I studied the boy on the right, feeling something stir inside me. I knew his shape, his height. I dropped my gaze and recognized the silver buckles on his boots.
Ursula and I weren’t the only ones hopelessly distracted; fleetingly I noticed how the three girls in the corner had fallen out of their conversation and suddenly looked a lot hungrier than they had been a moment ago. I didn’t blame them. The boys were like something out of a movie.
Without glancing toward us, they glided — yes, glided — over to a window booth and slid in, keeping their attention on their own whispered conversation.
“Can you take this one, hon?” Ursula sighed. “I don’t think I can stand next to them. It’s too depressing.” She made her way across the diner to tend to the girls in the corner instead.
My midnight encounter had seemed like little more than a bad dream, but now that Shadow Boy was here, I realized I would have to confront the reality of the situation — he was Mount Olympus, I was Gracewell’s Diner, and I still had no idea why he knocked me over. With any luck, there was every chance he wouldn’t even recognize me.
Although their distinct appearances and obvious similarities had led me to assume they were brothers, the fact that they were speaking Italian when I approached their table confirmed it — it was that same lilting dialect that Shadow Boy had spoken to me.
“Hi, my name is Sophie and I’ll be your server this evening,” I rhymed off briskly, handing them each a menu.
Shadow Boy snapped out of his conversation. He turned and, up close, he was younger than I expected — still older than me, maybe, with chestnut brown hair that curled beneath his ears and dark, almond-shaped eyes flecked with gold. I was struck just then, not by his handsomeness, but by his familiarity. I couldn’t shake the sense that I had seen his face before — long ago — and though it was undeniably handsome, I had the unpleasant compulsion to look away from him. I tried to blink myself out of it. He had just thrown me off. If I had seen him before, I wouldn’t have forgotten him.
“Sophie,” he said quietly, meeting my gaze. “I think we met the other night.”
My face fell. I folded my hands in front of my body as his eyes searched mine with an intensity I was completely unused to. His brother, who seemed completely disinterested in our exchange, was studying his menu in silence.
Shadow Boy smiled. “I was just trying to help you up, you know.”
“Ah,” I said, returning what I hoped was a nonchalant expression. “You mean from where you put me in the first place? How kind of you.”
If he was affronted, he didn’t show it. “You stopped running so quickly I didn’t have time to slow down … And I did try to apologize, but, if I recall, you ran away.”
I smiled awkwardly. “I may have overreacted …”
“No harm, no foul,” he offered, holding his hands in the air. “But are you always so defensive?”
“That depends, are you always so … assaulty?”
“Non lo so,” he said quietly, and across from him, his brother, who had been concentrating on his menu, released a low chuckle. I was struck by how effortlessly he moved between both languages, and slightly curious about whatever amusement was passing between them.
“That’s a loaded question,” Shadow Boy continued after a beat, as if sensing my annoyance. He furrowed his brows and leaned across the table. “I am sorry about the whole thing, Sophie. I just wanted to ask you something. But then you stopped running so abruptly and …” He trailed off, doing his best to look ashamed of himself.
“There was a cat, and I didn’t want to trample it.”
“Ah, I see.”
“But then you went ahead and tried to trample me, so I’m not sure it was worth it.”
“I told you,” he said conspiratorially, “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Do you always ask your questions so aggressively? I’m not sure you’d make an effective interrogator.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded with a small smile. “But I’m too impatient for that line of work anyway.”
I zeroed in on the golden flecks in his dark eyes, trying not to lose my train of thought. There was just something about them … “So what’s the question?”
“Well,” he said. “At first I wanted to know why you were spying on my house. And then I started to wonder why you suddenly decided not to stick around when I noticed you?”
He wasn’t smiling anymore; he was studying me and I understood what he meant — he knew I had been running away and he knew I was scared of him. But now, looking at him, I couldn’t remember why I had felt that way.