He was so tall, she strained to study his face.
Which, really, really wasn't a problem at all. Tall was good.
He most assuredly wasn't a woman, or an old man, or anything she'd worried about. Jonna was most apprehensive because of how much attraction already pulled her in. Things were bound to move fast, and often when she moved fast, she made regrettable decisions.
Zachary called the bartender over, sharing the name of a beer Jonna had never heard of before.
"It's good, even a beer-hater like you will like it," he assured her.
She chuckled, remembering how she had confided her beer ignorance, claiming it all tasted like ass.
"I trust you."
"Well," he handed her a foamy cup of amber goodness, "I don't trust anyone who doesn't like beer, so this is a big deal."
Though he was joking, the line bothered her. Jonna's errant ex was an alcoholic, and a large part of her aversion to drinking. She was sure she'd also mentioned that to Zachary.
What do you care if he cares? You're not here to care.
The reminder helped her mask any discomfort.
She sipped the drink and stopped. "It's really good," she said, shocked at the sweet, apple-y tang.
"Knew I'd convert you," he said.
The next two hours, they discussed everything from religion, politics, to books. And books. She loved that Zachary was a reader, even if they traveled in two different literary circles. He enjoyed serious prose, while she loved genre-riffic stories. They argued over the value of the contrasting types, an argument Jonna enjoyed. As the second hour slipped into a third, she noticed her words slurring.
"How many is zat now?" She pointed at the numerous glasses littering the table.
"Too many for your short self. Be right back." Zachary ambled over to the bar, presumably to settle the check.