plates.
“Butter lettuce with roasted-tomato vinaigrette,” he murmured. “Bon appetit.”
I looked at Hemi again when the waiter had left, and he got the message.
“Well,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I. I’m doing this date. I may not be doing it well, but I’m doing it.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling more cheerful. “You are, aren’t you?” I’d give it one more try, if he were going to try, too.
The salad was exactly as good as the wine, and I focused on that, closing my eyes to taste the tang, to feel the contrast of crunchy and soft, sweet and sour.
I swallowed the bite, my eyelids floated open again, and I sighed. Yes. So worth it.
Hemi wasn’t eating. He was watching me, and I could feel myself blushing. I touched my napkin to my mouth and took another sip of wine for confidence.
“Do you feel every experience so intensely?” he asked.
“Umm...doesn’t everybody, if it’s special? If it’s new, and it’s this good?”
“No.” A light smile touched his lips. “Only the lucky ones. And the luckier ones who get to watch them enjoy it. Who get to bring it to them.”
My heart was beating again, and he seemed to check himself. “But I’m forgetting. Or you’re distracting me. It’s your turn.”
“My turn what?” I couldn’t even object, because all that had been was…hot.
“Why aren’t you good at dating?” he prompted.
So he was going to try. That was hopeful. I took another bite of salad while I thought, then took a breath and put myself out there. “My life’s been a little complicated.”
“Coming out of something bad?” He was frowning now. “Did somebody hurt you?”
“No. Not the way you mean. It was that I had so much else to do.” How much was I willing to share? I wasn’t sure.
“Shall I tell you what I think?”
What, instead of asking me what else I’d had to do? “Do I want to know what you think? Every time you’ve told me so far, it’s been fairly disastrous, hasn’t it?” Danger zone, I tried to tell him. I’m one step from gone.
“Could be, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I think that the kind of man you want scares you, and the kind of man you feel safe with bores you.”
How did he know? And, yes, he was doing it. He was going straight back to sex. Was that all he could talk about? All he could think about? All he was here for? Yes, and you knew it would be, and you came anyway. Because you kept hoping it could be more. Or, worse. Because you wanted it, too. Because part of you wants to be that butterfly.
The next words out of his mouth confirmed my fears. “I know that because I am the kind of man you want. And I scare you, because you haven’t had someone like me before. You know you want it, and you’re not sure you can take it.”
The room wasn’t comfortable anymore, because I didn’t have enough air. I couldn’t get my breath.
Did he turn me on? You bet he did, like no man ever had. And he alarmed me and enraged me, too. You think all those things can’t be happening at the same time? Then you haven’t spent any time in my brain and body. And you haven’t spent any time with Hemi Te Mana.
The waiter reappeared, took away our salad plates, and made a production of setting down more chunky plates arranged with delicate fillets of salmon set on a pool of sauce, tender green beans, and fluffy mashed potatoes in a presentation as beautiful as a painting.
I welcomed the interruption. Hemi was right about one thing. He was too much for me.
“Bloody hell,” Hemi muttered when the waiter had left again, and I felt another surge of foolish hope. “This is why I don’t date.”
“Why?”
“All this—dancing.”
“I know.” The relief made me nearly lightheaded. I hadn’t been wrong to come, and the joy was filling me that he really was trying. “I feel the same way,” I assured him. “But it’s normal, I guess. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s awkward, and it’s what you have to
“Butter lettuce with roasted-tomato vinaigrette,” he murmured. “Bon appetit.”
I looked at Hemi again when the waiter had left, and he got the message.
“Well,” he said. “I’m here, aren’t I. I’m doing this date. I may not be doing it well, but I’m doing it.”
“Yes,” I said, feeling more cheerful. “You are, aren’t you?” I’d give it one more try, if he were going to try, too.
The salad was exactly as good as the wine, and I focused on that, closing my eyes to taste the tang, to feel the contrast of crunchy and soft, sweet and sour.
I swallowed the bite, my eyelids floated open again, and I sighed. Yes. So worth it.
Hemi wasn’t eating. He was watching me, and I could feel myself blushing. I touched my napkin to my mouth and took another sip of wine for confidence.
“Do you feel every experience so intensely?” he asked.
“Umm...doesn’t everybody, if it’s special? If it’s new, and it’s this good?”
“No.” A light smile touched his lips. “Only the lucky ones. And the luckier ones who get to watch them enjoy it. Who get to bring it to them.”
My heart was beating again, and he seemed to check himself. “But I’m forgetting. Or you’re distracting me. It’s your turn.”
“My turn what?” I couldn’t even object, because all that had been was…hot.
“Why aren’t you good at dating?” he prompted.
So he was going to try. That was hopeful. I took another bite of salad while I thought, then took a breath and put myself out there. “My life’s been a little complicated.”
“Coming out of something bad?” He was frowning now. “Did somebody hurt you?”
“No. Not the way you mean. It was that I had so much else to do.” How much was I willing to share? I wasn’t sure.
“Shall I tell you what I think?”
What, instead of asking me what else I’d had to do? “Do I want to know what you think? Every time you’ve told me so far, it’s been fairly disastrous, hasn’t it?” Danger zone, I tried to tell him. I’m one step from gone.
“Could be, but I’m going to tell you anyway. I think that the kind of man you want scares you, and the kind of man you feel safe with bores you.”
How did he know? And, yes, he was doing it. He was going straight back to sex. Was that all he could talk about? All he could think about? All he was here for? Yes, and you knew it would be, and you came anyway. Because you kept hoping it could be more. Or, worse. Because you wanted it, too. Because part of you wants to be that butterfly.
The next words out of his mouth confirmed my fears. “I know that because I am the kind of man you want. And I scare you, because you haven’t had someone like me before. You know you want it, and you’re not sure you can take it.”
The room wasn’t comfortable anymore, because I didn’t have enough air. I couldn’t get my breath.
Did he turn me on? You bet he did, like no man ever had. And he alarmed me and enraged me, too. You think all those things can’t be happening at the same time? Then you haven’t spent any time in my brain and body. And you haven’t spent any time with Hemi Te Mana.
The waiter reappeared, took away our salad plates, and made a production of setting down more chunky plates arranged with delicate fillets of salmon set on a pool of sauce, tender green beans, and fluffy mashed potatoes in a presentation as beautiful as a painting.
I welcomed the interruption. Hemi was right about one thing. He was too much for me.
“Bloody hell,” Hemi muttered when the waiter had left again, and I felt another surge of foolish hope. “This is why I don’t date.”
“Why?”
“All this—dancing.”
“I know.” The relief made me nearly lightheaded. I hadn’t been wrong to come, and the joy was filling me that he really was trying. “I feel the same way,” I assured him. “But it’s normal, I guess. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s awkward, and it’s what you have to
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