“You’re very accustomed to getting what you want, aren’t you?” She gave me a half smile as she twirled her wine.
Was she flirting with me?
“What makes you say that?”
“Intuition.”
“I could say the same about you,” I told her, giving her a sly smirk back.
“I do get what I want, but I earn it. You just demand it.”
My breath caught. “And what do you want right now?”
She opened her mouth, never breaking our eye contact. Before she could say anything, she stopped herself and smiled, pursing her lips to take a large sip of wine.
I was squirming in my seat at this point. I watched as she swallowed her wine, her lips releasing a pleasured breath and her eyes closing for just a moment to savor it. I wanted those lips. Bad.
I gulped. “Anyway, Dudley. What else would you like to know?”
“Um, well, you had mentioned books earlier. I’ve found quite a few travel books and such, but I was wondering if you had ever seen him writing? I would think such a world traveler would keep journals, but I haven’t been able to find any. I’d just really like to read his words, learn more about him through his own perspective.”
“Hmm. I didn’t ever see him writing,” I noticed her expression fall so I continued quickly, “But like I said, he remained mostly indoors and I steered clear, so it’s definitely possible.” She lit up a bit at this and my body grew warmer.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, watching her look up at the stars deep in thought.
“I’m thinking that Dudley and I might have more in common than I thought.”
“How so?”
“Just all the books he has. I love books. Although, not the historical or geographical pieces that he seemed to be drawn to. I prefer the ones that offer more of an escape.”
“Like what?” I prodded.
“Romance and mystery.”
I scoffed.
“What are you laughing at?” Helen asked.
“It’s just, romance novels are a bit too…romanticized for me. It never works out that way in real life.”
“That’s what makes it an escape.”
“I suppose,” I smiled. “My apples keep me entertained anyway. I don’t have much time for reading.”
“Well that’s a shame. Do you do anything with those apples you’ve collected?” Helen motioned to the baskets strewn about my patio. “Bake or cook?”
“Sometimes, but baking isn’t really my strong suit.”
“Well, I’ll have to show you how to make a killer apple crisp sometime.”
“You bake?”
“I dabble.” Helen smirked.
“That sounds nice.” I responded, wondering what the offer meant. I didn’t think she was planning on staying out here very long, surely not long enough to try and teach me to bake when I could barely follow the instructions on box cake mixes. I was much more comfortable with a spatula than a whisk.
Suddenly, a disgusted expression crossed Helen’s face and she began swatting in front of it frantically. “Ugh, I hate bugs!”