Page 12 of Burning Caine

“I wanted to hit him. Badly.” She rubbed her free hand on her leg. There was a small tremor as she moved it. She was nervous. That explained the hand on the face. She was attracted to me and the hand likely hid her blush.

I narrowed my eyes and ran a thumb across my pursed lips. She followed the movement, pupils dilating, and took a quick breath as she shifted her gaze to her wine glass. She was mine if I wanted her. Sexual attraction was easy. Everything else was difficult. All the important things, like connection, things in common, love. All the things which eluded me.

“Is he still here? I can take care of him for you.”

She chuckled and looked at me from the corner of her eyes. “Trust me, I can handle that part just fine.”

My eyes trailed from her face, down the strong arm and body, sure she was right about that. Perhaps she should be my next attempt at love.

“No one should be so rude to a woman as beautiful as you.”

She rolled her eyes and groaned. “I was pretty sure I was done with dating forever, but your ridiculous lines are really sealing the deal.” She reached to the back of her bar stool and turned to scan the restaurant. The pose highlighted her form, her breasts, her narrow waist. And her neck. Her long, elegant neck. As she turned back to me, the hand didn’t cover her face and the ponytail fell from her shoulder to her back. She faced me directly and with a slight grimace said, “Yeah, he’s still here.”

But the words didn’t matter. The hair, the blush, the squared posture. The serious expression. Her eyes. Goosebumps traveled up my arms and my heart began to thud so loud she must have heard it. I was twenty-one years old again, sitting at the back of class, transfixed by the girl giving her presentation. That’s why she seemed so familiar yesterday.

It was her. Roman Art Girl.

My anchor.

She furrowed her brow at me. I continued leaning against the bar, calm and playful as always to the outside world, but inside my brain was racing. What came next? What was I supposed to say? Wine. I took a sip of my wine and leaned back in the bar stool, while she turned to her plate, the hand covering her blush again.

“If you are done dating, why were you on a date?”

She deflated, eyes closing, shoulders sagging. “Long story.”

“Was it a…serious relationship?”

“I’m normally a private person.” She took a sip from her glass, then another. “But it’s been a shitty few days.”

Her eyes glistened, and I wanted to put an arm around her, make her feel better. I wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be alright. Instead, I remained quiet, giving her time to talk.

“Thursday, my sister had her second round of chemo.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She nodded and took another sip from her wine. “Yesterday, I found out someone important to me died.”

“Not Bobby Scott?”

Her eyes snapped up to mine, then shot back down to her glass. “You knew him?” She did remember me.

“Not well. He was important, you say?”

Again, she nodded and pulled her wine glass to her lips, remaining silent for long seconds.

I gripped the edge of the bar stool to stop from distracting her. This was about getting things off her chest, not about me.

“Then tonight…” She ran both hands over her face as she stared at the lights over the bar, blinking rapidly. She sighed, sitting up straighter and rolling her neck. “I moved home for nine months while my sister gets her treatments. Six three-week cycles of chemo, followed by a mastectomy, radiation, and reconstruction. She’s in a rough spot. Setting me up on a few dates made her feel better, so I went along with it. But I’m done now. I’ve indulged her, and I’m just done.”

“This is unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?”

“Sì, I had been thinking about asking you on a date.”

She narrowed her eyes and tightened her jaw. “That’s your response to everything I just said?”

I couldn’t keep the smirk at bay while I waved a dismissive hand. “I said I was thinking about it, not doing it.”