A blush creeps over her cheeks. “I just want a lobster roll, Alexander.”
“It’s a start.” I hold out my hand. “This is step one in getting to know each other better.”
“Step one,” she repeats as she takes my hand.
***
“Since you ate two lobster rolls, I take it you approve of my choice for dinner.” She smiles widely.
I nod as I finish off the last of the beer in my glass. We’ve been here for over an hour. The service was quick; too quick. My desire to learn more about Olivia was put on hold because of the complimentary breadsticks and the entrees, which arrived before our drinks.
She’s nervous. I can tell. Her leg has been vibrating since we sat in this booth.
I wanted to slide in next to her, but she teetered so close to the edge that I had no choice but to take a seat on the bench across from her.
“How long have you worked at Liore?” I ask before she has a chance to call it a night. I’m anticipating that happening at any moment since her gaze keeps diving to the antique silver men’s watch on her wrist.
My questions about that will have to wait for another time. I’m hoping it’s not a treasured memento of a long lost lover. I don’t handle competition with ease, even if it’s only grounded in memories.
When I’m with a woman, I want her undivided attention. I give her as much, so I expect the same, whether that’s for a night, a week or in one case, two years.
“Forever,” she answers effortlessly. “I started as a sales associate at the store on Fifth Avenue years ago.”
“You’ve always worked for the company?”
She shifts in her seat. “Foster Enterprises is an amazing organization. They treat all of their employees with respect. I’m honored that I’m part of their team.”
It’s a canned response that would bring a wide grin to the face of her boss, Gabriel Foster. I’ve spent time with the man recently.
His family is his priority, but his company is a close second. He’d take pride in hearing those words coming from one of his employees.
“What about you?” She takes the lead and asks a question of her own. “What made you want to be a conductor?”
“Music,” I go on, “I’ve always loved classical music. I studied the cello and piano when I was a kid. Went to college and earned a degree. From there I traveled, played, learned more, and when someone I admired suggested I consider conducting, I gave it a shot.”
The details of where, when and who don’t matter. A broad view of how I ended up on that stage last night is all she’s looking for.
Studying my face, she brushes a strand of hair back behind her ear. Her lips purse before she speaks. “Do you believe everyone can learn how to play an instrument?”
“Yes,” I answer without reservation. “The ability to play is about technique.”
Resting her elbow on the table, she leans toward me. “I have to disagree.”
She’s failed miserably at learning how to play an instrument. It’s a story I’ve heard far too often in my life from people who couldn’t master the piano, a guitar or a violin.
“Did your piano teacher quit during your first lesson?”
Her brows shoot up and a giggle escapes her. “Third lesson.”
“How old were you?” I lean forward as well until my hands are almost touching hers on the tabletop.
“Seven.”
“You tried again?” I hold back the urge to smile.
“Never,” she answers on a sigh.
I glide the tip of my index finger over her thumb. “Why not?”