“Tell me about yourself,” he said, not wanting to think anymore about the recent events, pulling the long sweeping fringe from her dark eyes and holding her face looking up at him, liking how she looked caught within his grasp.
They were still on the kitchen chair, her legs around him, having finished their meal together
“There really isn’t that much to tell,” she glanced away from the distraction of his eyes and wondered how to answer him, “I just moved here to Portsburgh to start my life over—find a new direction,” and while the wine relaxed her enough to say this, her discomfort of the details of her life held resistance
“Why did you choose Portsburgh?”
But still looking away from the distraction of his compelling eyes, she smiled slightly and shrugged,
“it seemed as good a place as any. To start over.”
“Do you have family here?” he asked her
She didn’t answer right away. These were questions she had managed to avoid with people. Sometimes she answered with rehearsed replies she had carefully selected from past conversations.
But all she said was,
“no.”
“Was it a job that fell through?” he tried to prompt her, becoming curious with her reluctance to elaborate
And because of the wine, she couldn’t remember all those prepared answers she usually used. But, she also didn’t want to be fake to him. She stared at the way the candle over on the counter by the sink flickered and again, simply said,
“no.”
“So you just came here with —no idea what you would do?”
Only now did she look back at him. She now sought his eyes and it was because of her intoxicated mind…. that allowed something vulnerable to surface from just the sound of his lilting voice; the gentle tone it had…. it caused her mind to turn to putty. And his eyes mirrored that ability to cause her to react; and, forgetting herself, she let herself tumble inside them.
Perhaps that was a mistake; they made her feel so safe…. inside them. And for a moment, she forgot his question. She just allowed herself this safety. A safety that ….she had not known for so long. Maybe never. And the feeling wrapped her in its warmth, so she could not find the desire to leave this feeling and she could only stare inside them.
As his fingers started to caress her cheek, she felt his arms tighten slightly around her. Soon she realized she hadn’t answered his question, so vaguely she said,
“I read about it here—it sounded nice….so—I just packed up my car and started driving….”
Or something like that ….it was too involved for her to think about right now.
“That’s extraordinary! You’re so brave! I’ve never done anything like that!” he said smiling as he forced her to look at him as she had pulled her eyes away from the vague compliment
Her face colored brightly as she turned her gaze back at him,
“not really so brave,” she said dropping her eyes, “maybe cowardly. I was….”
But she suddenly stopped what she was about to say. She wasn’t sure if she should say what almost slipped right out
“What?” he asked, sensing this and his touch along her cheek moved along the angled cheekbone that followed the slant of her eyes and his seemed to hold her captive there, like his arms that had subtly pulled her closer to him, his warmth weakening her resistance
“I was running away.”
“From….?”
She stared up at him,
“someone.”
“A man?” he asked
“Yes,” she admitted with some relief being able to share this and sighed, “this seemed the last place he’d ever look for me.”
“Who is he?” he asked her, “an ex?”
“Yes,” she looked back at him, “what about you? What about your life and—“ she wanted to say ‘that person with that otherworldly ringtone’ but instead she said, “your job back home? Shouldn’t you be getting back to it? Why were you visiting the Bishops in the first place—was it a holiday?”
Grant sighed heavily and leaned back against the chair, but he didn’t release her from his arms. Instead he pulled her closer,
“Some of it has to do with work—but also for Arthur and Aunt Fiona—I come here several times a year—or rather—came….to help Arthur with the website and book keeping….” he sighed, “but this I’d rather not talk about, I’d rather hear about you.”
“I’d like to know about you—like, where are you from, for instance?—what about your….family?”
“It’s not that interesting,” he said evasively now and went on to say, “I’m from a dull industrial part of the country, it wouldn’t interest you—I’d really rather know more about you. It takes a tough person, I think, to decide to just leave and start all over without knowing a single person where you are going to. And no plan. I admire that.”
What he said surprised her. She had never thought of herself as tough.
For whatever reason, she sensed, he didn’t like to talk about himself but then, nor did she. She decided to respect his space and let him pull her head against him, his fingers in her hair as she listened to his heartbeat.
But the heat from her body released more of that scent of her and it went to his head, and without hesitation he ran his hands down the back of her, following the path of the long zipper that held her burgundy dress together. He followed it back up to the top and his fingers played with the zipper as he captured the back of her skull into his hand and kissed her suddenly on the mouth, turning her head up to him as he stood up, hoisting her slightly in his arms as he stood, holding her with her legs still wrapped around him.
“Would you like to go upstairs—I promise to behave—or back in the sitting room?” he asked her
It had been a long time since anyone held her this way, it reminded her of her childhood and waking from nightmares and the feeling of his arms around her forced all logical thoughts away,
“I haven’t seen your room where you stay—can you show it to me? I’m just a bit curious.”
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