Wanting Forever

Part 7

Despite the nip in the air, the evening was nearly perfect for sitting at an old, weather-beaten, wooden table outside on an even more weather-beaten wood deck looking over the water, which was the only choice they had at the tiny dockside restaurant. Darkness had already draped the eastern horizon, allowing the first glimpse of stars. A couple of chemical heaters chased the chill from the tables.

The cook and then several of the customers greeted Trace warmly when they entered. Effone threw him another wary glance.

"Are you trying to win a bet? Is it 'bring an ASPECT friend to dinner' night?" she asked while tugging the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands.

He pulled a seat out for her, and then turned a chair around so he could straddle it. He laughed, "Two for one on the flounder. I simply couldn't eat that much by myself. I practically lived here while I was attending SCION Academy. Now I come in whenever I can."

Effone raised her sweater wrapped hands to her chin. "So, what's good? I've lived here all my life and never knew this place existed."

Trace hooked a thumb over his shoulder at a chalkboard hung on the side of the building. "There's not a lot of choice and it's all good." The menu was simple. Fried fish, usually cod, French fries, and hushpuppies with homemade tartar and cocktail sauces. People who came here knew what they liked.

She looked at the chalkboard for a long moment and then refocused on him. "Hmm, well, I think the fried fish sounds good." There was a glint of humor in her eyes.

He pointed at her and gave a wink while keeping the sigh of relief internal. "Good choice. Be right back."

It took all of five minutes for the cook to dish up the order while the clerk opened two bottles of beer. Trace took the time to try to calm down. Calm had never been a problem before. He stole a glance back to the table to see Effone staring out at the rippling water, her chin supported on the heel of her hand. She looked contemplative, as if she was thinking about how to solve the world's problems.

The breeze off the water lifted the wavy mass of hair that fell loosely down her back. A woman's hair had always been a weakness, hair he could catch in his fingers, that would spread over his chest as they lay in bed...Trace picked up one of the beer bottles, ran the cool, wet glass across his forehead, and didn't miss the smirk from the cook. To make things worse—or better, he wasn't sure yet—the clerk working the register plunked an ice-filled bucket with six more bottles down on the counter, adding, "You're going to need 'em."

Trace rolled his eyes even as he nodded his thanks. Good to know these two had so much confidence in him.

When the food landed on the table, Effone looked up, her gaze wary. "That was quick."

In the face of her caution, Trace was determined to remain relaxed. He couldn't blame her. They didn't know each other. Or he was fairly sure they didn't, even though she didn't seem to agree. "They don't mess around. Fish is serious business." Trace busied himself with distributing the food between them and took a moment to enjoy watching her take a few cautious bites before she tore into the hushpuppies as if she hadn't eaten in weeks.

"That's really—" She took another bite after dipping the fried cornmeal into the cocktail sauce. "This is incredible."

Trace grinned at her as she ate, and gave her a few minutes alone with the plate. Sometimes it was easier to eat in silence. It didn't take long for her to slow down and take up another bottle of beer, watching him as she took a drink. Her eyes didn't hold the same alert guard that they did when he tried to knock on her door.

"Good?" he asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Well, I live on an airship." She shrugged and gave him the thin smile. "It doesn't take much to impress me where food is concerned."

"Do you mind if I ask about your hair? And your name, too? Effone is very unusual. I haven't heard it before."

Effone brought a hand up, stroking the locks that had fallen forward over her shoulder. "Is something wrong with my hair?" She patted the top of her head. "Have I sprouted hair horns?"

He held up his hands. "No! Not at all!" He reached across the table and brought one hand close to her left temple, but didn't actually touch her, wanting to respect boundaries. "The blonde here, what's the story? Is this your handshake for a secret hair society?"

"Oh, that. You do win the prize for most creative question about it." Effone ran a hand over her hair as if she was petting a cat. Her hands looked like she took care of them, with short, neatly manicured nails. "It's not actually blonde. It's white. It's a Mallen streak. Or more scientifically, poliosis."

Trace raised his eyebrows hoping she would take it as a cue to continue.

"It's a hereditary condition and it didn't show up until I was eighteen. Most people think I dye it, and I have tried to dye it the same color as the rest of my hair, but it's so resistant it always ends up wrong. So, I gave up trying to please everyone else."

For a moment, he thought she wasn't going to give him an answer about her name as she took a sip of her beer, but she put the bottle down and a tiny hint of darkness flitted across her face.