Soraya looked at him and said, “I’m Soraya, and this is Monnie.”
He chuckled, “Monnie? That’s cute.”
He looked up at me, then said, “And you are?”
I bit my bottom lip, hesitating to answer him.
However, as I looked into his eyes, I saw something.
Something I couldn’t put my finger on... and I still hadn’t been able to figure it out when my mouth opened before my brain told it to close, “Ophelia.”
He lifted his chin as he said, “Honor to meet ya.”
He looked from the top of my head down to my toes, and at that moment, I wished I had on something better than what I was wearing.
My long blonde hair was up in a top knot.
I had no makeup on.
I was in an old ratty sweatshirt and sweatpants.
Nothing compared to this man.
As they talked, I listened intently, all the while taking in this man’s features.
He had hazel eyes that I could see under a fitted black ball cap that was turned backward on his head. His nose was slightly crooked, which clued me in that it had been broken before. His lips... man, but it would be wonderful to feel those against my own.
Ophelia Alma Cartwright, get ahold of yourself. I chastised my inner self.
My eyes didn’t stray to his left hand to see if it held a ring.
No, they absolutely did not.
You swore off men.
You didn’t get a giddy feeling in the pit of your stomach when you saw it was bare.
Nope. You definitely didn’t.
A deep red long-sleeve t-shirt underneath a leather vest. Dark blue jeans and black motorcycle boots.
That was when my brain clued in.
The leather vest.
The. Leather. Vest.
I gasped, “Wait, you said your name was Saint. Right?”
He looked up at me, then slowly nodded.
I looked down at my hands.
One was still holding Soraya’s, and the other held the bags.
I lowered the bags to the ground and held out my hand, “Saint, it’s an honor to meet you. This is my daughter, Soraya.”
He slowly stood up and lifted a brow, but he placed his hand in mine, and I didn’t miss those tiny electric sparks that flew up my arm, and neither did he.