Somehow, she doubted it. She sipped her chai tea and tasted cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg. “The homework you did on me makes me sound very dull. I feel compelled to mention that I’m more interesting and well-rounded than I sound on paper.”
“Oh?” Humor flavored the sound. “How so?”
“I love hiking and planning road trips on a shoestring budget. I occasionally compete in chess tournaments for fun. I’m rebellious because my teachers used to warn me that I needed to learn to do math in my head because I wouldn’t be able to carry a calculator around with me once I became an adult.” She reached into her purse and lifted her graphing calculator just high enough for him to see before dropping it back into the confines and straightening. “Joke’s on them. Now you go.”
“I watch soccer and movies. I’m a fan of anything related to aviation. I spend a lot of my free time with the Coleman family. I’m excellent at killing houseplants. I like to mow my lawn,and I listen to Sinatra because, obviously, he produced the best music ever.”
The entire conversation was taking place at a very fast pace, akin to a ball being walloped back and forth across a tennis court. “Interesting assertion,” she said. “I contend that the 1980s produced the best music ever.”
“Wrong.”
“Musical preferences are a matter of taste, Sebastian. One genre’s superiority over another cannot be proved.”
He shifted in his chair, setting a forearm on the table. His surgeon’s hands were large with short, clean nails and blunt fingertips. Even though relaxed, his fingers communicated proficiency.
After a long moment, he spoke. “You asked me over the phone if I’d keep your information confidential. I told you I would. Now I’m wondering if you’ll keep what I’m about to say confidential.”
“Of course.”
“Because this will get me in trouble with Ben if he finds out.”
She angled her head. “Oh?”
“He’d like to go out with you.”
Her eyebrows steepled.
“I want to put in a good word for him,” he continued. “He’s like a brother to me ... one of the best people I know.”
She held herself still even though she was flailing around like a drowning swimmer on the inside. “Ben wants to go out with me?”
“Yes.”
“Ben is romantically interested in me?”
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
“No. I ... don’t always pick up on undercurrents that other people understand intuitively.”
“Ah.”
“I happen to agree with your assessment of Ben. He’s an outstanding person. Stellar.”
“He really is. Will you consider giving him a chance?”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “No.”
“No?”
“Nothing against Ben, but I have no interest in dating anyone. I don’t do romance.”
“You don’t do romance?” he repeated.
“No. I’ve never aspired to a dating relationship and certainly not to marriage.”
“Can we back this train up?” He pondered her the way he might ponder a complex X-ray. “Why don’t you do romance?”
“In order to explain, I’ll have to back this trainwayup. All the way to my childhood.”
