No Fault of Mine

Chapter Eleven

"I didn't expect that question," he said, studying me. "It's not like we're going to be dating, right?"

"You're stalling," I said, thinking two can play this game. "Besides, do you think you may have misjudged my motivation?"

"Actually, that's a more interesting question." Stan backed up a step and ran his eyes up and down my body...twice.

I draped my arm along the tailgate and was bold enough to straighten my spine and pull my shoulders back. I'm still trying to understand him, and what better way than to see how he interprets that behavior?

"I'll share what I think, but please, let's talk while we walk through this amazing garden."

"Okay, I'm willing to do that, but I may or may not walk away, and if I do, will you agree not to try to stop me?"

"Sure," he said with a nod.

He paid for two at the gate, and we walked into a neatly groomed garden with wide graveled paths. The overall effect took my breath away.

"You asked if I remembered your son's name. Hum...was his name Brant or Brent?" he mused, directing the question to himself. "You said his name once, but I'm unsure which version is correct. If I'd pick, I would choose Brant."

"Right. Now, what about my motivation," I said, satisfied with his answer.

"It would seem that if a man is interested in a woman, he will pay attention to what she says, especially if it's personal, like her child's name. If that's the case, you were testing me."

"Close enough," I said. "And what did it mean when your eyes roamed over my body? I think this gets at your motivation." He laughed, unrestrained and genuine. It was the first time I heard his laugh, and it resonated in my chest.

"I've never had this kind of conversation with anyone, ever," he said. "I like it. If you ask a man what he's thinking, he might dismiss you or lie."

"Don't men tell the truth?" I asked.

"Wouldn't it be the same for both genders? It depends on whether they feel safe, and right now, I don't have anything to lose."

"So, you're not going to lie?" I asked.

"Let's call it misinformation. It's less offensive," he said.

"Same thing," I countered.

We stopped walking, and he looked into my eyes, "Truth. I was looking at you because you're beautiful, but I'm also trying to understand you."

We resumed walking, and I asked, "It's nice that my body communicates, but what has it communicated to you?" I stopped on the Moon Bridge, a footbridge that passed over a narrow stream of water. I leaned against the railing. He stopped across from me, giving me a perfect view of this imposing man. I asked.

"Several things," he said, looking me in the eyes. "You seemed to relax as we talked, you seemed uncertain from time to time, and when I looked at your body from head to toe, I admired you. I thought it was about time that I appreciated you for your directness and how you look."

"I guess I should say thank you, but I know how I look." I let that sink in, then added, "And when I postured, what did that say about me?"