by going first.”
“That would be a help, thank you.”
She chuckled at how frank he was, and marveled that such a thing was actually working better as a flirting technique than all the suave, practiced bullshit that she encountered everywhere else. They strolled at their own leisurely pace down the boardwalk. She noted that they’d already passed two places that sold iced coffee. Maybe she’d remind the poor sap before the shops dwindled away… or maybe she’d just let them walk wherever their feet carried them.
“Ok then.” She said with a go-gettum voice. “Here goes.” She licked her lips, thought for a moment and then proceeded. “It’s the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, and you are apparently free both day and evening—tell me Nolan Delaney, what do you do for a living that allows for such leisure? Or have I discovered that one fatal flaw that makes you un-dateable? You’re gorgeous, got a great smile, seem pretty sweet, but alas, you’re unemployed.”
Nolan smiled humbly at their feet as they walked. “As fate would have it, I happen to find myself with a rare free day from both my jobs.” He answered.
Oooh, not unemployed but doubly employed. Interesting. She guessed that’s how he could spring for dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town. “Isn’t that lucky for us.” She teased.
“Very.” He replied without pretense.
Wow. “Ok, well then, what are your two jobs?—I’m not cheating, this is still part of my original question.”
He chuckled and nodded. “Of course.” He agreed. “Well, I tend bar, I’m a bartender—“ he began, and checked to see her reaction.
She could have laughed to see how antsy and unsure he was. She nodded gently and smiled genuinely. She didn’t tell him what she was thinking—that young, good-looking bartenders were one of her biggest turn-ons. But she hoped he could read in her eyes that she didn’t think less of him for having a service job. She took a half a moment to insert this man’s face and body into one of her go-to fantasies involving a bar-top after closing, body shots, and that spritzer hose they used for water and soda and stuff. She licked her lips again and tossed her long, thick hair over her shoulder, trying to stir a breeze around the back of her neck, which was suddenly uncomfortably hot. Wooh. “A barkeep.” She said evenly. “And what else, or do you bartend for two different places?”
He looked ahead of them curiously. Then he slowed and looked behind them. They’d passed two more coffee places. She repressed her amusement and managed to look at him with a perfectly neutral mask. “You like Deja Brew?” He asked.
“Sure.” They’d be able to really sit down in there—it was larger than a lot of the other places, and it had a decent area of outdoor seating with umbrella tables overlooking the view of the falls and the lake and the river.
It was also one of the few coffee joints left on the street that they had yet to pass by.
He nodded decisively and resumed his pace. “Ok.” He said, seeming to get back into the answering-personal-questions headspace. “So I’m a bartender, and. I also work as the Sommelier for The Riverside Bistro.” He said it kind of like the verbal equivalent of tearing off a band-aid.
She smirked. He didn’t want to sound like a pretentious asshole. No, better, he didn’t want to be a pretentious asshole. Soup kitchens, animal shelters, and add to that nursing homes, tutoring, and, food pantry, and, oh boy the list just kept on growing.
“Mmmm. A sommelier.” She purred. Then she let it hang in the air, waiting to see if he’d be a dick and start explaining what the word was to her. He did not.
“Yeah.” He responded, sounding a mite uncomfortable.
“I’ve never met a sommelier before.” She said thoughtfully. Still he didn’t jump at the bait, didn’t hop on the opportunity to be condescending and teach her what his rarified profession entailed. She decided she liked Nolan Delaney very much. “I mean, other than in a professional context, of course.”
He gave her a small smile and a curious look.
“And I’ve never met a sommelier who looked like you.” She said, running her eyes over him from head to toe unabashedly.
He glowed at the appraisal. “Well I’ve never had a patron who looked like you.” He responded, sounding less like a lecher than other men could have managed. The way he said it, it was sweet. And just a touch hot. And his eyes wandered over her form appreciatively, but didn’t linger, and came back, as if pulled by powerful magnets, to her face. She rewarded him with a wink and a chuckle.
She wanted to take this man back to her apartment right that minute. That was dangerous thinking. Better to keep playing the game.
He slowed once again and turned to face their destination. She was pleased that he opened the door for her and even more pleased when he asked her to choose where they sat and then held her chair for her. Who does that anymore? Someone had raised him right.
He went up and got their coffees, as well as a couple of croissants to nibble on. When he settled into his seat, not quite next to her, but not quite opposite her either, she had formulated a plan of attack.
“Ok, so I’m going to tell you my impression of what a sommelier does and you can tell me if I’m hot or cold, okay?”
