Unexpected Encounters

Chpt. 8: Open and Vulnerable

My parents didn't have a career to drop on me, but they had their expectations. Namely, that I would get a job that either put a 'Dr' in front of my name or a gavel in my hand. I couldn't bring myself to follow their hopes, but Henry had done it willingly.

"Is it just you?" I asked.

"No, I have three older brothers."

My eyes widened, "and they're all part of the business too?"

"My parents planned for it to be a family affair," the corner of his mouth tugged up. I crossed my arms, temporarily forgetting my book.

"What kind of work do you guys do?"

His gaze fixed on me. "What do you think?"

"You want me to guess?"

That mischievous gleam reappeared in his eyes. "I figured you had some theories, or at least your work friends did."

Damn it. We really needed to stop talking outside of the break room. "I told you they were curious," I said, looking pointedly elsewhere. But his gaze was fixed on my face. I could feel him searching.

"And you're not?"

"I am," I held out my free hand, "the book please." His expression turned amused, but he dutifully placed the hardcover in my hands. I gave him my paperback, "you can tell a lot about a person by what they read."

"I don't know if you're going to get much about me out of that."

"Are you doubting my skills?" I gave him a narrowed eye, "I'm not a classics major, but I am a grad student. That's a tier above you."

"That won't help you translate Latin, unless your specialization is dead languages." It definitely wasn't, and cracking open the book revealed pages of slews of letters I didn't have a chance at deciphering.

I promptly shut it. "I have something."

"How quick," he commented. I could tell he was holding in a laugh.

"The book is a mystery to me, just like you," I pronounced.

His head tilted, as if from surprised innocence. "I'm telling you about me right now."

I shook my head. "It's all been surface level." Maybe that was why I couldn't put a pin down on him. He was different in some fathomable way, but I still couldn't describe exactly what it was that made me so sure.

"Your turn," I nodded to the paperback in his hands. His hand traced across the cover, its title taking up half the space in bold, curling script: THE TRANSMISSION OF APHRODITE ACROSS ANCIENT CIVILIZATIONS.

"The goddess of love and sensuality. She's in the pantheon," he spoke, gently leafing through the pages, "which is why you chose her -- a familiar name. A safe pick."

I quirked my brow. "That's easy to guess."

"You choose a book about her historical background instead of her myths," his eyes crinkled, as if he was reading the answers off my face, "that's the academic in you. You like details and have the patience to wade through preamble to get to them," his thumb traced the spine of the book. A solid three inches thick.

"Which means?" I prompted.

"You're studious, patient, open to learning things."

"Those are great judgments about my reading style."

His eyes raked across my face, studying closely. "You like passion. Its excitement, the way it can consume everything," his mouth curved up, "maybe that comes from a romantic side." Warmth seeped through my body like the heat that came with a fever.