He blows out a long breath. “You had me worried.”
“Don’t like kids?” I smile.
He shakes his head. “Or families,” he jokes. “For the record, I feel like I need to say it right now, I’m not going to kill you.”
“My mom has dementia,” I blurt. He looks surprised. “Her nurse leaves in about thirty minutes and someone has to be there all the time. She forgets where she’s at and will try to leave. It’s a pretty shitty situation.”
He nods. “I see. I’m sorry. No one else to help out then? Sisters or brothers?”
Sighing, I turn my eyes back to the ocean. “Unfortunately not. Just me, and the person she’s turned into. I shouldn’t be telling you this. You don’t care. I don’t talk about her often. It’s a depressing subject and I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. So don’t.”
He clears his throat. “Family is important. You shouldn’t worry about what people think. It’s not depressing, it’s life. I’d never feel sorry for you.”
I quirk one brow and sit down in the soft, dry sand. Looking up at him, I’m greeted with a mammoth figure. “What if I told you to feel sorry for me?” I smirk, trying to sway the mood of the conversation to something lighter.
He sits down next to me, his long legs stretched out way past mine, and puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re the most pathetic excuse for a woman I’ve ever met. I am more than sorry for you, I feel bad for you, and I’m going to be your beach friend anyways.” He sighs. “Better?”
I nod. “So much better.”
“Good.”
The silence beats on, and I know I have to go soon, and for the first time in a long time, I’m happy right where I am. Random questions are always the safest. You can discover things about another person without getting too personal. “What would you do if you won the lottery?” I ask.
“We don’t have enough time for that question tonight,” he replies. “What would you have done if I had pulled you to my chest and danced with you inside the bar?”
I swallow hard. “I would have danced with you.”
“Noted. What would you do if I asked you out to lunch tomorrow?” Leif asks. I started the harmless game, but he’s giving it a life of its own, taking it to dangerous places.
“I’d say no.”
“Why?” He looks at me, and I feel his gaze boring into the side of my head.
“I work tomorrow,” I reply, turning to take the full-on seduction of his eyes. My breaths quicken and my pulse skyrockets—I can feel it slamming against my neck. “So I can’t go to lunch with you tomorrow. I would go to lunch with you on another day.”
He leans back on his elbows. “I’ll take that.”
“You’ll take what? I’m the one accepting a lunch date with a serial killer.”
He pulls me back so I’m on my elbows next to him, my body buzzes where my arm skin meets his. “A hot serial killer,” he admonishes.
“How could I forget,” I add, my tone sarcastic. “You are a horrible dancer, though. It makes me trust you a little more.”
“I don’t trust you at all,” he returns.
I laugh. “You shouldn’t.” Running my hand through my hair, I catch him watching my face. “What would you do if I asked you to come home with me? Hypothetically, of course.”
Leif tilts his head to the side, and his brows tilt inwards. “I’d tell you yes, and probably make it halfway to your house before I would turn around and decide it was a bad idea.”
“Huh,” I say, nodding thoughtfully. “Interesting. Why a bad idea?”
“I don’t even know your last name, Malena. What kind of man do you think I am?” Leif stands, and clasps his hands behind his back, looking like that picture of a gentleman he was when he introduced himself.
He’s grinning as he extends one hand down to help me stand. I take it and make an effort to stand closer to him when I rise. “Winterset,” I say, pulling my bottom lip in with my top teeth. “My last name is Winterset.”
