I didn’t stare at men. I didn’t note their voices or their eye color, and I certainly didn’t try to talk to them. I was the woman who couldn’t carry a conversation in a bucket.
Ignoring his presence, I placed my order for a naked heifer, adding my favorite toppings—this girl couldn’t live without bacon, guac, and pepper jack on her burger—and requested a side of fries with their handcrafted soda.
I moved on, finding a spot to wait in the dining area. A spot that earned me a portrait view of the man’s face. His beard was on the scraggly side, as if he’d just come down from camping in the mountains and enjoying all that Colorado had to offer. Or maybe that was his style.
He wore a black beanie and black-frame glasses. He looked studious but masculine at the same time. I watched as he placed his order and then scanned the area as if searching for someone. Shock coursed through me when his gaze landed on mine. A small smile lifted his full lips, and he walked to my table.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello.” I straightened in my seat.
“May I sit for a moment?”
I nodded, not sure what else to do.
“So I don’t normally do this.”
“Order food?”
He chuckled. “Sit at a stranger’s table.”
“Then why mine?” I winced inwardly. Had that sounded rude?
“Because you ordered your burger just like I order mine.”
Okay, a little surprising but considering the odds—not that I knew them—not totally stunning. “And that made you want to sit here?”
“It made me want to introduce myself.”
“Fair enough.” I held out my hand. “Erykah Kennedy.”
“Christian Gamble, but my friends call me Chris.”
“Nice to meet you, Christian.”
His eyes twinkled. I wasn’t sure if I’d said something funny, or if he was just one of those happy guys.
“What do you do, Erykah?”
I swallowed.Here it goes.When I’d encountered similar lines of questioning with men in the past, they often got defensive when I said I was a surgeon. Or they treated me as if it was so cute I tried to be more than just a homemaker.
My shoulders tensed. “I’m an orthopedic surgeon.” My breath caught in my chest as I waited for his reaction.
He let out a low whistle. “So you’re unbelievably smart and talented.”
“Uh...” Why were my cheeks heating? “I am.” It was the one thing in life I was sure about. The rest was freestyling. Remembering niceties, I replied, “What do you do?”
“Official title: wildlife conservationist.”
“Unofficial?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“Animal wrangler.”
My lips curved upward. “What kinds of animals?”
“Whichever are in-house.”
“Erykah,” an employee called out.
