Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

We both chuckle and our eyes linger on each other’s. There is this mutual affection between us. For me, it’s that he speaks so unguarded, as though he already knows me, but maybe it’s just all his experience with women that make him this way. He’s not nervous around me like most men, and his confidence is very attractive.

I would give anything to know what’s on his mind.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“That depends.” He leans forward.

“On what?”

“I’m running a risk assessment in my mind as to whether I’m going to get beaten to a pulp if

I kiss you.”

I smile bashfully.

It would be worth it.

The moment is broken by the waiter returning with our bottle of wine. He pops the cork and pours a little into both our wineglasses.

“Thank you.” I take a sip. “Hmm.” I eye the glass of burgundy liquid. “That’s nice.”

Spencer holds his glass in the air. “A toast.”

“To what?” I ask.

His eyes hold mine. “Our first date.”

I smile softly.

“May there be many more,” he whispers darkly, clinking his glass to mine before he takes a sip. “You know I wrote your name in my diary on Monday morning.”

I smile. “Why?’

“Because when I want something, I write it down.” He smirks.

I giggle. “That not at all creepy.”

He chuckles.

I take a mouthful of wine and think for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why would you drive all the way out here to see me without calling first?”

“Because I knew if I called you that you wouldn’t want to see me.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and then back up to my eyes with a hunger I haven’t felt before. The air between us becomes electric. God, the way he looks at me sets me on fire.

“Has someone hurt you in the past?” he asks.

I stare at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Physically, has someone hurt you?”

“What? No.” I frown. “Why would you say that?”

“You seemed frightened of me on Saturday night.”