Page 16 of Caught Stealing

“It is. Do you know the history?” He shakes his head, so I bestow a little Savannah history on him. “Bull Street has always been the site of monuments and homes owned by wealthy people, and they would stroll down the street to this area. It was a small park but in the 1850’s, the elite were obsessed with French culture and wanted to expand the park and add a fountain. Long story short, they commissioned this fountain to mimic French fountains. The funny thing is, when they first started it up, it sprayed everyone because the water pressure was way too high. They had to add that larger basin to ensure it caught all the water.”

“Really?" he asks.

“Well, water conservation efforts have forced the city to reduce its consumption. It still does a nice job of cooling the area though.” I finish my sandwich and lean back on my hands. Kicking my feet out, I stare at the fountain, not noticing that Andrew is watching me until he speaks again.

“It’s certainly a beautiful sight.”

I get the feeling he isn’t talking about the fountain but don’t dare thank him in the off chance that he is, and my brain is in overdrive. Instead, I offer the tray of brownies. I can’t decide if this date is a disaster or perfection. It’s slow and leisurely, but I can’t help thinking it’s awkward. Like we’re both holding back.

Because I am. Fear rushes through me and I break a light sweat. Hopefully, if he notices he’ll merely chalk it up to the temperature. I’m not afraid of him but that, yeah, this is nice so…what’s the catch? Where’s the spark? The frenzied need to consume every piece of information he can offer, because it can all disappear in the blink of an eye?

And…he’s staring at me. I point at the brownies. “Want one? I made them myself.”

“I thought you’d never ask. I wanted to skip the sandwich to have one.” He puts his hand palm out and I finally notice he’s dressed as casually as I am. Jeans, a tee, and sneakers. Thank goodness I didn’t wear a dress or something more formal. I barely plop the treat into his hand before he crams half of it into his mouth. His eyes roll back and he grumbles something that sounds like, “This is amazing.”

“You like them? They’re my best friend’s recipe.” I nibble on one and try not to watch him devour his.

“They’re so good. Your best friend is a genius apparently. Is this the friend who made you use the app?”

I groan and cover my face. “Ugh, yes. And incidentally, she set it up without telling me, so I had no control over what she wrote about me. I’m sure my other two friends had zero input. If they had, it would have been a better picture.”

“Well, was the information accurate?” he asks. “Mine was. Owen knows me well.”

“Oh, yeah. For sure, the lists and other information was accurate. I guess that’s good, but that picture. Ugh.”

He steals another brownie and mimics my relaxed position. “I don’t know. The picture is what drew me in. Anyone who uses a picture of her dog kissing her must be confident. Thus far, I am not disappointed.” He licks his lips and his pretty eyes focus on me again. I’m positive he’s of Italian heritage based on that black hair and olive skin coupled with his last name. Maybe Greek or some other mediterranean lineage, but whatever it is, he has good genes.

“Well, thank you. Ginger, my dog, is obsessed with kissing my cheek. I guess it was an accurate depiction of my everyday life.”

“Mine’s a German shepherd named Goblin. I didn’t name him though. He came with the moniker and it fit him at the time. He was…” Andrew pauses and quirks his lips up on one side. His concentration gives me another moment to take him in. He’s fit, doesn’t seem shy at all, and hasn’t run off yet. Three plusses. “Okay, he was a terror. He destroyed everything in my house, but once I got him some professional training, he settled down.”

“Ginger can be naughty too, especially when I’ve been away from home too long. In the summer, I leave her doggy door unlocked so she can go out and play in her little pool. I can’t in the winter though, because her activity of choice if there’s no pool is digging out of the fence.”

“Ha,” Andrew chuckles and runs his hand through his dark hair. “Goblin just leaps over them. I have a playset in the yard from the pervious owner, and he learned to slide. Maybe sometime you can bring Ginger over for a playdate.” He stiffens a little and quickly adds, “I mean, you don’t have to come inside my house if you’re not comfortable. Just the yard or something, you know. Or even the dog park in my neighborhood.”

There is nothing about Andrew that screams serial killer just yet, so I’m not too worried. But yeah, dates at his place are a long way off. We haven’t even finished this one and we’ve both alluded to more. “Eh, I’m not worried. If you try anything I’ll pepper spray you and release Ginger on you.”

He chuckles again and slyly slides closer to me. People pass by, occasionally glancing at us. Some gawk and point at him, but he still doesn’t seem to notice. It’s a bit odd, kinda freaks me out, but I wouldn’t even begin to know how to address it without seeming insane. Still, it’s beginning to make me a little uncomfortable. It’s cooling down a bit and the sun is setting, so I suggest something else.

“Want to take a walk down to River Street and watch the sunset?”

Already feeling the need for lip balm from the sun, I lick my lips. His gaze dips to them and lingers for a beat, then he clears his throat and nods.

“Sure. I’d love to. You mind if I drop the basket in my truck first?”

Did he just stare at my lips? It’s only fair. I’ve been watching his like a starving woman at an all you can eat buffet, but I suck at figuring out men so I don’t know. I stand and brush imaginary dirt from my jeans. “Yeah, I don’t mind. Lead the way.”

Chapter Seven

Andrew

I’m internally freaking out that someone is going to recognize and approach me, so when Charlotte suggests we go for a walk and watch the sunset in one of the most romantic places in Savannah, I leap at the chance. When I first spied her standing by the fountain, my heart skipped. Her quirky and fun profile picture does not do her justice. It misses all of her more subtle freckles, the faint scar that runs over her chin, the brightness of her eyes when she smiles, and it definitely does not tell me how she smells.

Charlotte’s smell is undeniably intoxicating, but it also reminds me of my Nonnie in some ways. Dating a woman who reminds you of your Nonnie is probably a turn off, but my grandmother’s rosewater perfume is so vividly ingrained in my memory, I can’t help but breathe it in every time Charlotte brushes her hair over her shoulder.

She smells like soft baked cookies and rose gardens and the sort of comfort you can’t explain. You just feel it when a scent triggers it. Charlotte—Lottie, which is the best name for her with her cute nose and dimples—smells like the best kind of memory.

“Is school out? Are you off for the summer?” I ask. It’s been a quiet walk thus far, and I remember I’m supposed to be impressing her, not reminiscing about rosewater perfume. So far, I don’t think she’s enjoying our date despite her reassuring smiles.

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