He nodded and swirled the ice in his coffee. “Okay. Shoot.”
She made a show of squaring her shoulders and arranging herself in a very business-like posture. She watched his lips twitch and heard him sniff with amusement. “Alright.” She began, making her eyes as enchanting as she could manage. “A sommelier is the person who, at very fancy restaurants, comes over to the table, who isn’t your waiter or the water boy, and chats with you about what you think you might order.”
Nolan looked amused, but didn’t comment, just nodded to indicate that she was right so far.
“Good. So then he considers what you’re having for dinner, mulls it over, and spouts off a list of wine selections that he thinks should pair well with your meal—mesh with the flavor profile and all that.”
He looked pleasantly surprised. “Yes.”
“And from what I can tell, he takes into account a variety of different factors. Meal choice, obviously, but price point—how much the client is looking to shell out for a bottle—“ He pursed his lips, trying to smother that insouciant grin, but unable to do anything about that dazzling twinkle in his storm-tossed eyes. “And then, I imagine he’s gotta size the people up personality wise too. Are they adventurous or conservative? Old-school or hipster? Would they be happier with something that dovetailed smoothly with their courses, or do they want something that brings its own dimension to the experience?”
Now his smile was gone and he looked dumbfounded.
“Hot or cold?” She asked in a low, electric voice. She knew she was right. She’d read a romance novel once where the hero was into wine big time. Who knew that trash would come in handy?
“That is an incredibly accurate assessment of what I do.” He marveled.
“Do you order the wine too? Decide which labels the bistro carries?”
“I do.” He answered, still clearly reeling from her on-point summation of his life’s work. Thanks, trashy beach fiction!
“Have you tasted all of them?” She asked, pretty enthralled by such an exotic sort of career.
“All of—all the wines we carry at the restaurant?” He asked. She nodded, rapt. “Yes.”
“Really?”
He gave a hint of smile. “Yes. Well, one of every bottle that we have, yes. I have to.”
“And you know what they all taste like.” She demanded, unable to fathom it.
“Yes.”
She made a face. “Do you, I mean, do you have notes on them or something? To keep them straight?”
There were those perfect teeth again, what a smile. “I have notes, yeah.” He said tentatively. “I mean, I have a pretty good memory for it, but I make notes for the servers, you know? When I’m not there, in-house, the servers are the ones who have to make the recommendations.”
Fascinating. “Yeah, I was going to ask how you managed to be a sommelier and a bartender all at once—they both seem like evening jobs.”
He nodded. “Yeah, well, bars are open earlier than you’d think, and close later than the restaurant too, but actually, I only work as ‘on-duty’ sommelier on the hot nights: Friday, Saturday and most Sundays. Other than that the servers just follow my guide and the rest of my work-- the ordering, maintaining the cellar, all that can be done in the morning as necessary.”
Zahra sipped her coffee. She liked it creamy and a little sweet. He’d had them throw vanilla and caramel in there. She was loving it. Maybe she’d order it like this for herself next time.
“Have you tried all the dishes, then?” She asked, finding herself more curious about him then she should be.
He nodded.
She leveled a skeptical look at him. “Every single one?”
“It’s my job to know what they taste like—“ He explained humbly.
“So it’s more than just: Fish and poultry get white, dark meat gets red.” She said. “You’re talking complex layers, various combinations, in-depth analysis, really getting down in the trenches, huh?”
He examined a little lady bug as it made its unconcerned progress across their shaded bistro table. “If I’m doing my job right.” He said quietly.
She took advantage of his averted eyes to really look at him. He had dark brown hair, full and healthy, and cut in a classic but not conservative style that suited this young gentleman vibe he had going. It maybe had a little wave to it if he let it get long, maybe, and it was just barely on the fashionably mussed side, though that was more likely because he’d been out in the wind and the summer sun playing volleyball, and also because he had the adorable tendency of running his fingers through his hair while he thought or when he was flustered. He didn’t seem at all vain, but he was quite well groomed. His eyebrows were well in order, something plenty of men ignored as a matter of masculine pride, and though he had stubble it wasn’t too much and it wasn’t unruly. It suited him. The dark dusting highlighted the strong cut of his jaw and chin, and added dimension to the classically sculpted planes of his face. He could be a catalogue model. She wouldn’t mind seeing him in his boxers and socks, flashing that irresistible smile and letting his eyes crinkle up with laughter.
