Which descendant?

Simple greetings

        I watch him from a distance. I am certain it is him. The soft brown hair, the golden brown skin and the unending depth of the brown in his eyes. He smiles as he show cases his painting. Explaining to different students what it means. I catch one of his glances and shy away. I tilt my head to the side and watch from the corner of my right eye to see if I had gotten his attention. He still seems to busy with his admirers.

       In my exposing green silk dress, I confidently walk across the room not to far from him, and not too close either. Just far enough for him to notice me. I walk slowly. My steps well calculated. I'm about to cross him. I turn to his direction. He notices. I give him a slightly seductive smile and walk out of the gallery.

       In the cold, freezing, I wait. I stand on the balcony and admire the view of the town from the balcony of the gallery. The night grows dark and the lights shine brighter. The cool air brushes over my skin and I exhale gently.

       Warm strong fingers stroll down my exposed back. I smile. The feeling is stimulating. I turn slowly to see whom they belonged to and there he was right in front of me. His eyes staring straight into mine. His pink lips curve into a smile. I can't help but smile back.

        The most cliché words come out of his mouth, " I have never seen you before, are you from around here?"

        "I have lived here for nearly five centuries," I wait for his reaction.

        "Pardon me?" He responds sounding less amused than confused.

        "I mean my family. My family has lived here for nearly six hundred years," I tell him.

        "Mine too," he answers gleefully. The look a young child gets when they get a new friend, covers his face. He looks adorable.

        I rub my thumb at the corner of his lips. They are soft.

        He is steady as my thumb travels from one corner of his lip to the other, tracing every inch of his lower lip gently. He closes his eyes and enjoys every moment of it.

        "You had a bit of cream," I say slowly almost in a whisper

        "Thank you," he replies in the same tone

        The air between us gets warmer. He moves closer and whispers in my ear, "why don't you make sure there is no more cream left on my lips?"

        I can't help but smile.

        His arms go around my waist. I know exactly where he is going. He pulls me even closer and leans over. His lips within the range of mine. They softly land over mine.

        I pull away.

        He is filled with confusion. By the look on his face, he is really feeling stupid.

        "I am really sorry," he apologizes meaning every word.

        "It's okay," I reply, "I am the one who needs to apologize...I kind of created the mood...I think."