the booth and popping a French fry into his mouth at the same time.
I settle in across from him and drop my purse
from my shoulder to set it down next to me on the pleather seat cushion. “I think
you can learn a lot about someone just by watching them interact with others.”
I nod my head toward the family now exiting the restaurant. “Have you always
been such a gentleman?”
“Is that compliment number five, Maggie?” Ran
flashes me an enormous grin as he continues chewing his food. How can he make
eating junk food look sexy?
“No,” I say, collecting my cheeseburger from
the tray and peeling back the wrapper. There is cheese stuck to the paper, and
I thumb it off with my nail and pop it into my mouth. “Remember that
insult-related deduction? I’m back down to four.”
Ran grins and hangs his head. When he looks up,
he’s peering at me from under his dark hair and I realize just how attractive
he actually is. I thought maybe before it was the whole hero thing he had going
for him in his paramedic attire, but seeing him dressed in just distressed
jeans and a V-neck white t-shirt, he’s even more appealing. He stretches his
arm across the table toward his soda and my eyes trail down his half-sleeve of
colorful body art that winds around his bicep.
“Four compliments for me and I’ve yet to give
you any.”
I swallow the food in my mouth, wipe my lips
with a paper napkin and say, “I don’t need you to compliment me, Ran.”
“No, you don’t strike me as the type of girl that
needs any sort of affirmation.”
“I don’t seem to strike you as much today, do
I?”
Ran sets his drink back onto our table and
stares at me openly. “Wrong. I do find you very striking.”
I pause for too long. I want to kick myself for
it. I want to kick myself for a lot of things lately, and all of them have
something to do with my interactions with Ran. I’m supposed to be the one with
the quick wit and controlled humor, yet I’m having trouble keeping up with this
stranger across the table from me.
“What’s your angle?”
Ran swivels his head in surprise. “My angle?”
“Yeah, your angle.” I pull in a long drink of
my Diet Coke to buy some time to decide what I’m going to say next. I barely
know this guy. I definitely don’t know how to communicate with him. “Why the
gifts? Why the lunch date? Do you feel sorry for me because I was in a car
accident and now walk like a gimp? Or is it that I’m the girl with the brother
dying of cancer and you want to be a heroic shoulder to cry on?” I bite down on
the straw, indenting the flimsy plastic with my two front teeth. “What’s your
angle, Ran?”
Stopping mid-chew, Ran leans back in his seat
and swallows visibly. “I don’t have any angle I’m trying to work here, Maggie.”
He doesn’t say anything more. I’ve suddenly
lost my appetite.
For the next several minutes we just eat. Well,
he eats and I pick at my food and pretend that I’m actually consuming it, yet
all I can think about is how hurtful my words must sound if he actually doesn’t have any ulterior motive. Right
as I’m about to open my mouth to apologize, Ran opens his.
“If you think I feel sorry for you, you’re
wrong.” He’s looking right at me, his palms planted firmly on the gritty
tabletop. “But you know who I do feel sorry for?”
I shake my head like a nervous tick, unable to
control its rhythm.
“I feel sorry for the families of the girls
whose bodies they pull from the cars whose hearts no longer beat.” Ran doesn’t
blink as he speaks, and I try to keep my eyes open to hold his gaze, but the dryness
forces me to shut them swiftly. I almost don’t want to reopen them. “I feel
sorry for the kids who have to hear that their brain tumor is inoperable and
they only have a few months to live.” My chest rises and falls too quickly, and
I fold my arms over myself until I’m twisted up like a pretzel, trying to hide
my increased, instable breathing. “And
I settle in across from him and drop my purse
from my shoulder to set it down next to me on the pleather seat cushion. “I think
you can learn a lot about someone just by watching them interact with others.”
I nod my head toward the family now exiting the restaurant. “Have you always
been such a gentleman?”
“Is that compliment number five, Maggie?” Ran
flashes me an enormous grin as he continues chewing his food. How can he make
eating junk food look sexy?
“No,” I say, collecting my cheeseburger from
the tray and peeling back the wrapper. There is cheese stuck to the paper, and
I thumb it off with my nail and pop it into my mouth. “Remember that
insult-related deduction? I’m back down to four.”
Ran grins and hangs his head. When he looks up,
he’s peering at me from under his dark hair and I realize just how attractive
he actually is. I thought maybe before it was the whole hero thing he had going
for him in his paramedic attire, but seeing him dressed in just distressed
jeans and a V-neck white t-shirt, he’s even more appealing. He stretches his
arm across the table toward his soda and my eyes trail down his half-sleeve of
colorful body art that winds around his bicep.
“Four compliments for me and I’ve yet to give
you any.”
I swallow the food in my mouth, wipe my lips
with a paper napkin and say, “I don’t need you to compliment me, Ran.”
“No, you don’t strike me as the type of girl that
needs any sort of affirmation.”
“I don’t seem to strike you as much today, do
I?”
Ran sets his drink back onto our table and
stares at me openly. “Wrong. I do find you very striking.”
I pause for too long. I want to kick myself for
it. I want to kick myself for a lot of things lately, and all of them have
something to do with my interactions with Ran. I’m supposed to be the one with
the quick wit and controlled humor, yet I’m having trouble keeping up with this
stranger across the table from me.
“What’s your angle?”
Ran swivels his head in surprise. “My angle?”
“Yeah, your angle.” I pull in a long drink of
my Diet Coke to buy some time to decide what I’m going to say next. I barely
know this guy. I definitely don’t know how to communicate with him. “Why the
gifts? Why the lunch date? Do you feel sorry for me because I was in a car
accident and now walk like a gimp? Or is it that I’m the girl with the brother
dying of cancer and you want to be a heroic shoulder to cry on?” I bite down on
the straw, indenting the flimsy plastic with my two front teeth. “What’s your
angle, Ran?”
Stopping mid-chew, Ran leans back in his seat
and swallows visibly. “I don’t have any angle I’m trying to work here, Maggie.”
He doesn’t say anything more. I’ve suddenly
lost my appetite.
For the next several minutes we just eat. Well,
he eats and I pick at my food and pretend that I’m actually consuming it, yet
all I can think about is how hurtful my words must sound if he actually doesn’t have any ulterior motive. Right
as I’m about to open my mouth to apologize, Ran opens his.
“If you think I feel sorry for you, you’re
wrong.” He’s looking right at me, his palms planted firmly on the gritty
tabletop. “But you know who I do feel sorry for?”
I shake my head like a nervous tick, unable to
control its rhythm.
“I feel sorry for the families of the girls
whose bodies they pull from the cars whose hearts no longer beat.” Ran doesn’t
blink as he speaks, and I try to keep my eyes open to hold his gaze, but the dryness
forces me to shut them swiftly. I almost don’t want to reopen them. “I feel
sorry for the kids who have to hear that their brain tumor is inoperable and
they only have a few months to live.” My chest rises and falls too quickly, and
I fold my arms over myself until I’m twisted up like a pretzel, trying to hide
my increased, instable breathing. “And
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