She’d bet he shaved for his job at the bistro, but maybe didn’t bother so much for the bartending gig. She wondered if he’d be crisply shaven for their date that evening.
He had a long, straight, almost proud nose and its proportions were perfectly balanced in his face. It was a good nose. Of course the eyes. Don’t get her started. And then, she let her eyes wander to his lips. In this quiet moment of comfortable silence, as he watched the lady bug and she sipped her coffee drink, his lips were relaxed, free of the smiles that had been playing around across his mouth all afternoon. They were god-like, those lips. She’d bet they’d be talented too. He had a mouth that looked capable of giving a lot of pleasure.
She wasn’t surprised that she was attracted to yet another white man. It was irritatingly easy to be, since she’d grown up inundated with the Hollywood standards of beauty all around, from Disney to daytime tv, from news anchors to cinema, to commercials, to those damn catalogues in which he’d fit so well.
What she was surprised by, was that he was so obviously attracted to her. That didn’t happen as often, in her experience. Sure, plenty of guys seemed to have few objections to her large breasts and curvy backside, but in the end she wasn’t the petite ideal that current trends dictated was desirable. And she was quite dark-skinned. It seemed that white guys liked a touch of exotic in their sexual palette, but if she had a dollar for everytime one of her lighter-skinned Indian girl-friends got the guy over her, she’d have a sizeable little nest-egg saved up. Her mother had spent years smearing yogurt on her dark skin in hopes of lightening Zahra a few shades closer to the aesthetic paragon most Indian women yearned for—that creamy pale caramel that the Bollywood stars exemplified. Summer after summer Zahra would be made to lather on layer upon layer of sunblock, urged to keep to the shade, wear enormous hats and play indoors for fear that she’d get ‘too dark’.
It had made her terribly self-conscious as a kid, and she’d gone through her adolescence praying to the gods to make her skin lighter—no doubt joining with the silent prayers of her mother and aunts and grandmother.
Then, for no reason that she could pin down, when she got to college she rebelled against the ‘lighter is better’ mindset and cast off the years of guilt and shame and fretful little beauty rituals for the anglification of her chocolaty Indian skin. She took a lot of courses in female studies, and she took some art history courses, and some anthropology and gradually her mother’s old-fashioned notions of beauty held less and less sway over her.
And she began to enjoy the summer instead of dreading it. Began to relish the way the sun warmed up her burnt-honey complexion. She learned how to use makeup that worked with her natural coloring rather than try to correct it.
And she embraced her curves at last, too, instead of resenting them.
In short, she became a happier person. She also discovered that the new Zahra, the one with the curves and the dark skin, and the confidence? She liked sex, a lot. A lot more than the old Zahra had, and now she was learning that she was pretty damned good at it when given the chance.
But it still sort of hurt when guys opted for the toffee over the chocolate. And it still surprised the heck out of her when anyone actually found her attractive. And Nolan Delaney most certainly found her attractive. And, she got the sense that he found her attractive period. Not found her attractive despite… A peculiar but important little difference that meant a great deal to Zahra.
She smiled to herself. And she was glad that he didn’t seem like the creepy type who found her attractive because of. She’d been with a couple of those kinds of guys. They tended to get really weird in the bedroom, and not in a fun way. They had some deep rooted issues and liked to suggest things like choke-collars and chains and even master-slave roleplays. She’d always said sure, if they wanted to be the slave. None of them seemed too happy about that reversal. One guy had even asked one time if she could please ‘tremble like a native virgin girl’ as he ‘overwhelmed’ her with his ‘sophisticated prowess’. Yeah. That evening had ended real quick. He was a professor at CFU, come to think of it…
And neither did he, Nolan, seem like the kind of curious adventurer who fancied she could teach him all the positions in the Kama Sutra. Not that she wouldn’t be happy to—if he proved interested. She’d been practicing some of the more intriguing ones. A languid, sly smile curled her lips at the thought of him performing some of those acts with her…
“My turn?” He asked at last.
Whoops. She’d been caught off in la-la land. “That’s the rules.” She teased.
“Where are you from?” He asked, sounding like it was some huge puzzle. Sounding more like he’d meant: ‘Where’d you come from?!’
She made a face. “Really?”
He looked worried. “Yeah—“
“If there was some cataclysm, right now, and we got separated, and you had to look back on this moment, you want the one thing you asked me to be ‘so where’re you from?’”
He ran a hand through his hair and pushed out a gust of air in a whoosh. “It’s just, I can’t believe I’ve never seen you before today.” Aww. “And, hey, your question was essentially: ‘so what do you do?’; so watch where you’re throwing stones.” He was beginning to tease back. That was a good sign.
