One Night

Chapter 2, One Night

Chapter 2

"So you're a dentist?" she asked.

What was it about meeting someone for the first time and having to figure out what to say that was so damn hard? For some it was easy, that art of directing a conversation. Then there were those who'd only mastered the art of talking about themselves. She'd dated many of those, the type of guy that made her feel so comfortable that, for a minute, she wanted to trust them with anything and everything, to open up and tell them her biggest, darkest secrets. Big mistake.

It hit her why she was wound so tightly, sitting there in that trendy restaurant, combing her brain, trying her damnedest to think of something intelligent else to say: because Ryder was not the typical guy she dated. He was different, and she was determined to remain hopeful that he was, in fact, the real deal.

He flashed her that spectacular dimpled grin, showing off a perfect set of straight white teeth. Of course, being a dentist, he'd had his own teeth fixed, because no one could naturally have been born with such a perfect set of teeth. He held up his hand as he steered the conversation. "I need to clear up a few things first. Just so you know, I'm thirty-five, not twenty-eight. Don't like to put all my personal information on the Internet. You know, hackers."

He had a deep voice. Normally, she loved a man's deep voice, but Ryder's lacked something. It seemed so practiced and unauthentic. Maybe it was just guilt in his voice from lying about his age, or maybe she was getting surface talk without anything genuine. She considered what he'd said, doing the math in her head. She liked older, but thirty-five? That was thirteen years on her. Then again, he did look good—but there was a big difference between five years and thirteen years, considering women lived, on average, longer than men. Her technical mind kicked in. When she'd be in her prime, he'd be an old man.

"Wow, I just can't get over how gorgeous you are." He gestured at her from across the cozy table for two in the corner by the window. It was a nice spot, and she wondered how he'd managed to snag it, considering the wait list for tables in this restaurant was weeks, if not months, long.

"Thank you," she said, still ruffled from her ungraceful fall in the doorway. She still wondered whether he'd seen it. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that prevented him from mentioning it. She actually looked around, glancing quickly to see where the attractive man who'd helped her up had disappeared to.

A waiter appeared with menus and took their drink orders. She ordered a glass of their house white, he the red, and they chatted about the weather, the tourists, and then about him. He liked to talk about himself—a lot.

"So you're a Red Sox fan, living in Oregon, grew up in Kentucky, one brother, two sisters, you don't like to dance, you raced in a triathlon last year, and you hate the water," she said just as the waiter approached. She took a healthy sip from her glass of wine. It was good, fruity, something different. "Hmm, yummy. How's yours?"

He was watching her. "Ah, haven't tried it." He picked up his glass, took a sip. "Good," he said as the waiter pulled out his notepad to take their orders.

She ordered the restaurant's trademark shrimp dish. Ryder ordered the curry. The waiter left with their menus, and an uncomfortable silence followed, so she took another generous sip of her wine.

He was watching her with light blue eyes, not green. Why did that stranger keep popping into her mind? He wasn't gorgeous like Ryder. No, he had a roughness about him that had been so damn attractive. Stop thinking about him!

"I guess I talk a lot about myself. Sorry," he added. "You must think I'm strange, living so close to the ocean but hating it. Never liked boats either—get seasick. What about you?"