No Fault of Mine

Chapter Sixteen

 "Hey, wait," I said. "I wasn't suggesting lunch. I thought we might...you know, talk on the phone." I loved his suggestion. What was not to like? My goodness, yummy Italian food, and a gorgeous man? But I didn't want him to think I was hinting at anything other than a phone call. But I sure hoped he wouldn't settle for just a phone conversation.

"Talking is the point, isn't it?" he said. "Once I watched your expressions—your eyes—while we talked on the bridge yesterday, I felt I was getting to know you. I'd like to repeat that."

"My eyes?" I asked incredulously. "I didn't expect that."

"Well, if your body communicates the inner you, your eyes are the oases that reflect your emotions."

"Oases? Really? Who says that?" Despite my nonplussed reaction, my heart jumped, and I'm sure my neck and face turned the shade of this morning's sunrise.

"Does it matter if it's true?" His voice was like the sound of wine carefully poured into a glass.

"Our lives nearly ended two days ago," I said. "You might think twice about being with me."

"I have," he said, "and you're all I can think about."

A hot wave swept through my body, flooding me with emotions. I felt a strong urge to end the call until my internal chaos subsided, but fear I may not have this chance again won out. Mustering all my strength, I tried not to sound unnerved when I asked, "What did you have in mind?" Taking advantage of his invitation was a no-brainer. Literally. There was no brain about it; it was all emotion.

"To be upfront with you, I'm not a fine wine and gourmet food sort of guy."

"I'd thought as much," I said, trying to get control of my breath. "Are you more an organic salad, avocado, and humus sort of guy?"

"I'm somewhere in between," he said. "I know this little family-owned restaurant tucked away in downtown Vancouver. They specialize in old-world Italian food. What do you think?"

"Sounds interesting," I said.

"You'll like the quaint setting, and the service is old world, too." His voice lightened, suggesting enthusiasm. "I can pick you up in an hour."

"I'd appreciate a lift," I said. "The doc advised I not drive for a couple of days." Though my words didn't indicate it, deciding to give up my car was a struggle. My car is my freedom; I can just drive away if necessary. But Pia was right. My forty-eight hours weren't up, and I didn't want my lack of discretion to cause an accident that would complicate someone else's life.

My emotions fluctuated between "I can hardly wait" and "What did I do?" as I walked back to the apartment. Having lunch with him piqued my emotions in ways I'd not felt in ten years. But I also felt vulnerable. As soon as our conversation ended, my fears rose, pushing against my desire to be with him.

Maybe he's not who he says he is.

But if that was the case, why would they shoot at him? My rational mind said, Yeah, that's craziness, but my world had turned crazy, so why wouldn't I suspect the worst?

I took ahold of the doorknob and thrust it open.

"Well, I did it," I said as I entered the apartment. I decided I may as well get to the meat of the matter rather than be evasive. My sister had a way of getting the truth out of me, and I learned long ago that beating around the bush only delayed the inevitable.