Page 27 of Lessons in Love
“Better than you realize.”
She appears pleased. Standing up, she collects our plates. “Would you like more?”
“Definitely,” I reply, not talking about the food at all. Watching her in my kitchen, I ask, “What do you want, Virginia?”
She giggles and comes back to the couch. Handing me a second helping of dinner, she adds, “I really want to look back on my life and know I had at least one great love affair that I can reflect on fondly and tell my granddaughters all about.”
I’ll be your torrid. Just open your eyes, pretty girl.
Her expression turns serious. “Do you think Lowry will be that guy?”
“I think Lowry is the opposite of anything torrid, but it’s about what you want. Not what I want.”
“I want Lowry.”
A heavy realization weighs me down. This woman is going to be the death of me. “Then I’ll help you.”
“How’s Tuesday for lesson two?”
“I can leave work early.”
“Or I can come to your work? We can practice the flirting and whatever lesson two is at The Hideaway.”
Her dedication is impressive, and I’m not an idiot. “Okay. Just come whenever. I’ll take my break after you arrive. We’ll get some real life practice in.”
Just after nine, she stands. “I should get going. I have a breakfast meeting at seven and it will take me an hour to get home.”
Stay. My psychological willing powers don’t work as she grabs her coat and slips it on. I take her scarf from the hook. “You have a few servings left. Just reheat and eat though sometimes I like it cold.”
“Thanks again . . .” Stay.Damn. Still doesn’t work. She opens the door and I follow her out. “So I’ll see you Tuesday at the bar.”
“I look forward to it.”
We make our way down the stairs, and I hold the door open for her. We walk out into the night, the cold hitting harder than usual. “I’ll get you a cab.”
“Thanks.”
Walking to the curb, I put my arm out. My street is quiet but just busy enough to have taxis troll looking for fares. One pulls up and Virginia comes to get in. “Hardy?”
Turning to stand close enough for me to inhale her little white breaths puffing between us. “Yeah?”
“My scarf,” she says, pointing at my hands.
Oh. “Oh, sorry.” I take it in both hands and instead of handing it to her, I bring it around the back of her neck. Pink lips, green eyes with innocence shading the pupils, hair that shines even at night. So utterly tempting to pull her close and kiss her until she sees that I’m doing more than flirting with her.
Her hands cover mine. Those delicate lips part and we stare into each other’s eyes. After a few long beats, she whispers, “I had a good time.”
“Me too.” I cup her face and lean down, closing my eyes. My heart is racing and her breath becomes mine, but I don’t kiss her like I want. I angle to the side and kiss her cheek. “Be safe.”
I’m not sure if I hear her gulp or it’s mine that’s filling our ears, but that phrasethe struggle is realwas never so prevalent as it is now. I take a step back and hold the door open for her. Her eyes leave mine and she slips inside the cab. I hand the driver money and tell him to take her home. “Thank you,” she says.
I shut the door, tap the top, and move away. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I nod. With a little wave to me, the cab drives away. I watch until the taillights disappear. When I go upstairs, vanilla still lingers, making me smile. I’m going to have to do some soul searching. Who knew one little green-eyed analyst could flip your world upside down without you even realizing it until it’s too late?
This situation has turned into a quandary, and as such, I’m going to need to consult with the expert on love—Romeo.
***
Romeo Rossi. The ladies call him The Italian Stallion of The Hideaway. I’m calling on him for advice.
