My plan today is to sweep her off her feet, bringing her here being only one-third of that plan. I’m hoping she’ll let her guard down enough to let me learn more about her.
To look at her, I think she’s relaxed and in a space to do just that.
We’re seated, and I order mimosas and various brunch foods. Alyssa seems completely fine with my doing so.
“So,” I say, sipping my mimosa for strength, “Tell me about you.”
She chokes on her drink, spitting some back into the glass. “What?”
I wave my hand through the air. “Tell me about you.”
“Dante, you’ve had your…”
I cut my eyes at her. “I know you carnally, yes. It doesn’t mean I know you otherwise.”
She swallows. “Is this a date?”
I lock my eyes on hers. “If I say yes?”
She bites the inside of her cheek. “I’d say this was the best date I’ve ever been on.”
I can’t help but sit a bit straighter in my chair and put my chin up in the air with pride.
“Alright, well, I’m twenty-nine. I work for your boss’s wife, or should I say your boss’s boss?”
I snicker, picking up a piece of bacon off a platter the waitress brings us. “Either work, really.”
She smiles brightly, and I don’t feel any fear or hesitation.
“I’ve always bounced from job to job, never staying anywhere long. I’m a tumbleweed in a way, I guess,” she says.
“Do you have any passions? Any hobbies?” I ask her.
“Not hobbies, per se. I used to love going to pottery studios, though—the ones where you can make and paint things. I don’t know why. Back home, I’d go once a month by myself. When I’m creating, my mind is quiet. It’s nice to have that silence now and again.”
I swallow, my mind conjuring images of her nude, with clay covering her body, one of her hands holding a bowl as the other has a paintbrush.
“What about you?” she asks, and I straighten, sputtering for an answer because I hadn’t been paying attention, nor am I ready to answer.
“Oh, right, you play and compose. Maybe I ought to get another question, hm? We did get to know one another when we played twenty-one questions. At least, I thought we did.”
She absently picks at a chocolate croissant, not paying attention to my inward spiraling.
“We did. It’s just that our game got cut short,” I tell her.
“Mm, it did. You were chasing bad guys, as I recall. Do you do that often, by the way? Runtowardthe danger?”
The implication of her words is dangling between us, real and heavy. She wants to know that if she commits and lets go of allher fears with me, she’s going to end up hurt in a way neither one of us can help.
I can’t give her reassurances, either.
I sigh. “This life is dangerous, tesoro. I won’t pretend that it isn’t. Yes, I often run into the danger. It’s who I am.”
She nods, her eyes flicking down to hide some emotion from me.
“Do you want kids?” she asks, and my heart nearly stops. After what we've gone through with our little scare, I wouldn’t think the question was something she’d want to ask.
“I do. With the right person,” I add.