“I… uh…” She stared into his flaming gaze but then had to look away. Definitely terrifying. Her heart pounded and her hand shook as she stalled by sipping her coffee. “It must be my shampoo,” she stammered out.
Kerrigan wrapped her arms around her middle and stared out the window, planning the best way out of this strange situation.
Trager slowly sat back, sighed, and gulped his drink while the silence stretched between them.
“Do you wash your hair with fir tree needles?”
The question was absurd enough to make her snicker. “No, why?”
She glanced at him. His eyes twinkled. The intensity was gone, all the desire that had blazed from his eyes and licked at her skin. He hardly seemed terrifying now, and the change shocked her. “That’s what you smell like. The forest and fresh flowers.”
It should have been the creepiest comment but somehow, it actually set her at ease. He wasn’t attracted to her. He was messing with her. Teasing. This, she could handle.
She let out a relieved laugh. “I burn a lot of candles.”
His lips quirked but he ducked his head for another drink of coffee, just as casual as could be. Kerrigan relaxed in her chair.
“So…” Small talk was what they needed, and she was pretty good at that. “What does a guy like you do on a Saturday?”
He raised a dark eyebrow. “A guy like me?”
“Yeah, a guy like you.”
Trager frowned. “You say that like you know exactly what kind of guy I am.”
She shrugged. “I mean, I don’t know. But I can guess.”
“Alright then.” He sat back in his chair. The movement caused his black tee shirt to pull tight over his chest. “Give it your best shot.”
The door chimed as a couple walked in. Their arms were glued to each other’s waist. A familiar pang tapped her heart, but she ignored it. It always went away if she ignored it.
She set her elbows on the table and pretended to examine Trager. “Well, let’s see. You clearly enjoy the thrill of danger, as is evident from the fact that you own a motorcycle—“
“Owned,” he said. “Past tense.”
“You have a job as a mechanic—“
“Construction.”
“You prefer blondes—“
“Brunettes.”
“You frequent bars and clubs—“
“So?”
“You’re completely wild. The thought of settling down gives you hives. Commitment is something you can’t even begin to comprehend.” The disdain in her voice was palpable so she tried to tone it down a notch. “I’m guessing you’re a loner, but I bet… I bet you didn’t go home last night.”
His mouth hung open. She kind of hoped she was wrong about that last part, but no. The evidence was in his dropped jaw. The satisfaction from having pegged him right and the disappointment that he was involved with someone else co-mingled. Or… maybe he wasn’t involved with anyone. Maybe it was a one and done. Except that really didn’t make her feel any better either.
“True, I am wild.” He smirked. “Most women like that about me. The thought of settling down fills me with so many emotions I can’t even name them all, but it does not give me hives. Commitment is definitely a concept I understand. To a fault, actually. And I was out all night, but it wasn’t anything close to what you’re imagining. But now that we’ve got me all figured out, what does a woman like you do on a Saturday?”
A woman like her. Yeah, she could see why he’d taken offense to the statement. But now she was dying to know what he thought he knew about her.
“A woman like me… goes to the farmer’s market. That’s where I’m heading after this.”
He nodded. “The farmer’s market. Sounds about right.”
“Have you ever been?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
She expected him to say more but he just stared. His eyes were the deepest blue, and it seemed like they could see so much more than what she really wanted to show him.
“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to take your turn? Let’s see if your ideas about ‘a girl like me’ are correct.”
Running his hand along his jaw, he sighed. “I really only know two things about you.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re extremely judgmental and you don’t like motorcycles. But…” He imitated her stance with his elbows on the table. “If I had to guess… I’d say, you’re very organized, responsible, level-headed. A rule follower—“
“So, you imagine I’m boring then.”
“—on the outside. But inside, it’s total chaos. A wild tornado. You worry, you fret, you wish for more. You care too hard, too much, and probably don’t get the same dedication in return. Inside, you burn hot, passionate, but you’ve never shown that to anyone because it’s safer not to. So, you button everything up with your sweet little cardigans and good-girl beige pants, and stick to yourself. Oh, one more thing, I bet you read those trashy romance novels, don’t you?”