But no,this can’t be it, right?Surely, this ends differently.
“Are you from around here?” he asks, then cringes. He won’t blame her if she pretends not to hear him and continues on her way, but her movements falter.
She turns on her heel, studying him for several moments, opening her mouth and then closing it.
He chuckles, running his knuckles under his chin.
“I’m not—I don’t mean to … shit,” he says, looking at his feet. He shuffles backward to leave. “Sorry. I’m not—I didn’t do that so you would?—”
“No,” she says, interrupting him. He stops moving, examining her relaxed posture. “I mean, yes. I used to. I’m from New York,” she says, blowing out a small breath.
Of fucking course.
“So,” she says, looking back up at him with a small smile, “if you’re a serial killer, I’m not the best prey.” Her eyebrows pinch together then. “Or maybe I am. Nobody would look for me here, I suppose.” She looks off to the side, appearing deep in thought.
The corners of his lips twitch as he lets out a shaky laugh. “Jesus, I’m not a serial killer,” he says, chuckling louder as her words replay in his mind.
“That’s what they all say,” she mumbles. She fixes her gaze on him and steps further to the left.
He raises his eyebrows. “Are you … visiting family? Big Fourth of July celebration?”
And just like that, her face draws in, like a dark cloud swiftly appears in a clear sky. Her lips turn downward before pressing together. Her eyes fall to the ground, and her entire posture stiffens.
We were doing so well.
Roman rubs a hand across his mouth, taking a small step back when she says nothing.
“You don’t have to?—”
“It’s complicated,” she says, gripping the handle of her bag tighter. “I’m procrastinating. I haven’t been home in a long time,” she says, breathing out. “They don’t even know I’m here. Not sure if they’d even be happy to see me. But I’m finishing my master’s program around here—sorry, I’m rambling.”
Her brown eyes are sharp and round, with an unwavering intensity that has his mind reeling.
“I really don’t mind. You have a pretty fantastic voice.”
And for some reason, he feels emboldened by her lack of retreat and takes a step closer.
“And I think they’d be happy to see you. For what it’s worth,” he says, towering over her as he rubs the nape of his neck. “Your family.”
Her arms wrap around her silhouette. “You don’t know me. What if I’m the problem? What if I’m the monster?” she asks, looking past him.
“You’re not,” he says, and then gestures towards her. “I mean, you don’t look like one.”
She twists her head, blinking up at him. “Really? And here I thought my fangs and claws were showing,” she says, her eyes bouncing around his face.
He laughs as he inches forward to let a woman walk past with her cart.
“Well,” he says in a low voice, “I think … I have a solution to our problem.” He clears his throat, wiping his palm against the material of his shirt.
Now or never.
“I could take you out for a coffee, and you can tell me all about your origin story,” he says slowly, gauging her reaction. “Fangs and all.”
Her lips part as she stares at him, a slow smile on her face that makes his own heat.
Her eyebrow arches. “Presumptuous of you to assume I like coffee,” she says, matching his pitch.
Roman reaches for his chest like he’s been wounded, swaying to the side slightly.
