I will never love a man ‘cause love and pain go hand in hand.
I shook my head to excise the Laura Marling song lyrics, and drained the flute of its champagne, looking for something to do.
I was wandering aimlessly, looking around, and wasn’t paying particular attention to where I was going. Which is why it was such a shock when I collided with something and fell flat on my ass.
It was a wall. Very near one anyway. I never knew backs could be so solid. Especially not ones that could fit into tuxedos so nicely.
“I’m sorry, are you alright?”
He certainly didn’t look like a metal type. Clean-shaven, short blond hair, sky blue eyes, and the physique of a god.
“I-I, um, yes, I think so.”
I nearly slapped myself. Yes, he was handsome, transcendently, divinely handsome, but that was no reason to make a fool of myself. I had a reputation to uphold.
“May I assist?”
He might as well have been a giant, offering down a helping hand from the clouds. I accepted without hesitation; the deity made flesh almost levitating me to my feet. His other hand touched my hip as he helped to steady me, setting off my pussy burning with urgency.
“Thank you,” I managed, without stammering.
“I doubt anyone would notice,” he said, his light foreign accent registering for the first time.
“Notice what?”
“If you took your shoes off. They seem to be causing you bother.”
Stealing a quick glance around, I slipped off the heels, letting the hem of the dress fall back around my ankles. He was right, no one would notice and so what if they did. It was a spring wedding after all. If anything, I was on theme. A slow grin spread over my face as my aching feet felt a wave of relief.
“Better?”
“Much, Mr. - I’m sorry what is your name?”
“I am called Ragnar. Ragnar Karlssen.”
“That’s funny, I have a cousin Ragnar,” I blurted.
“Are you Norwegian?”
“Swedish, originally I mean. Third generation, I’m Stephanie, Stephanie Morris.”
“They call you Stephanie?” he raises an eyebrow.
And I mean, understandably, Jonna’s name definitely reflects our heritage, so “Stephanie” seems to sort of come out of nowhere.
“Well, technically it’s my middle name,” I admitted, making a face, “But I’ve always gone by it.”
“What’s your first name?” he asks curiously.
I grimaced. My first name wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but he seemed so genuine and interested, I decided to share. “It’s actually Olga,” I admitted.
He smiled a little. “I have to admit, you don’t exactly look like an Olga,” he says.
“Don’t feel like one, either,” I replied with a laugh. “So, what does Ragnar mean?”
“Army council.”
“Are you a general?” I teased.
“In a manner of speaking. You could say I keep the troops marching in time.”
I turned his words over in my head, searching for an angle by which to better understand. He was certainly cryptic, as well as tall and handsome. The only thing missing was dark, and he would be the stuff of fortune-telling predictions.
Some of his oddities could no doubt be chalked up to cultural difference. He didn’t seem fresh-off-the-boat but didn’t seem like he had arrived that long ago. Was he one of Seth’s relations? I didn’t think we had any Norwegian blood, but anything was possible.
“We aren’t related, are we?” I blurted.
“No, I’ve seen the family tree, not a Morris on it.”
“My mother’s maiden name is Erikssen,” I offer.
“No, none of them either, why do you ask?”
The heat migrated from my pussy to my cheeks as I blushed furiously. Had I basically just told a stranger I wanted to jump his bones? In a round-about way, maybe, though it still really wasn’t like me.
“Would you like to go for a drink?”
“They have drinks here.
“I mean after, like a date.”
“Oh, sure, though I don’t drink alcohol anymore. One of the many things I’ve learned from Seth. He is a wonderful man.”
“Yeah, he is,” I agreed, without thinking to ask how he knew that.
“I’ve got something to do here, and then we can go wherever you like.”
Within an inch of blurting ‘my place!’ but managed to restrain my stampeding hormones. I’d never been so horny, but that’s supposedly what happens when you’re approaching 30, isn’t it?
“I’ll be waiting.”
“You can come and watch,” he offered.
Mind swirling with questions, I followed him to the bandstand, where some guests had already gathered. It looked to be set up for a concert, with acoustic guitars of various sorts and at least three different versions of portable drums. From a full-sized set of bongos to one of those percussion boxes drummers use for unplugged sets.
“Seth decided to something a bit different,” Ragnar explained, no doubt noticing my expression.
I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. From what I knew of Seth, he was one to march to the beat of his own drummer.
Following Ragnar’s lead, I sat down on the grass, wishing I had a towel or blanket to put down first, let alone a chair. I was never really good with nature, one of the side-effects of being a city kid who’d never gone camping. My idea of roughing it was sleeping on a friend’s couch in a basement apartment. You never knew where bugs might be hiding.