As I watch, he starts to move towards the door. He is graceful and lithe, yet strong, like a jungle cat, I think.
As soon as the obstruction of the door is out of the way, his eyes are on me again. He doesn’t stop until he is right in front of me. I am five six, which isn’t short by any standards, but I have to look up at him, and when I do, I have a desperate need to lean on something.
He doesn’t say anything. At first I don’t notice because I’m too busy staring at his face. I’ve lost the ability to breathe, which is probably why my mouth is hanging open, trying to get enough air to at least keep me alive.
“Good afternoon.” His voice is cultured and deep. There must be something stuck in my throat, because I can’t seem to get any words out. Say something Sophie! I tell myself desperately, or he’ll think you’re an idiot.
“Good afternoon.” I finally manage, my voice, an unfamiliar croak. His smile deepens, I’m so ridiculous I’m amusing to him, I decide miserably.
“Would you like to buy something?” I ask timidly, knowing that my face is probably a bright red.
He looks amused. I watch, fascinated as a black eyebrow moves up a little higher than the other, “Of course,” he replies, a teasing note in his voice. “I’d like ah...” He looks around and seems to take in the shop for the first time, “a gift for my mother.”
I nod. I have to squeeze by him so I can lead him through the shop. As I pass him, barely an inch from where he stands, I am careful not to look at him. He smells of fresh linen, and soap, with a delicious hint of cologne. I have an overwhelming urge to snuggle close and fill my nose with the scent of him.
I recover myself just in time. “What do you have in mind?” I say instead. “We have um... a selection of items you can consider.” As I move ahead of him through the few shelves and tables where the gifts are displayed, I can feel his eyes on my back, which makes the skin from my neck to the back of my legs tingle with warmth. I turn towards him, and jump when I find that he is right behind me.
I step back quickly, not because I mind being so close to him, but because my heart is beating so loudly I’m sure he must hear it. I swallow and continue. “We have um... These glass sculptures are all made locally,” I start, aware that my voice sounds breathless. I wonder if he can tell that his presence is affecting me so much. I am painfully aware that his eyes have not left my face, even for an instant.
“What’s your name?” His voice stops me mid-ramble and I blink in surprise. What is my name again!
“Sophie.” I stammer, “Sophie Bennett.”
“Sophie.” He repeats, coming from him, it sounds sensual, not the name I’m used to.
“And how long have you worked here, Sophie?” His voice is soft and fascinating.
“I... um... a few months.” I tell him. Why can’t I stop stammering?
“Interesting,” He looks curious. “College?”
I shake my head, and silently I wonder how he can find any of the boring details about my life interesting.
“How old are you?” He asks suddenly.
Why does he want to know? I frown and lick my lips uncertainly. “Eighteen.”
His eyes follow the small movement, and for a moment, I feel a sense of fear and excitement. He looks back up into my eyes, and something in his intense gaze makes my insides start to quiver. The feeling is new and delicious, and I don’t want it to stop.
He takes a small step back, there is something like regret in his eyes. “You’re very young.” He says softly.
I don’t know what to say to that. I may be young, but he doesn’t look much older than I am. He looks about twenty-five, or perhaps a little older. I wonder if I should keep talking about the items we have for sale, but I have a feeling that he is not particularly interested.
We are staring at each other again. I wonder what he is thinking. The quivery feeling is still in my belly, and getting more insistent. Everything about him reminds me of the things my body has been telling me for months. The things I haven’t had the nerve, or the opportunity to explore. I suddenly have a very intense vision of exploring those things with him, and I blush furiously, certain that he knows what I’m thinking.
If he notices my blush, he doesn’t show it. His eyes skip around the store and finally settle on the book I’ve been reading. It’s an old edition of Fanny Hill, from the second hand bookstore. He looks back at me, an eyebrow raised, and a half smile tugging at his lips. I blush again, sure that, unlike a lot of people, he knows what the book is about.
“I’d like the glass swan.”
I have no idea what he just said. “The what?”
He lips twitch again, and he inclines his head towards a smallish figure of a swan on a lake. It’s all glass, transparent but with little hints of color. It is very beautiful and costly.
I nod, feeling silly. I pick up the swan and take it to the front desk. My legs feel like plastic. “Do you want it wrapped?” I ask, trying to sound professional.
He nods, still smiling. “And delivered.” He dictates an address in Seattle, which I jot down carefully.
He hands me a card. As I reach out to take it, our hands touch briefly, and I feel a sudden surge of awareness. I quickly pull mine away, silently commanding it to stop shaking. I can’t look at him. He only touched your hand, for God’s sake!