Lost (6 page)

  “Her husband is a terrific guy and he shook my hand, invited me over for dinner, which I went to, and we all had a great time.  I've spoken to her a few times this year as friends, with her husband in the background yelling she’s a pain in the ass and for me to come over and take her back, joking of course.  So that's it.  That's how Patricia and I were engaged, but never close to marriage, and how we ended up as friends,” he smiled a little and stopped.
  Looking at his sandwich which had been placed in front of him while he spoke to me, Peter seemed to be in a different place for a moment, so I let him be.  I knew that place well- the one where you say what's expected of you but you feel like there's something else inside you that you wish you could say as well.
  After a bite of his sandwich, Peter's focus turned back to me, and he asked me if I wanted a bite of his sandwich, which I did.  Unbelievably, I leaned over the table as Peter brought the sandwich up for me to bite.
  Laughing at myself, I was embarrassed as I chewed.  “I have
no
idea what prompted that.  Other than my brother, I don't think I've ever taken a bite of someone's sandwich before.  I'm sorry,” I mumbled while chewing with my hand hiding my mouth.
  “No problem.  It was kind of sexy, though I would have preferred strawberries or something equally as juicy to lick off your chin.  But it was sexy nonetheless,” he grinned, making me laugh again.
  Standing up, he walked to the bar and came back with another coffee for me and a glass of water for himself.  Once back, he laid a napkin down and put the uneaten half sandwich in front of me, telling me to please eat with a gentle tone.
  “Your turn.  Tell me about you,” he smirked at my groan. 
  “I'm 24, with only one brother, a twin brother actually.  My parents are alive and well and disgustingly in love with each other which is pretty awe-inspiring, but gross for Steven and I to watch.  I lived in the same house since birth until I moved out.  And I'm the better twin,” I said with a wink.  “I have friends, a nice apartment, and now my career is starting, so I feel pretty happy right now.”
  Nodding, Peter asked, “Have you felt pretty unhappy
not
now?”
  “What…?  No, I've been fine.  Why?”
  “It was just the way you said you feel pretty happy
right now
, it sounded like you've felt unhappy before.”
  “No, I've always been very happy and secure in life.  I know exactly who I am and what I want.  So, no, I've never been unhappy.”
  “Really?  Wow.  You’re amazing then,” he looked up as the waitress placed another BLT in front of us, which Peter again split, placing half on his own plate while pushing the new plate toward me.
  “I don't know what you mean,” I said a little shaken again by his candor.
  Staring right into my eyes, Peter said softly, “You are very beautiful Sophie.”  What?  My head was spinning. “You're like the perfect package- intelligent, highly motivated, blonde, great body, green eyes-”
  “Blue eyes,” I corrected.  It was such a surreal moment for me I couldn't believe I interrupted him.
  “Your blue irises have amber in them making them appear green in this lighting.  So to me they'll always be green.  I really want to hold your face in my palm,” he whispered. Pausing again after he spoke, all I thought as he stared at me was
what the hell?
  Confused, we looked at each other until he finally did just that.  Lifting and moving his hand to my face he gently cupped my cheek, and I actually found myself looking at him as my head tilted for a better fit in his palm.  Who the hell I was in that moment I didn't know.
  “You're so warm,” he whispered.
  “I know.  I'm always like a furnace.” I actually said furnace like an idiot which almost made me laugh at myself again.
  “Tell me what you love,” he asked suddenly as he moved his hand back to his glass of water.
  “What I love?  Um, my family and friends, my job, my brother, I don't know.  What do you mean?” 
  “I mean what do you love?  Coffee?  Flowers?  Puppies?  Moonlit walks?  Music?  Poetry?  What do you love?”
  As I stared at Peter, honest to god, part of me wanted to say him in that exact moment.  But obviously I wouldn't dare, and I didn't really.  There was just something so unreal about him, he acted like no other man I had ever known.  He
was
like no other man I had ever known.  There was something so intriguing about Peter that I found myself feeling an internal pull toward him.  My body was actually humming with the excitement I felt for him.
  “I love many things. I don't know.  My brother mostly, I guess,” I looked at Peter as he prompted me to go on with a head nod.  “I love music, sure, but not country.  I only like a few poets, but I love Leonard Cohen for some strange reason, especially his novel Beautiful Losers though I don't like his music as much.  I love candles and candle holders, a little too much actually.  You should see my place,” I grinned.  “And I love watching life and participating in it whenever I can.”  I said, thinking at the time what a weird thing to say.
  “You're so beautiful, Sophie,” he said again and I suddenly felt annoyed.
  “So you've said.  I know, my perfect fake nails and my highlighted hair are beautiful.  I get it.”
  “Um, no, though you look very nice, that isn't what I meant at all.  When you said you enjoyed watching life and participating whenever you could, I thought you sounded beautiful.  You sound like an old soul wrapped in a gorgeous package.  I wasn't trying to offend you; the opposite actually. I wanted you to know I found your
words
beautiful.”
  Exhaling again, I knew I sounded like an idiot, so I tried to fix it. 

