Page 20 of Bella and Her Beast
“Thank you, Russell.”
“Please, miss. Call me Russ. Keeps you in touch with the younger crowd.” He smiles and heads toward the house.
I maintain my stature and listen along to the music softly playing. I look around and admire how the yard has transformed, even in the smallest manner. The butterflies playing with each other and fluttering around, are beautiful and give innocent vibrations.
“They could never be as beautiful as you,” a voice says behind me.
I quickly turn towards the familiar rich timber and am mesmerized by his appearance. It’s a smoldering sexy look that has me downing the rest of my wine, a visual excuse to not speak. When the glass is empty, I have no other option.
“Damn,” that is all I can muster out. I quickly cover my mouth when I realize what I just said.
He smiles at my actions and even chuckles a bit. “Thank you, I guess.” He comes toward me and replaces my glass with a fresh one filled with libations and clinks his glass to mine.
“I’m sure I sound like a blundering fool,” I say, before taking a sip.
“No. It’s cute. You’re bold and very much a forward person, but to catch you in a position that is normally not you, it just shows your vulnerability.” He tips the glass to his mouth, allowing the coolness of the savory libations to coat his throat.
“Well, just know I don’t speak out like that usually. That’s just one of the unknown things I’ve noticed when I’m around you.”
“Really? What else is new when you're around me?” He flashes a smile that has all of my cylinders trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
“Um. I mean, like, I can’t form cohesive sentences. The temperature of the room changes, even outside and I get a dry mouth.” I bite my bottom lip, turn away, and down my next victim.
His hand gently grazes then rests upon my shoulder. “Well, I don't want to be the cause of your dehydration. Let me get you another glass.” He relieves my hand of the empty container and saunters over to the drink station.
I watch in pure amazement. Or is this lust? This is the same guy that would frequent the library every day except for a few and never speak a word. Then suddenly, he’s a whole lonely girl's dream. Handsome as sin would allow, a body built for cuddling, smart, tatted, and oh my god, he’s walking barefoot in the garden? This is my dream guy. I watch him return to me smiling and holding up a glass signaling my refill is en route.
“Here you are, my dear. Dinner is nearing ready. Shall we take a seat?”
All I can do is nod in agreement. I think I’ve painted myself into a silent corner and it may be safer for me to remain here till the butterflies in my stomach do like those in the garden and leave.
He takes my hand and we slowly step to the courtyard where a table is set up for intimate dining. The meal is covered with steel domes. From the smell wafting through the air, I can tell it is Louisiana Cajun cuisine at its best.
“Mmm, smells good,” I remark, when I take the seat he has pulled out for me like a gentleman.
He takes two steps to his side of the table and sits. “Well, this is one of my favorite restaurants. I hope you enjoy it. I should've asked your preference.”
“Please. If it’s from here, it’s my favorite.” I laugh, and he just smiles. I cover my mouth, feeling like I’m proving to be boisterous, or the liquor is showing its effects. “Am I being too much?” I shyly ask.
“By no fucking means. I just wonder why I hadn’t had the balls to approach you before now. You are perfect.”
“Pssh, I am not perfect by any means.”
“To me you are.”
The temperature in the room increases even more and I fan myself, trying to counterbalance the change, even though we’re outside. The staff sits water glasses before us and I take a big gulp of mine, patting my lips dry after I sit the glass back on the table. I’m at a loss for words. Each time I go to open my mouth, nothing comes out, which is a very rare occurrence for me.
“Shall we eat?” he questions, sensing my uneasy demeanor. He then removes the lid from his covered plate.
I nod in agreement and join him, revealing the plate of goodness before me. Blackened fish over a bed of dirty rice with a shrimp cream sauce on top. It’s like he knows me all too well. I take my fork in hand and wait on him to say grace or something. I look up and half his meal is already gone.
“Bella, I’m sorry. Do you not like the choice? I can have something else whipped up for you.”
“No, I’m good. I just didn’t know your dinner etiquette. Didn’t want to be rude and start without you.”
“Oh, I understand. Well, I’m not very traditional, if that helps you feel at ease.”
“I see. So, tell me a little more about you.”
