Читать книгу The Perfect Husband: A nail biting gripping psychological thriller - Buffy Andrews - Страница 12

Chapter 4

As soon as I arrived at the office the next morning, I found out my client needed to move back the showing by two hours. I looked down at the black skirt and white blouse I was wearing, knowing I’d no longer have time to shower and change before meeting Eric. It wasn’t exactly the look I was going for, but it’d have to do. The listing agent called to tell me the buyers had accepted the Randalls’ offer. I called the Randalls right away to deliver the good news. Maybe this was a sign of more good things to come.

The day dragged on. I caught myself checking the clock every thirty minutes. I couldn’t remember the last time I was this excited and nervous.

After showing my clients the property, I headed to the restaurant and slid into the restroom to freshen up. I pulled out my hair clip and bent over, running my fingers through my long chestnut strands. When I stood, my hair fell across my back and I brought the sides forward so they fell softly over my shoulders.

I stared into the mirror and touched up my smoky eye shadow. I used to hate my amber eyes, wishing instead for green or blue. But I’d grown quite fond of them over the years. It occurred to me that I looked more and more like my mother with time. She, too, had golden eyes and red-brown hair with orange undertones. I never knew my father. Mom and him never married. He died in a motorcycle accident before I was born. I asked Mom about him a time or two, but she never wanted to talk about him.

I pulled the lip gloss wand out of my purse and slid it over my lips, then mashed them together. This is as good as you’re going to look, Shelly!

My heart pounded as I walked into the restaurant lobby. I felt as if the photos of famous Italian composers hanging on the wooden paneled walls were staring at me. ‘O Sole Mio’ played softly in the background. I looked around, wondering if the guy in the black suit with the leather satchel checking in with the maître d’ was Eric. He turned around and smiled. ‘Shelly?’

He was even more handsome in person – tall with sandy blonde hair and bluish-steel eyes, the color of storm clouds right before lightning strikes.

I nodded and he walked over. ‘Hi, Eric.’

He smiled. ‘Finally, we meet in person. Your online profile photo doesn’t do you justice,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ My insides tingled. I felt excited and scared at the same time. I wanted to tell him the same, but I didn’t want him to think I was only saying it because he did.

The maître d’ escorted us to our table, tucked in the back corner of the dimly lit dining room and Eric pulled out the chair for me. Good manners, a definite plus!

Eric sat down, placing his satchel next to his chair, and ordered a bottle of wine. Takes control of the situation. A man who knows what he wants.

‘I can’t believe we’re finally sitting across from one another,’ he said. ‘I’ve thought about this moment since our first text.’

I smiled. ‘So how was the drive here?’

‘Not bad. Two hours went fast.’

My pulse slowed a bit. I was in a familiar place and I knew that if things went south, I’d be rescued in about an hour when Jackie called. Eric opened his menu and I did the same. I glanced down at a familiar list of entrees. I always plan to try something new when I eat at Bella’s, but it seems I always fall back on my favorite – chicken piccata.

I looked up from the menu to find Eric staring at me. ‘You look beautiful tonight.’

My cheeks grew warm as I felt the dopamine rush of a new romance. ‘Thank you.’

‘Do you know what you want?’ Eric asked.

‘Everything here is fabulous, but I’m going with the chicken piccata. How about you?’

‘I was thinking about trying the pork sofrito. It sounds good.’

‘It is good.’

The waiter returned with the bottle of Pinot Grigio Eric had ordered and took our order.

‘We’ll have the bruschetta pomodoro and beet salads to start,’ Eric said. ‘My lovely date will have chicken piccata and I will have the pork sofrito.’

We settled into easy conversation and little by little my pulse slowed.

After enjoying the bruschetta pomodoro, the waiter served our beet salads.

‘I think this is the best beet salad I’ve ever had,’ Eric said.

I picked up my wine glass. ‘It’s delicious but not as good as my grandma’s. She made the best.’

Eric smiled. ‘Tell me about your family.’

‘There’s actually not that much to tell.’ I sat my wine glass down. ‘I have no siblings and my mother was a single parent.’

Eric’s eyelids closed for a millisecond, as if he was trying to imagine me as a child. ‘So no brothers or sisters? Or dad?’

I nodded. ‘That’s right. Just me, Mom and Grandma. Now they’re gone and it’s just me.’ I blinked, trying to keep the tears I felt coming at bay. I usually didn’t tear up when I talked about my family. Maybe the wine was making me a bit melancholy.

Eric sat back in his seat. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

I retrieved a tissue from my purse and dabbed the corners of my eyes. ‘But I have a best friend and she’s like family. Jackie and I have known each other since kindergarten.’

‘I bet you were a precocious child,’ Eric teased.

I shrugged. ‘Maybe a little.’