  “You didn't offend me, I'm sorry.  My looks are just annoying to me.  I’ve found myself over the years trying to overcompensate my looks with anything and everything I could intellectually, so people didn't assume I was a moron.  My looks are a hang up for me, which sounds stupid I know, but they just are. My parents made Steven and I work for everything we had, no shortcuts ever.  So when people assume I had it easy, or maybe used my looks to get ahead, I feel insulted and almost defensive.  I can honestly say I don't care about looks at all.  I've never been attracted to a man who was simply good looking, because I feel like looks don't count or something in a relationship.  Um, I can't explain it.”
  “You just did, quite eloquently.  If it helps, I find you butt ugly,” he said so seriously I couldn't help but gasp and start laughing.
  “Butt ugly, huh?  So these killer jeans and sexy red sweater, which I look fabulous in by the way, doesn't do anything for you?” I asked grinning.
  “Nope.  Would you like anything else to eat?” He asked changing the subject while I found myself almost fishing for a compliment from him.
  “No, I'm good.”
  “Who were you with Friday night?” He asked making my head spin again from another subject change.
  “Oh, my brother, Steven.  We were celebrating my first week of work.”
  “Really?  Do you always drink so much when you're with your brother?” He again asked way too seriously.
  “If I feel like it, yes.  Why?  It's really none of your business how much I do or don't drink, is it?”  I felt totally defensive of Steven as I tried to stare down Peter.
  “No, it's not.  I'm sorry.  I just thought it was weird seeing you stumble down the street the way you were with him.  It seemed so out of character for someone as self-possessed as you come across.  I didn't take you for a get hammered on a Friday night kind of woman.”
  “I'm not.  But again, we were celebrating and we had fun, and I'll drink when I want to.  How much did
you
drink with your sister that night?” Jesus, Peter made me feel like I was PMSing with my mood swings.
  “I don't drink.  So, none.”

  “
Never?
”
  “No... I don't like to feel out of control.  Plus I was a sloppy drunk when I was younger.  I wasn't able to stop before passing out or throwing up, which was a drag for my friends who had to carry me around or drop me off on my parent’s front steps.  Once, I had this close call when my friends didn't know I had left a bar without them, until I walked home and tried to break into my neighbor's house to go to sleep.  Incidentally, I was only 20, so I stopped drinking young enough to never be one of those 20-something idiots who always makes an ass of themselves when drinking with their buddies.”
  “Do you have a drinking problem?” 
  “I don't think so.  I'm just a sloppy drunk, so I don't drink, which doesn't really seem like a drinking problem.  Does it?”
  “I guess not.  But does it bother you when other people drink?”  I felt like I should understand this alcohol issue clearly before we continued.
  “Not at all.  I'm usually the designated driver, so I'm quite popular with my friends and sisters on the weekends,” he said smiling.
  And for some reason I felt like I needed to justify my drinking to him.  I wasn’t sure why, but I just blurted out, “I don't drink often, Peter.  I only did this weekend for fun.  I had a lot going on and I said hello
and
goodbye to many people this week, so I needed to let loose a little.  But really, I don't drink often,” I said almost begging him to understand.
  “It wouldn't matter if you did, I'd take care of you anyway.” Oh my god, he stunned me with that one sentence.
  “Um... I don't need anyone to take care of me.  But thanks.”
  “Well, I would anyway.  Do you want to go for a walk?”
  “Okay...” I heard myself say through my muddled brain.
  Once bundled up, we went for a walk together.  I was lucky the sidewalks were nice and clear because though my leather boots were awesome to look at, they very much lacked any traction.  But Peter seemed to sense I may land on my ass at any moment anyway, so he took my hand and pulled it through the crook of his arm, which was very sweet, and somewhat otherworldly for sure.
  We walked down the main strip of the village with Peter explaining many of the pubs and restaurants beginnings and pasts.  He had lived around the corner since he bought his house at 23, so he'd seen a few changes in the last 8 years.
  Peter pointed out the flower shop with my blue roses, and he showed me a little dive, junk store which outside looked like a dumpster but inside had thousands of knick-knacks, collectible antiques, and trendy little pieces that I loved.
  And within seconds of entering Pandora's I found an amazing set of candle holders I had to have.  They were awesome blown glass male and female Art Deco-like candle holders with dark colors throughout.  Peter even joked he wished he had seen them first so he could’ve snatched them up before I did. 
  After Pandora's we walked past the shops and landed at a little chocolatier as I died- absolutely
died.
  Everything I could have ever imagined as chocolate they had. 
Everything…

