His smile widens, and he laughs. “No,” he says as he shakes his head, his hands still holding tightly to mine. “I can’t read your mind. Although, I wish I could.”
I can feel my cheeks heat up at his insinuation. “I, umm. I’m sorry, what did you ask?” I laugh nervously as I look down at our joined hands and back into his deep brown eyes.
“What else have you learned?” he repeats.
For a moment, I’m unsure what he wants to know or why.
“How is it that you’re here?” I ask instead of answering, my voice shaky and unsure. Something about him makes me nervous. “And who are you…to me?” I add because there is something between us, something I can’t deny, nor can I explain. I’ve felt it since the first time I saw him. There’s a pull that I can’t deny.
Dropping my hands, he looks out the window as if contemplating his answer, and I want to scream “All I’ve ever wanted are answers.”But I don’t. Instead, I sit and wait for him to shed some light on what the hell is going on.
“You should eat. A power bar and some water all day isn’t healthy,” he says without looking back at me.
“How do you know that’s all I had?” I question, but all he does is wave over the waitress. Then he proceeds to spout off a long list of foods before I can open my mouth to order.
“Do you have cinnamon bread?” he asks the waitress, who seems to be as enamored with him as I am.
“Fresh this morning,” she answers.
“Great. Then Aradia will have French toast, made with the cinnamon bread, no syrup but extra butter and cinnamon sugar sprinkled on top, and a hot chocolate. But only if it’s Swiss Miss. If it’s not, then a coffee with extra cream and no sugar. I’ll have a coffee, black.”
I sit across from him with my mouth agape at his order. “I love French toast made with cinnamon bread,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“And I hate syrup,” I continue.
“You don’t hate it, you’re allergic to maple,” he says, and I’m shocked at his answer.
“I am,” I respond, confused as to how anyone could make that guess. “And I love Swiss Miss cocoa.”
“I know,” he whispers back.
“But how do you know?”
My hands are trembling when he picks them up from the table and slides his fingers between mine. His hand is so much larger, it’s almost comical.
“You’re mine, Aradia, in this life and any other. I have tried to do everything in my power to stay away. You name it, and I’ve tried it. But I can’t, and I don’t want to,” he admits, and for a moment, I hear his voice hitch as if he’s doing everything he can to hold back his emotions.
Not exactly an answer, rather more of a prelude to further questions.
“Well, that’s a frustrating answer.” I am about to continue when my food comes. It smells fantastic, and I’m starving. I’m surprised that such a dive has what looks to be edible food. “I guess all these truckers can’t be wrong,” I mumble, more to myself than to Hades.
“You eat, I’ll go get you a room.”
He makes to get up, and I quickly grab his arm to stop him. “I’m not staying here. I was stopping to get gas and something to eat, that’s it,” I tell him, doing my best to stand my ground. But the yawn that chooses this moment to escape does nothing to help my argument.
He lets out a long groan. “You’re human and need rest.” He glances out the window at my Jeep. “And there isn’t any room with you and Argos for me to drive. So, you’ll rest here for the night,” he demands, and as much as I want to argue, I know he’s right. I can’t continue.
“Fine. But you’re not staying with me,” I add as he turns to leave. Even though I know the words are a complete lie, I wouldn’t say no if he wanted to stay with me. I’m about to suggest he does, for financial reasons, when he answers.
“I’m a gentleman and would never take such liberties with a lady. But we will have adjoining rooms if they have them,” he adds. “Now eat, I’ll be right back,” he says before kissing me on the head—the action while innocent, seeps of possession.
I watch him walk out the door and saunter across the parking lot to my Jeep. I’d be kidding myself if I said I wasn’t watching his ass as he crossed the lot.“Fuck,”I breathe out, not realizing that the older waitress is behind me.
“You ain’t kidding. They don’t make men like that anymore,” she says just before adding a whistle. “You better not let that one get away. You’ll have a line of women out the door just waiting to take him off your hands, me included. I get the feeling he could handle an older woman just fine.”
Her crude assessment makes me laugh. “Have at it, we aren’t together,” I correct her.