Page 8 of Dating Goals
“Ha! Wrong! Her name is Rosita.” I thrust the fish forward. “What’s Walter’s favorite cheese?”
He laughs. “I have no idea.”
“Your name?”
“Griffin.” He extends his hand to shake mine, then thinks better of it.
“American?”
“Canadian.”
“Favorite color?”
“Blue. No. Red!”
I make a buzzer noise. “Wrong.”
“Wrong?” He squints at me with a puzzled expression.
“What,” I say as I adjust my grip on the fish, “is your quest?”
A grin spreads across his face as he takes a daring step toward me, getting closer than he probably should. He holds the other end of the fish. “To seek the Holy Grail.”
My breath catches as his fingers brush against mine. The warmth of his hand lingers on my skin, sending tingles up myarm. I tilt my head back to meet his eyes, and oh, what eyes they are. Deep brown with flecks of gold, crinkled at the corners from his smile.
His height towers over me, and despite my usual dislike of feeling small, there’s something about his presence that makes me feel…things.
“May I?” His voice is low, intimate, and does strange things to my insides. My fingers release the fish of their own accord, betraying my brain’s protests about stranger danger. The way he’s looking at me makes my face flush hot.
“I…um…” Since when do I stutter? I never stutter. I’m the one who tells drunk men where to stick it when they get handsy at the bar. But something about the way his fingers are still touching mine around this stupid singing fish has short-circuited my brain.
“I was just making sure you weren’t, you know, a burglar or something.”
“I’m not a burglar.” His eyes twinkle. “Are you?”
“Me?” I scoff. “No.”
His dimples wink as he sets the fish on a nearby shelf. “Says the woman who broke into my cabin to use the bathroom.”
“I did not break in! I used the spare key that Walter—” I stop, realizing this isn’t helping my case and I blurt, “A girl’s got to pee.”
He steps closer, catching me off guard as he finds my Walkman and clicks the Off button, right in the middle of Falco singing, “Dreh dich nicht um.”
He flashes those dimples, almost disarming me. His arm brushes mine, this solid and steady maple wood beam of an arm, and the touch ricochets.
“So I’ve noticed. What’s your name, girl-who’s-got-to-pee?”
His voice is a low rumble that is not helping my resolve one bit. I’ve never felt this immediate attraction to anyone before, and it’s…unsettling.
I take a step back, needing space to clear my head. “Anika.”
“Nice to meet you…Anika.” The way he says my name, slow and rich like dark chocolate. And I’m Swiss. I love chocolate. His voice wraps around each syllable as if savoring it.
I take a second to look at my surroundings. And, okay so maybe he’s been here a while, because my oh-my-güte-must-pee situation was such that I didn’t even notice anything when I made a beeline to the bathroom. I didn’t notice the unfamiliar jacket hanging by the door, the big boots by the couch. And when I popped out of the bathroom, singing, “I’ll get ya, get ya, get ya, get ya…” Surprise! I didn’t have to get him. He was right there, and, clearly, very amused.
I edge toward the door, my face burning hot. “Right. Well. Sorry about the…fish. And the breaking and entering. And the singing. Actually, let’s pretend none of this happened.”
His eyes follow my retreat, sparkling with amusement. “What, and miss out on this delightful first impression?”
