She gives me a look. It’s thoughtful and curious at the same time. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t.
“What are you thinking, Sophie?”
She looks away, as if she just realized that she was staring. “I was just wondering how old you are.” She admits.
I laugh. I would never confess it to anyone, but at that moment, I feel self-conscious about my age. I’m a full-grown man, pursuing someone who is only a little more than a child.
“Oh, I’m legal,” I say, laughing at myself. “I’m twenty seven.”
She is silent, but she doesn’t run out of the car screaming for help, which is a good thing for me. For her own good, maybe she should, maybe she should run away from me.
At the restaurant, we get a table that looks into a park, it’s a little secluded, which is fine by me. I order wine for us and look through the menu. After we’ve made our orders, I turn back to her.
“So you’re not outgoing, you read, and you draw.” At this point, that’s all I know about her, “that can’t be all.”
“My mother died giving birth to me,” The words are sudden and unexpected. I frown, looking at her face for a clue as to how she feels telling me that.
“That must have been hard for you.” I reply. I know a little of how it feels to lose a parent, or both.
“I suppose it was.” She looks lost for a moment while I wait for her to go on. “I grew up with my Aunt Josephine,” She continues, “but she died a few months ago.” Her lips form a sad smile. “Aunt Josephine told me that my father was some professor my mother had a ‘sordid’ affair with during the only semester she spent at college.” She looks up at my face, a small frown on hers. “Unfortunately that’s the only thing I know about him.”
As she speaks, she seems to get more and more vulnerable, at least in my eyes. I barely know her and yet I want to protect her. I watch her large eyes cloud, and I feel a wave of annoyance towards the aunt. “Your aunt doesn’t sound very nice.” I observe.
Her face tells me all I need to know. “Aunt Josephine was ... different.” She says.
I nod. “So you went to boarding school?”
“Yes, when I was twelve.” She smiles softly and shakes her head. “I didn’t make a lot of friends, but we had a wonderful library.”
“Of course.” I chuckle. Books.
“That’s all there is to me.” She says, the small smile still on her lips. “I graduated, Aunt Josephine died, and I started working at the gift shop.”
That doesn’t tell me why she isn’t going to college, like she should be. “So why no college?” I ask.
She frowns. “Maybe it’s not for me.” She says, “I’m moving to Bellevue to find a job.”
The confidence in her tone can only be from the wine. She must be scared to consider doing something as drastic as moving away from the town where she grew up, without even the security of a job waiting for her, but she seems to be handling it well. “Why Bellevue?” I ask.
She looks deep in thought, and then she shrugs and doesn’t say anything. I don’t pursue it. I consider asking her to come to Seattle instead. I would get her a job, make sure she’s all right. I watch as she licks her lips distractedly, and I know there’s no way I would be able to keep my hands off her.
No, I should just leave her alone.
I notice a guy come into the restaurant with a brunette in tow. He doesn’t take two steps before his eyes lock on Sophie. She has her back to him, so she can’t see him. His expression turns to one of surprise, and he says something to his companion. As I watch, they begin to come towards us.
He looks young, closer to her age than me. A boyfriend maybe. Feeling unaccountably jealous, I wait as he approaches our table.
“Sophie?” The guy says when he is close enough for her to hear. Sophie frowns, her eyes still on me, then she turns around to see who it is. I watch her face, her reactions, wanting to see any sign that he means something to her.
“Hi Eddie.” Her voice is friendly but not overly so.
“It’s really nice to see you, Sophie.” The guy, Eddie, says, his eyes leaving her face only for a second, to look at mine.
“It’s nice to see you too, Eddie.” Sophie replies, for a second she looks unsure what to do. “David, this is Eddie,” She starts tentatively. “We were neighbors growing up.”
I watch her face for any sign of another meaning in that statement, wondering at my sudden and unjustifiable possessiveness.
“Eddie, this is David Preston,” she continues, “he...” she stops and I watch the blush steal into her cheeks.