She conceded the point with an open palm and a you-got-me-there kind of laugh.
“Ok. Fine.” She said, playing at begrudging. “Where am I from.” She took a sip of the cool drink and swallowed. “I was born and raised right here in beautiful Cedar Falls.” She said smoothly.
He shook his head disbelievingly. “How is that possible?”
She laughed. “Well my folks are both doctors, so they can afford it.” She teased.
“No, no, I didn’t—“
“Relax, I know what you meant, I’m just messing with you.”
He looked relieved.
“I was shipped off to private school upstate for all of junior high and high school.” She offered helpfully.
“Ok.” He said slowly. “College?”
“I didn’t go to CFU, I went in the city.” She liked the way his skin tanned nicely. “Then I spent a year in India, lived in the city with some college friends after that for a while, and, now I’m back.” She finished with a shrug.
“Alright.” He was starting to understand that the fates had conspired to keep her hidden from him all these years. That it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t overlooked her. This seemed to comfort him and she couldn’t help but laugh as she watched his expression change—so easy to read.
“How old are you?” He rushed to follow up.
“Uhn-uhn, Guy Friday, we’re taking turns here.”
He looked properly chastised.
“Besides, you seem like the type of guy who knows better than to ask a lady her age, weight, or political persuasion.”
His lips pulled to the side. “You’re right. Apologies. Please. Ask away.”
She tossed her head to the side with a pleasant smile and gently ripped a corner from one of the croissants. A little bird hopped about the table hopefully. She tore her piece in half and gently tossed one to the ground by the bird—not too close to scare him—before popping the other in her mouth.
“Hmmmm.” She drew out the suspense while she chewed and swallowed and washed it down with another refreshing sip of coffee. “So how old are you?” She asked, feeling impossibly impish.
He arched an eyebrow but he seemed in good humor about the double standard. “Thirty one.” He watched her reaction closely—to young, too old? He was like an adorable open book with these expressions of his. She flicked her eyes to his hands. Good. She hadn’t pegged him as the type, but, 31 and not married?
“Do you have a family, Nolan Delaney?”
He narrowed his eyes, looking for all the world like he was going to protest her blatant disregard for the back-and-forth nature of the game she’d established, but then he shrugged and a very different sort of smile transformed his features into something beyond perfect. “I have a great family.” He answered simply.
Dammit. “Tell me about them.” She figured he must be divorced. He didn’t seem like the type to break marriage vows, but, hey, this was the modern world, people got divorced all the time. Maybe he’d married young, been impulsive and romantic, and a couple kids later maybe the bitch cheated on him because she felt as though her youth had been hijacked by motherhood, and probably he’d tried like hell to make things work but in the end if you love someone you have to let them go, and now he was a divorced father with two jobs to help pay alimony and child support and which conveniently left days free for spending time with the little tykes whenever that bitch of an ex-wife let him see them.
“Ok, well I have two brothers, one older and one much younger.” He began, forcing her wild jumped-to-conclusions train to squeal to a grinding halt. What father ever started with his siblings? She decided to keep her lips locked up for a while and let him tell her whatever he was going to tell her however he chose to tell her. Then she’d decide what was what.
“Um, our parents died a few years back—“
She gasped a little and made to speak, but settled for an expression of sympathy, which, it seemed like he preferred.
“It was a fire, an accident. We lost the house we grew up in and, it was really a shock and pretty awful.” He swallowed hard and looked out over the water. Zahra stayed quiet. She would bet money that this didn’t come up on first coffee-dates all that often. He wore an expression that screamed: ‘Why the fuck am I telling her all this?!’
“But. Um. The silver lining is that my little brother, Caleb, he wasn’t at home—he was supposed to be, but he’d had a fight with Pops, and I said he could sleep over my place, which was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made—we’d have lost him too.” She saw an involuntary shiver rock him a little and he adjusted his position in the chair, while keeping his eyes out, gazing toward the falls. “He came to live with me, after, and now he’s in college and still stays with me when he’s not at the dorm.” His voice washed over warm and fond.
He sighed. “And my older brother, Jonah, he’s only just older, we’re pretty close, always have been.” Nolan pulled his eyes from the falls and played a little with his coffee straw. “He’s married and has, Jesus, five kids now.” He looked up with a grin. “Knowing it and saying it are two different things, you know? It feels perfectly natural, especially when you see them all together, it feels like ‘of course there are this many’, but saying it? Five? Sounds like a lot.”
