Witha hum and a nod, he continued his browsing. “You have so many I haven’t evenheard of.”
Ishrugged, holding my hands over my stomach and feeling exceedingly eager to getout of there and to the restaurant. “I used to go to a lot of concerts with mysister. Lots of them were smaller, lesser known artists, and I’d buy theirrecords.”
Tomy horror, he pulled out the Saint Savage album. Sebastian’s first band. Thealbum acquired on that fated night. “This looks … violent,” he chuckled,examining the black and red cover art of a raven and a bloody heart.
“Theywere a, uh, metal band I liked a really long time ago,” I explained loosely.
“Hm,”he nodded without a care, and then uttered, “Wow.”
“What?”I asked, nervously twisting my fingers.
“Thisone’s signed,” he commented, almost impressed.
“No,it isn’t,” I insisted.
Samhad neglected to get signatures from the band members, as she’d left me aloneat the concert where she met Sebastian. But Roman now turned the cover to faceme, and there it was, in bold black marker. As clear as if someone had just recentlyscribbled their name in the upper left corner.
SebastianMorrison.
“Oh,”I whispered, my voice tight with abrupt emotion. “I guess I, uh, must’ve forgottenabout that.”
Chuckling,he shoved the album back into its spot and invited me with a heartwarming smileto take his arm. “Ready?”
No.“Yes.”
***
PocoBella was beautiful in the summer, with its terrace aglow with fairy bulbs andcandlelight. The adjacent garden was well landscaped, alive and thriving aftera long hard winter of snow and death.
Romanwas a perfect gentleman, as I already knew him to be. He pulled out my chairand waited patiently for me to sit before seating himself. We ordered ourmeals, he ordered a bottle of wine for us to share, and as the waiter walkedaway, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’mso sorry. I didn’t think to ask if you drink.” Dropping his hand, he smiledapologetically across the table. “Do you?”
Ilaughed lightly. “I think I can afford a drink or two.”
“Oh,thank God,” he chuckled, relaxing in his chair. “I went out to dinner with thiswoman a few months ago who didn’t drink any alcohol. I’m not saying thatmatters to me, but she proceeded to berate me about the caloric value in everyglass of wine I drank throughout the night.”
“Andhow many did you drink?” I folded my hands on the table, giving him my fullattention.
“Oh,well, after that dinner, I think I had the whole bottle under my belt,” and helaughed, erasing any tension that might’ve been lingering. “Lotsofcalories, but they were worth it.”
Wedidn’t drink the whole bottle, it wasn’t needed when the conversation flowedlightly and with ease. There was no bickering, no banter, noheat. Justgenuine conversation between two adults.
Wetalked about his rapid rise to success, his varied achievements, and the awardsthat had been presented to him. It was less about bragging, and more to simplyrun through the laundry list of things that made Roman who he was. He askedabout my career ambitions, where I saw myself in ten years, and if I’m beinghonest, the maturity in conversation felt like a breath of fresh air.
Itwas nearly impossible not to compare him—this—to Sebastian and what Ihad with him. Here, in this restaurant with Roman, I felt like an adult on arespectable date, while my secret affair with Sebastian seemed childish incomparison.
“Iknow that maybe it’s not the most kosher thing to do, to date your clients,” Romansmiled earnestly, reaching across the table to slip his hand over mine, “but Iwould really like to do this again.”
Inodded, pushing Sebastian from my mind. Reminding myself of what I would’vedone, had he never been in the picture, and so I said, “I would too.”
***
“Well,since we’ve already agreed to a second date, what are we supposed to do now?”Roman smirked coyly, after walking me to the door of my empty house.
Ishrugged, the two glasses of wine swirling through my bloodstream, leaving mefeeling a little loose and maybe willing to play along if he were to kiss me.“I don’t know. I haven’t been on a first date in a very long time. I think I’veforgotten what happens here.”
Witha curious nod, Roman drew his brows together and pinched his lips. “I see.Well, I could simply wish you a good night and pleasant dreams, or I couldshake your hand, which would be perhaps a little socially awkward of me, but ifit’s what you’d prefer, we could do that.”