‘I’d love to hear about your childhood. What was it like. What were you like?’

I hadn’t expected his question so I wasn’t prepared to answer quickly. I had to think about it. I chewed on my lower lip. ‘Definitely a tomboy. I loved playing basketball. My mom enrolled me in ballet classes, but I was as graceful as a groundhog. I was more comfortable with a ball in my hands.’

Eric chuckled. ‘What sports did you play besides basketball?’

‘Baseball and soccer. And I was very competitive. I hated to lose.’

‘Do you still play?’

‘Oh gosh no. The last time I hit or kicked or sunk a ball, I was wearing training bras and braces.’

Eric laughed. ‘Well, we should play sometime. If you don’t mind losing, that is.’

I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. ‘Why, Mr Talbot, are you challenging me?’

‘Why not? It might be fun to play you at horse and see who wins. That is, if you’re up to the challenge.’

I held out my hand. ‘Challenge accepted.’

My cell phone rang. It was Jackie. I excused myself and went to the restroom.

‘So, how’s it going?’ Jackie asked.

‘So far, so good. He’s good-looking, even better than his photo online. He just challenged me to a game of horse.’

‘Horse? As in basketball?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. It sounds like you don’t need to be rescued. Call me when you get home. I want to hear everything!’

I returned to the table just as the waiter arrived with our main entrees. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ he asked.

Eric looked at me and I shook my head.

‘I think we’re fine for now,’ Eric said. ‘Thanks.’

We settled back into easy conversation between bites. ‘So, now that you know I was a tomboy, what were you like as a kid?’

‘I wasn’t into team sports as much as you,’ Eric said. ‘Not that I never played, but I preferred fishing, hunting, riding horses and other outdoor activities. And I loved to read. I did a lot of that.’

‘A reader, huh? What did you read?’

Eric shrugged. ‘The usual stuff. I especially liked scary books. Still do.’

I scrunched my face. ‘I hate scary books. Jackie gave me one to read once and I couldn’t get past the first chapter. I hate being scared.’

‘What types of things scare you?’

‘I hate snakes and spiders but most of all I hate clowns.’

Eric laughed. ‘Clowns. Really?’

‘Yes, really. They’re creepy.’ I felt a strong need to convey the seriousness of my answer, however stupid it seemed. ‘Clowns have paint on their faces and you have no idea who they are. And their red cheeks are the scariest. You can never guess their intentions because of the masks they wear.’

‘Have you ever gone to the circus?’ Eric asked. ‘Those are nice clowns, right? They aren’t scary.’

‘All clowns are scary,’ I said. ‘What about you? Are you scared of anything?’

‘Hmm. Not really.’

‘There’s nothing that scares you?’ I pressed for an answer. Eric rubbed his neck. ‘Well, maybe one thing. Depths.’

‘Depths? Why depths?’

‘When I was young, I dove for sand dollars in the Caribbean. Once, I dived too deep and struggled to return to the surface. I thought I was going to die. After that, I never dove again. I tried to, but I’d break out in sweat just thinking about it. I hated the idea of not being in control. I always thought I’d like to learn how to scuba dive, but there’s no way I’d be able to. That traumatic experience ruined me for life.’

‘Sounds frightening.’

‘It was, especially for a ten-year-old.’

‘Did you go to the Caribbean a lot growing up?’

He nodded. ‘My parents had a house on St John island.’

‘Wow! St John has beautiful beaches. I was there once a long time ago. Do your parents still have the house?’

Eric shook his head. ‘My parents died a few years ago. They sold the house when I went to college.’

‘Do you have any siblings?’

‘No, only child like you. My parents didn’t have me until they were in their early forties. Mom didn’t think she could have children and then I came along.’

‘That must have been a surprise!’

‘Sure was.’

We continued our conversation over coffee and when I checked my phone, I was surprised to realize we’d been there for nearly four hours.

‘I should be going,’ I said. ‘I have some work to do when I get home.’

Eric paid the waiter and we walked out of the restaurant together. ‘Thank you for dinner,’ I said. ‘It was great seeing you in person, much better than texting.’

Eric stopped. ‘You don’t like texting?’

I shrugged. ‘It’s okay. I know it’s how most people communicate these days, but I prefer talking on the phone or in person.’

Eric smiled. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. And I hope to see you again, soon.’

I raked my front teeth over my lower lip. ‘I’d like that.’

Eric wrapped his arms around me. I hadn’t been expecting a hug and I wobbled a bit. The butterflies in my stomach took flight again and for a couple of seconds I didn’t want him to let go. I felt warm and safe in his embrace.

My entire drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about Eric. The way his dimples popped when he smiled. The way he listened more than he talked. He seemed so gentle and kind. And he was so easy to talk to. Maybe Jackie was right. Maybe this would be the one I’d shave my legs for.