“I can be full of surprises.” He smirks sheepishly to himself.
I’m doubtful. “I’m sure your surprises are not earth-shattering.”
His intense gaze returns. “You’ll be amazed.”
Actually… I won’t be.
It’s always been apparent to me that he has secrets about himself that he keeps guarded. Maybe one day something will be revealed, and I will be prepared to listen.
I tap my fingers on the bar top and aimlessly look around, letting the awkwardness float between us. “The new menu is tasty.” Small talk could be a cure.
“We talk about food a lot, but yes. Piano?”
“Huh?”
“Do you play piano?”
My eyes squinch at him. “No. Was that part of the requirements for my job or something?”
He shakes his head with an almost boyish grin. “Nah. Merely wondering. I used to play.”
“Really?” He nods. “As in a secret classical pianist or a do-re-mi forced lessons pianist?”
“My secret that you may never find out.”
“I used to dance ballet. I would often come into the city when my aunt would take me to see a show.”
“You don’t dance anymore?”
I stammer a laugh. “No. Probably because I don’t have the body for it.”
He looks off into the distance behind me, yet the corner of his mouth lifts. “I would highly
disagree.” His vision zips and arrows right into me. “I’ve seen, remember?”
My face warms, and everything he says makes my body sing. “Right.” My T is sharp. “That incident.”
He takes a sip of his drink while he chuckles low. “We’ve been good all day at ignoring it. Thanks for actually wearing clothes instead of a towel today, though.” He lifts his glass to me in a toast before taking another sip.
“You’re welcome.”
I’m melting in this chair, and if I’m not careful, the alcohol will cause a slip of my tongue. The only way to be saved is by diversion. “The dancing got me as far as being voted Miss Everhope when I was seventeen, but that’s it.”
“Miss Everhope? Is that like Homecoming Queen or something?”
I giggle quietly. “I think better. The entire town votes. It’s for the summer festival.”
His smile is new to me. It’s different, it’s warm, it’s honest. “That’s… well… a little too wholesome for me.”
“Yeah, you don’t do wholesome.”
The glint of his eyes grabs me. Perhaps, there was a warning in his words, and I missed it. A hint that he has a dark side. We kept eye contact even though our conversation cooled. I notice a woman on the other side of the bar eyeing him, and I bubble a laugh.
“You have a fan. I’ll find her number on a piece of paper during my next dry cleaning pick-up,” I tease him.
He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder; he stares at me with such concentration and swelter that I’m overwhelmed by his alluring pull. Even when he finishes off his whiskey, he doesn’t let go of our eye contact.
In my peripheral vision, I notice a woman behind the bar set down a brown bag, which I assume is his order.
