Page 10 of The Last Date

Everything was so different with Sasha.

It didn’t make a lick of sense, but that was okay. So many parts of my life made no sense until they did. I just worked like hell until everything turned out fine, and went with my gut.

This time, my gut was telling me that Sasha needed romance. Teasing. Dare I even say it, courting.

Her parents — well, her mother — had been setting her up on dates as if she were some prized pig to be auctioned off? That sickened me. Her expressive eyes told the tale of her exasperation, but I knew all too well that it wasn’t always possible to tell off your parents.

I woke up at the ass crack of pre-dawn, years of morning shifts having given me as much discipline as if I had been in the military. But now, instead of rushing out into a dark, hot basement to sharpen my knives, I hit the gym for an hour.

Then it was straight to my new coffee blend, and my laptop to find out where Sasha Radcliffe worked.

Like most girls her age, it was simple to find her, and there were plenty of photos. Pausing for more sips of black gold, I skimmed bright, hyper-clear photos of Sasha with her girlfriends. There were some amusing selfies, and I was impressed that she posted a few that were less than flattering.

She allowed herself to be a dork.

My heart began to race, and it wasn’t the caffeine. She wasn’t a spoiled princess all the time. There were photos of her at a charity mud run, completely filthy and laughing with her mouth open. A picture of her with a copper-haired girl lounging in cartoon pajamas with an enormous bowl of chips between them. Several scenic pictures that were obviously taken on a hike.

I knew it wasn’t possible to love a girl after only having met her once, but all of the puzzle pieces were sitting in front of me, ready to fall into place.

Finally I came across a few photos where she was wearing trendy but businesslike dresses and low heels, her hair and makeup impeccable. She looked as gorgeous as ever, but it was interesting to see her so polished. I definitely preferred her with soggy seaweed hair and slightly smudged eyeliner.

Several huge paintings hung behind her in a giant white space. A gallery. It was too austere, too modern to be a museum.

One photo of her by the window showed part of the business name backward across the glass, but the only part I could make out was “gallery”. Was this where she worked? Through the window I could see a hotel with a large, crisp sign.

After looking up the hotel, finding the gallery and checking my daily appointments, I went to my giant walk-in closet. Whoever owned this house before me was far more into their clothes than I would ever be. But it was handy to be able to see everything at once.

Sasha had only seen me looking a bit grungy in a pair of borrowed swim trunks. What image could I project that would blow her mind, and keep her guessing?

Since I had a few meetings in the afternoon anyway, I went with the jet black Italian custom-fit suit, a fancy platinum watch, and red high

tops.

After confirming what time The Brightman Gallery opened, I swung by one of my favorite Italian bakeries. Finding parking on the street just a few doors west, I strolled into the gallery ten minutes after it opened.

It was absolutely empty and silent.

Places like galleries and jewelry stores often opened at ten am, but didn’t expect any actual customers until at least noon. It gave them time to clean and do paperwork, I suppose.

My sneakers were perfectly silent on the polished wood floor. Looking around, the art was incredible. There was a huge variety of large and medium-sized paintings, some of them fairly abstract, but all with a focal point.

I didn’t know much about modern art, but was discussing it once with a tipsy friend who used the term, “Abstract, but with stuff in it.” Chuckling to myself, that phrase definitely applied here.

Light classical piano music suddenly played through the space as I walked closer to the back rooms. When Sasha came out, she actually jumped when she saw me, blinking in surprise.

“What are…um, good morning,” she stammered.

She stepped closer as if she wanted to hug me, but I held out the coffee and white bag. “Good morning, Sasha. A little morning fuel for your busy day. Lemon almond and herb biscuits go perfectly with this coffee blend.”

“Oh wow, thank you,” she said, setting them on the long glass desk beside her.

I looked around the space again before taking a step closer and locking on her eyes. “Of course my beautiful angel would surround herself with a beautiful environment.”

Those magical eyes stared up at me with an unreadable expression. I’d obviously completely thrown her off guard.

“You’re taller today,” I chuckled, glancing down at her high heels. “Quite the glamor girl when you have all of your clothes on.”

She took another step closer as if she was hypnotized. Leaning in, I slipped my hand around her throat, behind her neck, to tangle in the back of her hair, tilting her lips up to mine. But instead of kissing her, I brought our noses together.

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