Page 17 of Pining for Pierce

I spent yesterday morning catching up with laundry and tidying the apartment, and in the afternoon, I finished the canvas I’ve been working on, which took me well into the evening.

As for Saturday… that was when I went out with Monica.

I don’t really know what to say about that, considering I’d built her up in my mind, and to Harley, as ‘the one’, but when it came down to it, she wasn’t as perfect as I’d thought.

Okay, so she wasn’t demanding, or ditzy… and she sure as hell wasn’t demure. But she still wasn’t ‘it’, either.

Her eyes positively lit up when I knocked at her door. I’d left my motorcycle around the corner, in the hope I wouldn’t put her off straight away, and that worked better than I’d hoped. She seemed to like what she saw, anyway. Maybe I helped the situation by removing my jacket before she answered the door. In doing so, I’d revealed my tattoos, and the moment she noticed them, she actually licked her lips. She did so in a slow, considered way, and then she bit on the bottom one, her eyes widening as she sucked in a deep breath. I had to smile, because I’d seen the signs before. The women I meet may not like my bike, but they love that bad boy image, and although it can grate on me sometimes, I’ll admit I’ve been known to use it to my advantage. There was a problem, though. Even as I contemplated how ‘bad’ I wanted to be with her, and took in her low-cut, fitted white blouse, and black pants, which clung to her hips like glue, I couldn’t stop the familiar shadow of doubt from falling over me. Regardless of everything I’d thought, there was still something missing. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but as we walked to the restaurant, arm in arm, I tried to figureit out. She didn’t cling to me. She didn’t talk incessantly, either… and when she did speak, her voice wasn’t annoying. Her laugh was kinda cute, too. So, what could it be? What was wrong with her?

Our evening progressed. We ate… we drank. And we talked.

She told me that, having relocated from a small town in Maine,she’d lived in Willmont Vale for four months. That was longer than I’d thought, but it didn’t matter. It was a minor detail, and as far as I could tell, there was nothing out of the ordinary about her. Nothing to ring alarm bells. Although I was wrong about her working in sales. She’s actually a teacher at the local high school.

“What were you doing in Hart’s Creek on a Friday during school hours?” I asked.

“It wasn’t school hours exactly. It was the lunch break, and I was there trying to find the printers… like I told you.”

I’d been so busy studying her when she came into the store, I’d forgotten which company she’d been asking directions for, and I covered my lack of attention by asking about her job.

“I love it,” she said, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.” She sipped at her wine and looked up at me. “What about you?” she asked. “Are you fulfilling a lifetime’s ambition working in the antiques store, or is there something else you’re burning to do?”

“There’s something else,” I said, giving her a smile.

“And what would that be?”

“Painting.”

“Walls or canvases?”

“Canvases.”

“I see.” She nodded her head. “I assume you’re having to bide your time?”

“I am. And working in the store is better than an office job. At least I don’t have far to commute, either.”

“You live locally?”

“I live above the store. I can practically roll out of bed and straight into work.”

She laughed then, reminding me of how cute she could be, although I still couldn’t get over the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

By the end of the evening, that nagging doubt was still there, but I hadn’t worked out what the problem was. It was intriguing, and so was she… which could be why I was happy to accept her suggestion that we should see each other again.

“I can call you,” she said, reminding me I’d already given her my number. She’d given me hers, too, when she came into the store on Friday, after I’d asked her to have dinner with me. She’d suggested we ought to have each other’s contact details, just in case, and while I’d have normally made an excuse not to, I was convinced she was ‘the one’ at the time, so didn’t see the harm. I was just wondering if that had been a mistake when she moved a little closer, and said, “Or if you wanna set up something now, I’m free on Tuesday evening… if that works for you?” She sounded a little unsure of herself, like she thought I might say ‘no’.

“Sure,” I said, and she smiled.

“What time?”

“Six-thirty?”

She nodded her head. “Shall I come to Hart’s Creek? There’s a little French restaurant there, isn’t there?”

“Yes. Do you want me to book a table?”

“If you like.”

I guess that was how I knew she wasn’t demanding. Keen, but not demanding. She wanted to see me again – that much was obvious – but she didn’t immediately suggest we meet up on Sunday or drag me into her apartment once we reached the door. Instead, she looked up at me, her eyes sparkling slightly,and after years of experience, I knew she wouldn’t be averse to a goodnight kiss, and bent my head to hers.

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