Read Online Lost by Sarah Ann Walker - Free Book Online

in front of us, which Peter again split, placing half on his own plate while pushing the new plate toward me.
  “I don't know what you mean,” I said a little shaken again by his candor.
  Staring right into my eyes, Peter said softly, “You are very beautiful Sophie.”  What?  My head was spinning. “You're like the perfect package- intelligent, highly motivated, blonde, great body, green eyes-”
  “Blue eyes,” I corrected.  It was such a surreal moment for me I couldn't believe I interrupted him.
  “Your blue irises have amber in them making them appear green in this lighting.  So to me they'll always be green.  I really want to hold your face in my palm,” he whispered. Pausing again after he spoke, all I thought as he stared at me was what the hell?
  Confused, we looked at each other until he finally did just that.  Lifting and moving his hand to my face he gently cupped my cheek, and I actually found myself looking at him as my head tilted for a better fit in his palm.  Who the hell I was in that moment I didn't know.
  “You're so warm,” he whispered.
  “I know.  I'm always like a furnace.” I actually said furnace like an idiot which almost made me laugh at myself again.
  “Tell me what you love,” he asked suddenly as he moved his hand back to his glass of water.
  “What I love?  Um, my family and friends, my job, my brother, I don't know.  What do you mean?” 
  “I mean what do you love?  Coffee?  Flowers?  Puppies?  Moonlit walks?  Music?  Poetry?  What do you love?”
  As I stared at Peter, honest to god, part of me wanted to say him in that exact moment.  But obviously I wouldn't dare, and I didn't really.  There was just something so unreal about him, he acted like no other man I had ever known.  He was like no other man I had ever known.  There was something so intriguing about Peter that I found myself feeling an internal pull toward him.  My body was actually humming with the excitement I felt for him.
  “I love many things. I don't know.  My brother mostly, I guess,” I looked at Peter as he prompted me to go on with a head nod.  “I love music, sure, but not country.  I only like a few poets, but I love Leonard Cohen for some strange reason, especially his novel Beautiful Losers though I don't like his music as much.  I love candles and candle holders, a little too much actually.  You should see my place,” I grinned.  “And I love watching life and participating in it whenever I can.”  I said, thinking at the time what a weird thing to say.
  “You're so beautiful, Sophie,” he said again and I suddenly felt annoyed.
  “So you've said.  I know, my perfect fake nails and my highlighted hair are beautiful.  I get it.”
  “Um, no, though you look very nice, that isn't what I meant at all.  When you said you enjoyed watching life and participating whenever you could, I thought you sounded beautiful.  You sound like an old soul wrapped in a gorgeous package.  I wasn't trying to offend you; the opposite actually. I wanted you to know I found your words beautiful.”
  Exhaling again, I knew I sounded like an idiot, so I tried to fix it. 
      “You didn't offend me, I'm sorry.  My looks are just annoying to me.  I’ve found myself over the years trying to overcompensate my looks with anything and everything I could intellectually, so people didn't assume I was a moron.  My looks are a hang up for me, which sounds stupid I know, but they just are. My parents made Steven and I work for everything we had, no shortcuts ever.  So when people assume I had it easy, or maybe used my looks to get ahead, I feel insulted and almost defensive.  I can honestly say I don't care about looks at all.  I've never been attracted to a man who was simply good looking, because I feel like looks don't count or something in a relationship.  Um, I can't explain it.”
  “You just did, quite eloquently.  If it