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Chapter 5

She didn't fully realize what it was about him that made her insides turn to mush, and was surprised to be able to speak in coherent sentences. "It's a date," she breathed. "But I'm not entirely sold on the whiskey."

He measured her with his eyes, and for a brief second she thought he might ask her on a real date. She held her breath as pregnant silence surrounded them in a haze of anticipation. "You'll never know until you try it." He winked. "I guess we should get back on topic. Do you like Wordsworth?"

"I've read some, but I'm not all that familiar with him in particular. I love English Literature. I know that probably makes me a dork."

"Well then, I guess I'm a dork too." He grinned. "Wordsworth is my favorite. Here..." He dug into his bag retrieving a well-worn hardback copy. "If you're interested you can borrow mine. The way he uses words, the fluidity of his verses—it's pure genius."

"Thanks." She was eager to be alone with his copy of the book, searching for particular passages that he'd underlined, hoping to learn more about him.

His stomach growled loudly causing the now familiar blush to creep across his cheeks. In one respect he seemed shy and in another he was one of the most direct people she had ever met. She greedily absorbed any details about him, filing them away for future evaluation. "Hungry?"

"Yeah. I guess we've been here a while." He motioned towards the thick blanket of darkness outside.

"It went by quickly. And we didn't even talk about the project."

"It's late, I need to get going soon." He sighed.

"Sure." She anxiously fidgeted with her things, starting to pack up. He must be bored after sitting all afternoon with her, especially since they'd accomplished absolutely nothing. "I won't keep you any longer."

"Keep me?" he laughed. "I have some studio time scheduled and...."

"Don't worry, you don't need to explain."

"But I want to. I have some studio time scheduled, and I'm feeling particularly inspired this evening."

"You are?" She hoped it was because of her. "Studio time for what? Are you an artist?"

"Well, yes, I try to be." His laugh was self-deprecating.

"What medium?"

"I paint, mostly. Some charcoal too, and sometimes I like to sketch."

"You're very intriguing," she said, realizing immediately that the words had come out even though they were meant to be a private thought.

"Am I?" He laughed, though his eyes were serious.

"You are, indeed." She smiled as she fitted his well-used copy of Wordsworth's works into her sunflower print backpack.

"Are you free tomorrow?"

"Yes," she answered a bit too quickly, without any care whatsoever for her schedule.

"I'll walk you out."

They walked side by side, her arm looped through his again as if they were partners in a square dance. The parking lot was dimly lit and Fin insisted on walking her to her car. He lingered for a moment before her and she wondered if he might try to kiss her. She held her breath as she stared up into his incredible eyes, made almost fluorescent by the glow of the street lamps.