She liked the timbre and cadence his voice was taking as he opened up about his family. She’d liked the tone he’d had about his wine job because it was kind of sexy and mysterious and humble all at once, but this tone was gentle and intimate and well, almost fuzzy. Sunday paper in bed, and, curled up on the couch watching Saturday morning cartoons fuzzy.
“You like being an uncle?”
He grinned. “Love it.” He enthused. “I’ve always loved kids—my brother went into teaching—and I thought about it, but. Anyway, yeah, being an uncle is great—they’re always happy to see you, you get to do all the fun stuff with them, get to help out when you’re needed, all that.” He was thoughtful for a minute, his eyes staring up at the underside of the umbrella above their heads, watching a movie reel or something that was only visible to him. “When my brother and his wife were first together we all lived in the townhouse and it was. It was nice. I helped out with Grey—my nephew—helped raise him, day in and day out for the first few years there till they decided to get a place of their own.”
He was opening the door and letting her right in. She was enthralled. “Did you miss them?”
“Hell yeah.” He said immediately. “I mean, as much as having a baby and a couple staying in what was essentially your bachelor pad might seem like a pain—it was really…good. Yeah. I missed ‘em a lot. Then they had Avalon, my oldest niece, and I babysat all the time, but it wasn’t the same.”
“You’re all still close, though?”
“Oh, God, yeah.” He said, nodding emphatically. “I’m actually meeting up with Jones and the younger girls at the playground in a bit.” He seemed to have just remembered this and scrambled to find his mobile phone in order to check the time.
“Gotta run?” She asked gently.
He looked embarrassed. “No, no, not just yet. Sorry. I. Well, you know. I’m off my game today.”
They shared a smile. Then sipped their coffees in silence for a moment. “So no kids of your own.” She concluded.
“No.” He said simply. Good. She hated when guys thought it was cute to follow that up with: ‘None that I know of, anyway, har har har’. Oh, really? Unprotected one-night-stands and irresponsible parenting are adorable, amusing things to joke about? Yeah, that’s the sort of questionably clean dick I want getting up in my lady parts. Sheesh.
“But you want some.”
He raised his eyebrows and stared at her. He wasn’t sure how to answer; she could see his inner struggle all over his face. He huffed and did that thing she was really becoming fond of—he just told her the truth. “I’ve always wanted a family. Yeah.” He looked a bit as though this confession might cost him her continued interest. Like he expected her to go running for the hills. She had the strangest urge to reach over and stroke that barely stubbled cheek of his.
“Me too.” She offered generously. Letting a little bit of that mysterious veil she prided herself on slip.
He gave a small smile to his coffee cup. Then he frowned. “How about your family?” He ventured, not daring to look.
“Mom and Dad are doctors—pediatrics and neurology respectively, and my brother Sanjay is in government. He works over at city hall in the town planning office. He’ll retire an old mid-level bureaucrat.” Her tone was lovingly tart.
“Any nieces and nephews?” He asked, seeming to relax much in the way she had done when previous marriages and children didn’t lead the old family list.
“Not yet. Cousins and such. But Sanjay won’t get married until Papa chooses a bride for him.”
Nolan didn’t manage to hide his blank surprise. “Oh?”
“Not a religious thing or anything—“ She assured him, “Just a cultural holdover that Sanjay seems content to go along with. He says he’s fine with our parents’ matchmaking skills. And I don’t think he’s in a rush to settle.”
Nolan nodded. He started to speak and then decided against it. He smiled instead.
She couldn’t quite get a read on that one—he did a good job of masking whatever it was. Hmm. “So listen, if we exhaust all our conversation topics now what will we have to chat about over dinner?”
His smile became a little lopsided and his eyes seemed too deepen somehow. “I have a feeling that we could talk about anything and everything, or nothing at all, and be perfectly content.”
Whoa. Ok. That was startlingly, well, startling. She blinked at him and surprised herself a little when she found herself agreeing. “Nolan Delaney, I think you might be right.”
“So tonight. Seven-thirty. The gazebo.” He said, his voice suddenly smooth as satin and a little sexy. But not like he was trying to be sexy, rather, just by virtue of his anticipation for the evening causing an undercurrent of excitement to rumble under the words. She felt the resonance of it low in her pelvis and she liked it very much, shifting in her café chair to better relish it.
“Then up to the winery with the killer view.” She answered in a matching purr that seemed to make his pupils dilate. He, too, shifted in his chair. She smirked. “I hear the duck is exceptional.”
