“You’re diving right into the prologue, aren't you? Any particular chapter you're keen on?”
“The full volume.”
I chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease. “Well, I’m a recent addition to Grand River, having moved here two days ago. My profession? For now, editing. Freelance. I majored in English, with a sprinkling of creative writing courses. Life led me on a detour for a while, but I'm hoping to reclaim my narrative.”
Seeing his engaged expression, I wince slightly, “Sorry, I’m not very interesting.”
He offers a comforting grin, “It sounds like a tale I’d be engrossed in.”
“Hardly,” I demur. “Though, if Lewis Carroll had penned about one of my wilder college nights, I might be more compelling. But I doubt Alice's escapades align with mine.”
His laughter is hearty, and the atmosphere between us grows even more magnetic.
He chuckles, the warmth in his voice palpable. “You wear many hats: an editor, a writer, and a reader. Too many more and you might go mad. Tell me more.”
His gaze deepens, a spark of genuine interest flashing as he sips his beer. I can feel him hanging on to every word I'm about to say.
“I wish I had more tales to spin, but honestly, I’m a pretty open book. How about you, Dexter? Have any tales of adventure? Save many damsels in their time of distress?” I pose the question as I take a refreshing sip of my vodka soda.
His grin widens, those teeth again making my heart race. “Adventure? I guess that depends on your definition of the term. As for damsels, I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of saving anyone, and I’m fairly certain that even if you were in distress, you wouldn’t require my assistance. My life is tame at the moment. I teach. Outside the classroom, you'll either find me engrossed in a novel, watching my dog chase its tail at the park, or doing something related to hockey.”
I let out a short laugh. “For a moment there I genuinely thought you only spoke in literary prose. I’m happy to learn I don’t have to think too hard to keep up.”
His smile is disarming. I lean closer; I can’t help it. “I love books.I love words. But I’m also a modern man.”
“Fascinating,” I comment, struggling to keep the enthusiasm from my voice and failing miserably. “A modern man, with the soul of Austen’s heroes. I’ve won the lottery, having captured your attention.”
He leans in, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m no Darcy. And clearly, I've read Carroll, given our literary banter. But in the realm of classics, Dumas is my muse. Which brings me to the reason why I'm sitting here.”
Intrigued, I raise an eyebrow, “Dumas drew you to me?”
He nods, painting a scene with his words. “Tonight, I was the unwilling tagalong of friends on the prowl. The noise, the crowd — it's all a bit much for me. But then, amid the clamor, I spotted you, a beacon in this cacophony. This night was deepest darkness till you appeared and illuminated it all."
Marguerite de Valois. The man knows his French lit.
“It’s a bit too early to think of me as your sun by day or star by night,” I quip.
His laughter is infectious. “Maybe so, but you’ve added a much-needed spark to my evening, making my stay worthwhile.”
Flattered, I confess, “I'm glad you chose to stay.”
As I prepare to enjoy another mouthful of Belvedere, an unexpected jolt spills my drink, sloshing liquid from my glass and down my dress.
“Alllliiiiissssssssss, why aren’t you dancing with me?!” Skye whines. “Shit, did I just spill your drink? Shit, shit, shit. Sorry!”
“It’s fine,” I say, giving her a slightly annoyed look while dabbing at my dress and legs with the tiny bar napkin. “Ugh, this isn’t going to work. I need some paper towels from the ladies’ room.”
“It’s packed. Line out the door,” Skye reports. I roll my eyes.
“I’ll grab some from the men’s. Be right back,” Dexter says, touching my arm as he slides off his barstool and then heads toward the washroom before I can protest.
“Who is THAT tall glass of water?!” Skye leans in and whisper-yells as her eyes follow him toward the back corridor.
“His name is Dexter. Honestly, I think he's the one guy on this planet who could get me into bed on night one," I reveal, a sly grin playing on my lips.
Skye snorts. “No fucking way. You? The prude? I’d pay good money to see that happen.”
"He has this enchanting way of quoting classics as though they're whispers between old friends. Essentially, he's fluent in my love language. He may yet hold the key that unlocks my chastity belt," I reply with a smirk.
