Carved in Her Bones

the first date (Rhian's POV)

He didn't look at me once during the entire 15-minute drive. I sat as still as I could, my eyes glued to the passing cars outside the window. To keep my mind occupied, I played a silent game of "I Spy," anything to avoid looking at the man next to me. But every now and then, I stole a glance in his direction. He was completely focused on the road ahead, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other resting close—so close that if I shifted even slightly, it would graze my thigh.

I was getting restless, but I reminded myself that fidgeting wasn't proper, just like the nuns at school had always taught me. By the time he effortlessly parallel parked in front of what looked like a sprawling garden, I had counted ten yellow BMWs and forty Corollas. As soon as the car stopped, I tugged my dress down, took a deep breath, and opened the door for myself. 

He didn't say a word as he strode to the gate. I watched him closely, the way a lioness watches her cub—alert, careful, not wanting to be caught biting my nails or tugging nervously at my dress. He opened the gate for me, and we walked down a narrow path toward the restaurant.

It looked like a dream—my dream, to be exact. Dandelions were scattered everywhere, and lilies framed the lake, their reflections rippling in the water. As we walked towards a building nestled in the far north corner, I noticed large ducks gliding gracefully across the surface. I was so captivated by the beauty surrounding me that I didn't notice the two large men opening the door. Startled, I hurried forward, not wanting to keep him waiting.

The place looked expensive, and I quickly decided I'd order a Coke—nothing too fancy, so he wouldn't have to pay much for me. He didn't wait for me to sit down, just checked his phone while I glanced around, trying to guess how much this entire outing would set me back and what I'd be eating for the rest of the month.

I sat down and decided to really look at him. His chest was taut and well-defined, his biceps protruding from his white Nike shirt. Without thinking, my hand found its way to his arm, my fingers pressing against the hard muscle. His gaze snapped to mine instantly, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. It was too late to retreat, so I let my fingers linger, pressing into the muscle, half in disbelief that people could, or should, be built like that. He watched me with a curious fascination I couldn't quite decipher. I came to my senses when I caught his eyes flicking to my lips, lingering just for a second.

"I'm really sorry, I don't know what came over me. I promise, I've never done that before," I stammered, embarrassed. His eyes never left my face as he said, "You can touch me all you want, I really don't mind. I just thought you might want to know my last name first."

My eyes widened, and I nearly shouted, "I do know your last name." He laughed quietly, a sound that was soft but unmistakably amused. Before he could say more, an overly cheerful waitress approached our table. Without looking away from me, he ordered steak frites and a Coke, then asked what I wanted.

Hesitating, I croaked, "I'm not really hungry. I'll have a Coke with ice." His eyes hardened momentarily before he turned to the waitress and said, "She'll have the Hawaiian pizza, a side of spicy wings, and cheesecake. Thank you."

I groaned inwardly. I couldn't afford that. My mind raced with options: call my mom and ask for 60 euros to cover dinner but that would illicit an uncomfortable number of questions , or text my best friend and ask for the money. Bestie seemed like the safer option—no interrogation involved.

I fidgeted with my dress as his gaze bore into me. He was really looking, and I struggled to hold eye contact. I could never manage more than 30 seconds with someone I found attractive, but his stare was relentless. 

I excused myself, practically stumbling on my way to the bathroom. Oliwia agreed to send me the €65 for dinner. She was the best.

In front of the mirror, I stared at my reflection. My cheeks were flushed, with a faint pink hue creeping across them. Weren't people supposed to talk during dates? Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he touching me, even just a little? Was the attraction one-sided?

These questions swirled in my head as I fixed my hair, trying to shake off the unease.

I needed some courage—Dutch courage, to be exact. I'm not much of a drinker; in fact, I only ever drink when Oliwia drags me to wild parties, insisting I need to socialize more. She's always telling me I spend too much time alone and should "meet men, explore them physically," as she puts it.

When I returned to the table, he was staring at his phone, a faint smile playing on his lips. The moment he saw me, he quickly tucked the phone away, into what I could only assume was his pocket.

The waiter appeared with his food first. I didn't hesitate to order a Long Island Iced Tea. I needed the courage—something to help me break through the awkward silence and connect with this man sitting across from me.