Erasing Faith(10)

“There’s that redhead’s temper.” He laughed. “Now are you going to join me, or are you planning to let your caramel latte get cold while you list a whole bunch of rules I have no intention of following?”

“It’s actually a cappuccino,” I corrected, narrowing my eyes at him. “And you better follow my rules.”

He leaned back in his chair and unleashed that crooked grin once more. “You have any more excuses left in your repertoire? Or are you fresh out of reasons why you can’t sit with me?”

I sighed and set down my mug. Pulling out the chair across from him, my eyes dropped to the table as I settled in. My sassy, smart-talking bravado seemed like a pathetically thin shield, now that I was seated directly across from this beautiful man. I felt my confidence fleeing as I sat beneath his steady gaze.

“Suddenly shy, Red?” he asked, his voice wry.

My eyes lifted from their intent study of the wood-grained tabletop. “No,” I objected a little too defensively. “I’m just thinking of my first question.”

“Who says I’m letting you go first?”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do,” I pointed out.

“Who says I’m a gentleman?” he asked, his eyes flashing. I suppressed a shudder — not one born of fear, but of something far more startling: desire. It was like nothing I’d ever felt. Perhaps because I’d already had a perfect gentleman in Conor, and it hadn’t satisfied me.

One glance at this man, at the promise in his dark eyes, was enough to assure me he was nothing like any of my well-mannered ex-boyfriends.

I ignored the sensation, as well as his words.

“So…” I took a swallow of my cappuccino before forcing my eyes up to meet his. “You’re American?”

He nodded. “Yep, born and raised on Cape Cod.”

“Here for vacation, school, or work?” I asked, thinking he didn’t look much like a tourist or a student.

“That was two questions in a row,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “It’s my turn.”

I huffed and motioned for him to get on with it. “Do your worst.”

“You’re American, that much is obvious,” he noted.

I glared at him playfully but didn’t disagree as he spoke on.

“Based on the book-bag you were carrying the other day, I’m going to assume you’re a student.” His gaze drifted lazily across my features, moving from forehead to chin in such a slow study, I immediately had the urge to hide behind the curtain of my still-wet hair. “So, instead I’ll ask: why Budapest? Of all the places you could’ve chosen to study abroad, what brought you here?”

I stared down at my teacup so I didn’t have to meet his gaze directly. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

“Nah, I don’t buy that.” He shook his head and leaned across the table into my space. “There must be a reason.”

I took a deep breath, then looked up to meet his eyes. “I guess I picked it for a lot of reasons.”

His eyebrows quirked. “Such as..?”

Sighing, I ticked them off on my fingers as I spoke. “Because I wanted to go somewhere with a rich history. Because my favorite professor coordinated this trip. Because it was the only program with a down payment I could afford.” I swallowed roughly and continued in a quieter voice. “Because I needed to escape my family for a year.” I stared into his eyes and took a deep breath. He waited, sensing I wasn’t finished. “Because, after a lifetime of stumbling around blindly, I need to figure out who the hell I am… and this seemed like a good place to start.”

I sat back in my chair and expelled a heavy breath. I was stunned those words had just escaped my mouth. I’d spent two decades pretending self-doubt and loneliness didn’t bother me, yet here I was — in a café halfway around the world, spilling the beans faster than a freaking espresso machine to a man I knew nothing about.

Maybe it was true, what people said — that blurting secrets to a stranger was always easier than confiding in your closest friends. But, as I waited for him to say something, anything, I found myself quaking under his suddenly solemn gaze. For a fraction of an instant, so fast I wondered if I’d imagined it, his eyes flashed with a dark emotion I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Not quite sadness, not quite regret — something else entirely. Before I could figure out what the expression meant, it was gone.

“Hell of an answer,” he murmured, his voice deeper than normal.

“Thanks,” I whispered back, staring at him. “My turn?”

He nodded.

“Do you believe in fate?” I asked. “Do you think that — despite everything we set out to do in this life, despite our best attempts and intentions — we don’t control a damn thing, from the people we meet to the places we end up?”

I blushed up to my hairline, immediately embarrassed. I’d known the guy all of thirty seconds and I was already peppering him with philosophical questions. Perfect. I might as well have asked if he believed in soulmates and love at first sight, while I was at it.

He was totally going to laugh at me.

Except, to my absolute astonishment, he didn’t. Instead, his face drained of color. I stopped worrying about looking like an idiot and started wondering if I’d said something to upset him – but, for the life of me, I couldn’t fathom what.