When Calls the Dream

Holiday Pt. 3

"So, where are you from?" Mr. Wesley sips a little water, before unfolding his napkin. Apparently I am forgiven for my tardiness, as he gave it no attention when I offered an apology. The smirk that the man give me when I place his wish ornament onto the table. Bill Avery brought us our food himself, a special Christmas brunch. Greasy fried potatoes, squeezed orange juice, buttered toast, a boiled egg, and crispy bacon. I requested for it to have an extra crunch. Shoot me if you must.

"I would rather talk about you. I'm not that interesting."

"I disagree, but why do you say that?" The man cuts into his omelet.

"I don't know. Doesn't everyone think their own personal lives are boring?"

"An interesting point." He says, "but since you don't wish to share about yourself, I will oblige the silence, and your preference."

"Share away." My stomach was in need of this sustenance, and I try to pay attention to the man at the opposite side of the table, when I catch a glimpse of Florence. She has that gleam in her eye. Let her gossip; she really is a sweet and caring soul, but this part of her just annoys me, but not enough for me to call her out. I am having brunch with a man, in Abigail's Cafe, and I've never done so before in the short time I have been here. I will be the talk of the town. But what is new on that score?

"I was raised in the state of Wisconsin. I have been searching for a small or growing town to settle down in for inspiration."

"Inspiration?"

"I'm a writer. In fact, you are the most recent inspiration I have had for a novel."

I snort, "So, all of this," I gesture to the decorated table, "is your research? On me?" I regret laughing. I don't want him to get the wrong idea and think that I believe what he does is stupid. That is not the case. I am simply baffled he went to all this trouble, and delusional to think this was anything else but an interview.

"Well, yes, but my main reason is to get to know you better. You intrigue me."

"And what, pray tell, intrigues you so?"

"You are easily distracted when people talk to you because you dispise monotony, and you bury yourself in work to distract yourself from emotions, when in reality, there is something you have left unacknowledged. Set aside. Neglected. One of these days, it will surface at the worst time possible. Best to deal with it now. My guess? A loss of some kind."

I might just spew my orange juice onto his face, but thank the Lord, I am spared that humiliation. "Stalk people much?" I ask.

"I have no need to. People's words and actions have benefit enough, and more accuracy. I am an author, Nyrah. It is my job to analyze a person's behavior."

"Actually, I happen to know, that occupation belongs to a psychiatrist."

He quirks an eyebrow, "And am I correct in assuming that comes from personal experience?" This man. How am I to keep up with his flawless "intellectual prowess?" He must have some sort of extra-sensory gift, or he really is that smart and observant. I don't like it, but now that the game has started, I am hooked, yearning to find more clues. This man. This unusual creature of mystery. A lopsided puzzle piece.

"Sorry, my turn, " I swat away his question with my own, "What are your intentions?"

"To woo you, of course." I scoff. Mixed signals indeed. Is he serious? Although, I cannot fault him for one thing. He is being forward, blunt, direct, which is exactly what I have grown to appreciate, as the hypocrite I can be. He reminds me of Lucas.