“Quiet. Controlled.”
“That a problem?” I grunt.
Her eyes meet mine, face open and radiant. “The kind of guy who doesn’t need attention to take up space. The kind who makes you want to lean closer.”
My throat tightens. “Fine by me.” Heat creeps up my neck.
“I can’t believe I just said that,” she gasps, shaking her head. “Warning upfront. I’m a happy drunk, and sometimes, an obnoxious one. If I get to be too much for you, just let me know.”
I shift, leaning closer. “Don’t think you could ever be too much.”
She cocks her head, resting it on the seat. “Famous last words.” Her eyebrow arches as she adds, “So, how’d you end up getting auctioned off?”
I shrug. “Like I said before, part of the job.”
“But you’re so… quiet by nature. I’d almost call you shy but?—.”
“But?”
“But, no, that’s not the right word. Strong and silent, I guess.”
I grimace, removing my hat and running a hand over my head. “Guess you could say so. Just never had much to say.”
“Never had much to say, or no one listened?”
The stewardess doesn’t even make eye contact as she passes this time, apparently cutting us off.
The question isn’t one most people ask. Or the kind I can ignore.
“Never thought much about that. It’s not like I come from a bad home or anything. I had both parents. That’s better than most. But they were high school teachers. My dad taught science and my mom mathematics. So, they stayed busy, and I stayed… on my own.”
“No siblings?”
I shake my head.
“Me, either.”
“Lonely, huh?”
“Totally. I used to daydream about what it would be like to have a little brother or sister around. Heck, I would’ve taken an older, bossier sibling just to have someone else there.”
“So, your parents weren’t around much, either.” Something in common. A solid place to start from. Good.
My eyes drag over her symmetrical face and fine features despite myself. Burgundy locks frame her tan skin and dark eyes. Nearly black and piercing like she can see right to the bottom of me…and isn’t disappointed.
She has a slight Hispanic accent. I hear it again as she answers my question. “Parent. My dad was out of the house most of my life. Typical broken home, and my mom…” She shakes her head, mouth working to form words. “She worked harder than any person I’ve ever met. Set an amazing example for me. But, yeah, she was working instead of parenting so there was that.”
“And what do you do for a living, Scarlett?”
Her eyes narrow, something flickering behind them, something guarded. Like I asked the wrong question. “I’m a waitress now.”
She says it like there’s more. “But?” I ask.
“Used to…” her voice trails off. “You could say I used to work with kids, though not anymore.”
“Got tired of brats?” I ask, half-teasing.
“Got tired of not being able to help them.” Her voice trails off. “The system doesn’t always make it easy to help those who need it most.”
