Missing Grace(86)

"Hazel," he replied flatly. A line between his brows, which had formed long before tonight, drew her attention.

Done with the celery, she stuck the remaining piece in the dip, leaving it sticking straight up, and took his hand, palm up, into hers. "You should buy me a drink." The tip of her finger traced a broken line that led from just above his wrist in a semi-circle around his thumb.

Pulling his hand back and shoving it into his pocket, he stated, "The drinks are free. The bar is over there."

His words screamed impatience and she wondered if he was always this uptight. She stood her ground with him and looked in the direction he was pointing. "You should offer to get me one. Isn't that the polite thing to do?"

His head jerked back. "You just put your germs in that dip and touched half the food on the table, thus contaminating it, and you're calling me out for not being polite?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'll take a Crown and Coke." Her back was turned to him as she picked up four different cookies to investigate the chip to dough ratio, and then settled on a brownie. She could feel Hazel's gaze and returned to face him. With an ironic smile, she curtsied. "Fine, I'll get my own drink. Since you're here, can I get you something while I'm over there?" 

"No. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Before she left, she asked, "What do you do for money?"

"My profession?" He watched the peculiar girl twirl in front of him. Her skirt ballooned out and brushed against his gray wool-covered legs.

She stopped, smiled, and replied, "No, just in the general sense."

One of his eyes squinted, completely confused by the nonsensical question. "I'm an architect."

Jude's lips pursed, seeming to agree with him. "That makes sense." She left this time while he watched her go, but she didn't walk. She floated. She danced her way in red snow boots through the stiff crowd dressed in suits and evening attire. The girl wearing a chartreuse sundress with little pink flowers embroidered around the bottom in the middle of winter stood out at this party. And captivated him.

There were plenty of people he knew and some he should talk to, but he didn't move from where he stood. He waited for her. Shifting uncomfortably, he was confused as to why he was waiting, but he did.

Jude returned as if they were long lost friends, as if she had no doubt he would still be there, waiting.

Taylor stood next to the girl in the sundress in silence. Her brownie had been eaten, and a cocktail now replaced it in her hand, which she waved flagrantly to the music not noticing-or not caring-that liquid was spilling as she moved.

Finally speaking up, he asked, "How many drinks have you had tonight?" But he really wanted to ask if she was drunk. He had never seen someone so careless before, so carefree before. She twirled again, and he swiftly took the glass from her and set it down on the table. For the safety of the drink, of course.

"This is my first."

His expression may have questioned her answer, but he didn't say anything.

With a small smile, she asked, "What's your name?"

Her current smile was the most contained thing he had witnessed about her tonight, and he found it endearing. "Taylor," he responded. "What's yours?"

"Judith. My family calls me Jude. You can call me Jude, too."

Watching the quirky girl in front of him, he examined everything about her, noting she hadn't even taken a sip of the drink yet. "But we're not family."

Nudging him with her elbow, she laughed. "We're not friends either, but we will be."

"We'll be friends or we'll be family?"

"I don't know," she said, her expression turning thoughtful. "Let's see where the night takes us."

Taylor almost argued that the night wasn't going to be taking them anywhere, but he couldn't. As he stood there, he started feeling a loss of his own senses. Somehow, pretty little Jude made him believe there was a possibility. Her free spirit was contagious, and in the middle of this repressed party, he started to relax. "What do you do, Jude?"

"Well, Hazel," she said with a smirk, "I'm glad you asked."

"Hazel?"

"Your eyes. They're hazel. Did you know that hazel is actually a very rare eye color? Most people think it's just an awkward brown that doesn't have any self-identity. But it does. Your eyes do." She lifted up again to go in for a closer look. "Yep, Rayleigh scattering."

"Rayleigh scattering?" he asked, voluntarily widening his eyes for her to see them better. He finally just took off his glasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He liked to wear them for distance but didn't need them tonight.

She sighed, perplexed. "Hazel. It's just an impossible color."