He leaned in, as if carried by nothing but pure animal instinct, and she thought he might just kiss her. He furrowed his brow and frowned as he seemed to catch himself before he had the chance to let his gut overrule his good sense. She found herself wishing he’d thrown sense out the window. She wanted to know what those lips felt like on hers.
“It’s been a real pleasure meeting you Zahra Keerthani.” He told her in a low, personal voice.
“The feeling is mutual Nolan.” She assured him, leaning in about as far as he had with a challenging little smile.
He gave her a funny look, then, as if trying to figure her out, then smiled. “Shall I walk you back to your friends?” he murmured, his eyes having trouble staying off her lips.
She parted them a little, lifting her chin to show them to better advantage, and she watched the hunger ripple over his features. He wanted to. But he wasn’t going to. She smiled.
“Thanks, Nolan Delaney,” She said, making sure her mouth behaved alluringly while it caressed his name. His Adam’s Apple bobbed. “But you go on and meet your brother at the playground. I think I’m going to hang out here, finish my croissant and enjoy the breeze.
He took a long breath in, then, through his nose, and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ve never met anyone like you.” He whispered.
She could tease him. But she’d feel like a hypocrite in doing so, because he wasn’t the only one feeling ensorcelled here.
He met her eyes once again and she got a funny sort of warm feeling in her center. “We can continue this discussion at dinner.” She suggested, hardly loud enough for him to hear. Now she tried breathing in though her nose too. Oh. Yeah. He smelled great. She thought she smelled a pleasing men’s fragrance on the walk over, and then when he’d held the door for her, but there had been so many people passing by, crowding near. Now she smelled him. His scent. And she liked it all the way down to the center of her world. She felt her pulse thrumming and hopping in a very intimate place. She couldn’t say what he smelled like, other than the sun tan lotion and now the coffee, but it was clean and male and deep.
“Till tonight, then.” He said, sounding regretful and reluctant to move.
“See ya then handsome.” She breathed and smiled playfully.
He had to quite literally shake himself to move to action. He put a few dollars on the table for the bus person who’d clear the table when she left. She could tell he’d been in the service industry, most folks don’t think to do it if they’ve purchased their things at a counter and tipped the cashier already. “Ok.” He said. He said it more to himself than to her. “Ok.” He repeated. Was he trying to convince himself to get up and go?
“Thanks for coffee.” She said as he finally managed to make his legs pull him to standing.
“Thanks for agreeing.” He responded honestly.
“I have a funny feeling that I’d agree to just about anything you asked, just so long as you asked it with a smile.”
He tilted his head sideways and a slow grin pulled at his mouth. “Since I’m a gentleman, I’ll do my level best not to take advantage of that, Zahra.”
“Well there’s a time and a place for everything, Nolan.” She responded mischievously.
His face went slack for a beat. Then he smiled almost--but not quite--shyly and gave her a sidelong look that made her positively throb between her thighs. “See you at seven-thirty.” He intoned.
“You bet your sweet ass you will.” She replied brazenly.
He chuckled and finally, finally, made himself leave the café. He had to go back in through the shop portion to emerge onto the boardwalk, as the patio was corralled by a wrought-iron fence. While she waited for him to re-appear and walk by her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to not look, she rearranged her loose over-bathing suit top, adjusted her cleavage, and swept her thick, heavy tresses up off her back and shoulders and twisted it deftly into a long, loose cord and wound it around her crown like she’d done a million times before. She quickly grabbed the clips to secure it from her purse and did so, not needing a mirror because she’d had years to practice it, and because the effect was alluringly bohemian and organic.
He crossed her eyeline just as she was finishing and he halted dead in his tracks, earning him some sharp words from an older couple who’d nearly tripped at the unexpected stop. He apologized charmingly to them as they moved around him, but he kept one eye on her while he did it. When she had his full attention again she leaned forward on one elbow, subtly swelling her breasts out and together for his viewing pleasure, and with her other hand she fished an ice cube from his drained coffee drink and lightly traced it over the long curve of her neck. She didn’t play it up. She didn’t have to. It was hot out, it was a thing people did, it just happened to make him just about salivate.
Again he had to visibly shake himself. He gave her a half-amazed smile, nodded goodbye, and forced himself to walk in the direction of the downtown children’s playground.
She slipped the shrinking ice into her mouth and savored the hint of taste from his much darker roast.
What was she going to wear tonight?
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