And then we went to the nicest restaurant, not that far from the Westlake Beach Complex. Right on the water, just like my apartment, but this place sits on rocks right at the edge. From out table at the window, I can see into the water.
“You’re smile, Rawling, I love your smile,” Dean says. He’s grinning at me and making me a bit uncomfortable. “So tell me about yourself.” And he sits back as if I’m gonna do that.
“You’ll just have to find out a little bit at a time,” I say, feeling more unsure as the sun disappears. “You know I just moved here from Nordeen, I’ve told you that much, and that I’m starting a new job here at the county.” That’s about all I want this man to know, I hadn’t intended to bring all that I’d left behind in the woods with me here.
“And you?” I said, feeling awkward about asking and being asked. Everybody I ever knew in Nordeen, I’d known a little bit about them before getting to know them better. And then the few men I’d known without knowing a thing about them, I hadn’t wanted to.
“If you’re not going to tell me all the juicy details of your life, yet,” he said, “I’ll give you a few of mine. Been married a few times, been living here since I got divorced, work in real estate most of the time.” He’s smiling, all shiny and tan. “Now what else? God, I love your smile, Rawling.” He pulls my hands across the table toward him.
I don’t want anybody talking about my smile, not somebody I barely know, not this man I’m getting to know a bit more and I’m not liking being with. But I can’t imagine just leaping up and running home. I gotta sit this one out. And say a few things that make sense and wait to eat.
“Lobster, all the way from Maine,” Dean says, when our animals arrive. “Never had a lobster, hon?”
“Nothing even close,” I say, and I wish I could just close my eyes and be home instead of here with the waitress putting a big bib around my neck and everyone is laughing because half the restaurant’s got bibs. And then I watch Dean as he cracks and pulls and pecks his poor lobster to pieces. I follow along, skipping the butter.
“You sure you won’t have a drink?” he says, raising his glass half full of something deep green.
“I don’t drink,” I say. But I’m not telling him the reason why.
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I continue to love the tension you're creating between Rawling and this man! You're doing such an excellent job rendering these scenes with him, I find that I'm experiencing her claustrophobia and dislike. I don't know why, but the guy is creepy. Really, really nice work manipulating the reader here!
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