threaded his way across the room to a table with a view. I followed a few steps behind, certain I'd put him off.
'Is this okay?' He indicated the table.
'Yes. Fine. Perfect.' I sat in the chair he held for me. The smile I hoped was polite and friendly didn't seem to be earning me any points. He turned his attention out the large window to the Snohomish River that passes almost at the base of the building.
For lack of a better idea, I copied him, taking in the familiar scenery. The trees along the river bank were leafing out. They looked fresh and new against the river's dark, sinuous current. High clouds edged the last glow of the evening sky off to the west. Stars would soon be visible but, sadly, I knew it wouldn't last. It was a typical, nice, Northwest evening that announced rain was on its way.
'This is a great place to come in the summer,' I said, too chipper. Paul, opposite me at the little table, looked in the direction I'd fluttered my hand. 'They have a jazz band some evenings and it's a nice place to kick back and relax.' Cripes. I not only sounded like a Chamber of Commerce ad, but as if I was planning future dates. 'A little too cold to be out on the deck in April, though.'
He settled back in his chair, elbows on the arm rests, and regarded me in slightly amused silence.
Shoot me now.
I smiled at him. And swallowed.
He smiled back. His Adam's apple bobbed.
The waitress provided a welcomed distraction to what was rapidly becoming a disaster of a date. We ordered our drinks and passed on the appetizers. As I watched her walk away from the table, her white apron ties swinging across her very round butt, it occurred to me soccer might be a good topic. How much worse could I screw up? I plunged on, asking about his team.
'I joined a couple of weeks ago,' he said, plucking a packet of sugar from the little dish on the table and examining it. 'We had an informal league down at the U. Mostly grad students, a few of the staff. It's easier for me to play here since I moved.'
He put the sugar back in its holder and picked up the salt shaker, turning the little glass container in his fingers. I watched, fascinated. He had a magician's hands. Strong and quick. Not a scholar's hands. I wanted to touch them.
'Do you do any sports, other than riding?' he asked.
'No, I'm afraid not.' I tried not fixate on him. 'Juliet is the one who dabbles in different activities. I tend to stick with one thing.' I was so boring.
And I couldn't stop staring. I dragged my gaze to the visual refuge out the window once more. Quick find another category.
I cleared my throat. 'Have you known Eric long?' I glanced at him, then found a tether for my disobedient eyes in the napkin holder. But he hadn't been looking at me, so I snuck another lingering peek at his face. Regular, masculine features-not handsome-pretty like Jonathan, but pleasing. Lean, but not sharp. I could detect his Italian heritage. Silky eyebrows… they had to be soft. Deep-set blue eyes framed by black lashes, fastened on me – oops.
Our drinks arrived, saving me. Paul shifted in his chair. 'Yeah, a while. He took a class from me at the Bothell campus, which is when I found out he worked for my aunt at Copper Creek.' This time he spoke to me instead of the inanimate objects on the table.
'Huh.' I considered this. 'I knew he took some classes. Is he working toward a degree?'
'He's been working on his B.S. for a while. He's majoring in computer science. I expect he'll graduate next year. He just got a bit of extra cash, so he can take classes more regularly now.'
'Juliet never said anything.' In fact, she told me precious little about her relationship with Eric. She used to tell me everything.
'I hope I haven't spoken out of turn.' He drew a line through the condensation on his glass with his index finger then picked up his drink sipped and set it down a little further from him. 'Maybe you'd best not mention anything yet. I'm not sure Delores knows. She depends on him, but he can't support a family on what he makes there – not these days, anyway.'
Whoa. That got my attention. 'A family?'
'I'm guessing.' He rubbed his jaw. 'Eric hasn't said anything, but knowing him, I expect he's making plans.'
'Juliet?'
He nodded. 'Who else? He's had his eye on her for a long time.'
'Ohhhh…' Huh. Something else I didn't know.
Conversation turned slightly more personal. I asked him about his job, my next category of choice. He leaned back in his chair, an elbow on the armrest, and talked about teaching at the university and some of the projects he was involved with. And he smiled. A real smile that animated his eyes. It drew me in, nudging me forward in my chair, tickling my curiosity, rewarding the questions I asked as he talked. I watched his face, his hands, his posture, as he painted vivid images of the places he had been, digging fossils and discovering bits of creatures long dead, that no human had ever seen. His stories seduced me with the suspense of the hunt, transported me to windy mountain sides and dusty deserts, thrilled me when a stroke of luck revealed a dramatic discovery. How lucky his students were to have him for a teacher.
'I'm sorry.' He cut himself off, eyebrows tilted in a worried manner. 'I can get a little long winded. I didn't mean to lecture.'
In the breath before answering, my heart took his picture – his remarkable blue eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the way the edge of his sleeves molded to the muscles in his arms – and I knew I'd have it forever.
'Don't apologize. I've enjoyed every moment. You make me want to rush home and pack for an expedition.' The lines smoothed from his forehead. 'Teaching is important to you, isn't it?'
His eyes softened, like a friend with a shared insight. 'Yes, I suppose it is. Probably one of the more worthwhile occupations I've had in my life. What about you? Do you enjoy what you do?'
'Very much,' I said without hesitation, but a little disappointed to rejoin the world that was not part of his stories. 'I quit my corporate job a couple of years ago. It's not easy to get time off when you're your own boss, but it's a lot more rewarding. Not nearly as exciting as finding dinosaur bones in the wilderness, though.'
A self-conscious chuckle escaped his lips and his gaze shifted to the table top. He rubbed his hand across his mouth.
I traced my fingertip around the lip of my glass. 'The big advantage is having more time to ride since I don't have to deal with the commute anymore. And Uncle Henry finds it easier to fit me into his schedule.' The memory of him touching my hair after Greg's attack surfaced, complete with a vivid flash of fantasy involving Paul's naked body. I felt myself flush, and looked away, making a small diversion out of sipping my drink.
'Henry's quite a man,' Paul said. 'Do you have any ambitions of following in his footsteps?'
'No, I'd never be able to do it. Two Olympic Games, complete with medals, World championships, and countless international competitions. It's a grueling, demanding life.'
'You don't compete?'
'No. Not any more.' The moment the curt words left my lips I realized how unfair my tone was. He had no way of knowing.
But he seemed not to notice. 'Dressage shows aren't like regular horse shows, right? There are individual tests and the horse is judged against a standard instead of against the other competitors? That what Henry told me, if I remember correctly.'
I had to hand it to him, he must have paid attention. I picked up the conversation. He hadn't crossed any line. 'Right. The tests are a series of patterns, done at the walk, trot, and canter, and they vary in difficulty depending on the level the horse and rider are working at.'
'So one arrives at a competition and is handed patterns to memorize?'
'No, thankfully. The tests are published and available to anyone. They get changed once every four years – the year before the Olympic Games.'
'You mean a rider gets to practice the test, and ride it for four years before having to learn a new one? Kind of sounds like cheating.'
I laughed, but he asked good questions. 'You're equating a dressage test with the academic equivalent. This is
