Every time he loves me

Chapter 2: Estelle

I never expected to be asked out after spilling hot coffee on someone.

I also swore never to just give out my number.

But Damien felt... kind. Familiar. So I broke my rule for him.

He was tall, with dark wavy hair cut in a shag and deep brown eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. He was pale, wearing a tight black vest, slacks, and a white button down with sleeves that ruffled at the wrists.

He looked like he stepped out of an old fashioned vampire novel. And the best part was that his accent was ever so slightly British.

So when he called me the next morning, I jumped at the opportunity for a date. We met at eleven, at my favorite park by the pond.

I learned a lot about Damien that day. First, his favorite color was blood red. He was in the army in his early adulthood and actively fought, had a black belt in taekwondo, and owns a cat named Midnight. He was an English major in college and writes poetry.

We also had a scary amount of things in common; we shared a favorite number (9), we went to the same college (Harvard), we both liked painting and classic literature, and we both had older siblings that died young. Despite his claim that it wasn't very historically accurate, we also shared a favorite movie; Titanic

I saw no red flags. He seemed to be polite, kind, pure. He gave me butterflies when he talked to me in his low, gravelly voice, and talking to him was easy. I didn't feel like I had to try when I was with him. When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the edges, and his laugh was better than music.

The next few dates were just as amazing. He had a dark sense of humor, which made teasing quite fun with my sassy retorts. He was a terrible flirt, but it was actually quite amusing, especially when he got all flustered when I flirted in return.

After four months and thirteen dates, we made it official. We had been at the park painting when he asked me, and later we took a walk down the path by the pond, basking in the late August sunlight. Neither of us could stop smiling, until he stopped me and pulled me closer.

"Estelle, I haven't been completely honest with you." He looked at me with guilt in his eyes.

Oh no. He has a wife. Or maybe he's a murderer. Maybe he's undercover for the CIA.

"You're not going to believe me, Ellie, but if you want to leave me after this I understand. Some people think it's weird."

Definitely has a wife.

"I was born in 1617."

I'd rather he had a wife.