  Reserved, mature, professional Sophie left the building the second we walked in as I smiled.  I was like a PMS to the extreme, hormonal basket case.  Looking at every single shelf, opened and closed, I almost chose a hundred things to buy. 

  After the woman behind the counter offered me a piece of chocolate, I moaned out loud as I nodded I'd take it.  Even when Peter looked at me with a funny grin, I didn't care what he thought because I was surrounded by chocolate.  Special, beautiful, handmade
chocolate.
  When I finally came back down from my high I realized I had been staring at everything for so long, Peter was leaning against the wall near the door.  Feeling totally embarrassed when he grinned at me, I finally just asked what the best was, and I was lead to the expensive section under the glass counter, where I found my ultimate- dark chocolate with sea salt, my absolute favorite. 

  Dark chocolate I loved, but with sea salt I was in heaven.  Looking at the different weights, I finally just pointed out a friggin' slab.  Like the whole slab.  An awesome slab which totaled $80.00 dollars but I didn't care.
  After the slab, I finally picked a box of hot chocolate packets and asked for 2 hot chocolates to go as Peter finally joined me at the counter offering to pay, which I vehemently declined.  I lied and told him half the slab was a Christmas gift for my mother, and though I think he knew I was full of shit he didn't press me further, he just smirked at me.
  Eventually walking out of the Chocolatier, I handed him his hot chocolate as he smiled at me like I was scary.
  “Was I really that bad?” I couldn't help but ask giggling.
  “Um, you were a little scary for sure.  I thought it best to stay out of your way beside the door with easy access to the street should you start snarling or growling,” he said way too seriously as I laughed.
  “I don't think I would have hurt you much, I promise.  But you have no idea how delicious and awesome it feels savoring a piece of dark chocolate only to have a little salt granule crunch between your teeth.  It is the best, most delicious experience ever,” I teased right back, leaning my head against his shoulder feeling so happy in that moment. 
  I was happy with my chocolate, of course.  But I just felt happy.  I felt like we had the best first date ever.  Well, I hoped first date, because after my performance over the chocolate I may have scared him away forever.
  But he smiled and wrapped one arm around my back, holding my chocolate slab and candle holder bags in the hand with his hot chocolate so he could hold me to his side.
  When we made it back to Murphy's, Peter asked if he could walk me home, and I agreed.  It was close to 4:00, my feet were killing me, I had laundry to do, and it was the best Sunday I had had in years. 
  We made small talk on the walk home, and I learned more and more about Peter.  He told me about his job, and his family, where he went to school, and what he liked to do in his spare time, which was draw or prepare his herbal soaps and lotions.
  I found out he went to art school but dropped out because he couldn't draw on command like the teachers required, so instead of continuing to struggle, he went to a trade school and his drawings became his passion instead of his career.
  I found out so much in one day I felt like I was talking to a man I had known for years, as opposed to a man I had only spoken to for 4 hours.