Page 7 of Stoker's Serenity
“Metal,” he said with a smile, approval coloring his voice.
I blushed slightly and said, “Funny enough, it’s really more like gothic; metal is Linny’s scene. The music actually kind of gives me anxiety. I can’t listen to it when I’m driving or anything.”
“Oh, really? So what were you doing at the show then?” he asked, hanging his coat and helmet on free arms of the coat rack.
“Concerts are different,” I said shrugging. “Like, um, the difference between watching a live sporting event and the same event on TV. One is an experience the other is just… meh.”
He smiled and nodded. “I completely get that, actually.”
I pulled out a chair at the table for him and went into my little kitchen, crossing the open floor plan threshold marked out by a transition from hardwood floor to ceramic-like tile in a soft, neutral, light tan.
“How do you take your coffee?” I asked, switching on the pot, which was set up for tomorrow morning, to brew.
“Ah, I can do black, it’s no trouble,” he said.
I laughed slightly and said, “I use creamer because I like myself.”
He smiled, “Okay, what ‘cha got?”
“Amaretto, Irish Cream, and French Vanilla – and no I’m not an alcoholic, I promise. I don’t really even drink.”
“Amaretto sounds good.”
I nodded and slipped into a seat across from him. He leaned back, somewhat twisted in his seat so he could throw an arm casually behind it as he leaned. He let his deep brown eyes sweep my face.
“So what do you like to listen to, then?” he asked.
“Okay, this is totally going to sound weird, but I like things like Florence + the Machine and Loreena McKennitt. Um, out of the two, though, I would probably only want to see Loreena live, though, because I listen to their music to hear their music, not to listen to a bunch of people scream over them, and I know that out of the two, Loreena would be the only one where people would be quiet during the songs.”
He laughed and said, “You’re very peculiar, I’ll give you that, but you also know what you like, know what you want, and I can respect that.”
I colored faintly and didn’t quite know what to say so I just kept quiet.
“Did I embarrass you? Because if I did, I apologize. Wasn’t my intent.”
I shook my head. “No, not at all, I just… I guess I don’t take compliments well.” I twitched in my seat.
“Not used to getting them?” he asked.
“No, not really,” I said, and my cheeks did flame with humiliation, then.
“That’s a shame,” he said, and the way his gaze lingered turned up the heat in my face for a very different reason. I got up abruptly to bring down two coffee cups and add creamer to the bottoms of both, just needing the busywork, unable to sit still.
“You probably think I’m some kind of pathetic,” I said, laughing nervously.
He shook his head.
“No.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands and said from behind them, “Oh, God. I’m sorry, I’m so terribly awkward.”
“I’d say, out of practice,” he said charitably.
“Never had much practice to begin with,” I said bleakly.
“I find that hard to believe.” He cocked his head and swept me with his gaze.
I asked him, “Why do you say that?”
