"I haven't eaten that much in a very long time," Aidan states, perplexed by the hunger frenzy we experienced over the course of the past hour. Over that time, Aidan indulged me with small details of his life, ones not necessarily news worthy but steps that further my understanding into his very complicated brain. He's given me his daughter's name, Lily, although I already knew it from his files. He showed me a few more rooms in the house—a wine cellar filled to the brim with expensive dated booze, a record room housing every musical disc imaginable, a bathroom that still has all appliances from when this place was first constructed—and somehow we found ourselves in the parlor, one of those expensive brandy bottles opened.
He's seated by the fire, the glass against his thigh. And I, a couple of glasses in, am lying on the Persian rug in the middle of the room, holding the glass against my stomach. At his comment, I laugh, defeated by the effective buzz to my system.
I figured a few snags of liquor would dismiss the underlying nervousness being in a creepy house with a creepy, alluring stranger—and it has.
"My mama is the master at mac and cheese. When I was young, the entire neighborhood would do this huge pot luck and everybody would eat together. Her dish to them was more important than a turkey," I say, pointedly to prove my point. He smiles, softly. I've noticed through the night, despite the fact that he's only had this one glass of brandy, his smile has changed.
Earlier, it was a slim line that only seemed to quiver. And while it's not a true smile I've managed to crack, his mouth has curved enough for his cheeks to indent beneath the dark hair covering his jaw line. I've come to the conclusion that he's probably dauntingly stunning in happiness.
"You'll probably miss that then this Christmas."
Peering over my chin, I watch the dark liquid shine against the light of the flames, wishing I could dismiss the comment and enjoy my old memories. But, it's been a long time since she and I have performed any traditions.
"It's been...five years since I last spent a holiday with her. I was going to try again this year, but hey, this trip has probably saved me from a fight."
"Why so long?"
"A falling out."
"About what?"
I smile, darkly. "Aren't I supposed to be the one interviewing you?"
He doesn't answer me, allowing me to answer on my own terms. I find it easier to speak about it staring into my drink rather than meeting his gaze.
"She hates my line of work, the hours, the dangers. She's old-fashioned. You'd think being a single mother would broaden her views on independence, but she always expected me to want what she wanted."
"And what was that?"
"A husband. A family. A home I could take care of. A cookie-cutter fantasy."
"I see."
"Obviously, I blew her mind when I told her I was going to school, and even further when I went in for my Masters. The day I received the degree, she blew up. So did I. It was...one of the worst days of my life. Little did I know, she'd be diagnosed with Alzheimer's two years later."
With my head tilted back, I nod at his widened expression.
"Yeah, so, I apologized because I knew she needed me and she accepted it because she knew she needed me too. But, my job is one that takes me around the world, sometimes at a moment's notice." I feel like I'm dragging us down considerably. "I'm sorry. The liquor has made it strangely easy to talk."
He ignores that. "If you both apologized, why is the cord still snapped?"
"I met a man a few years ago...Bradley. I even got engaged to him."
Flipping over onto my stomach, I take a swing of my drink, noticing Aidan's eyes zero in at the vacancy on my ring finger.
"As you can see, that didn't last."
"Why?"
"Because he wanted the fantasy...which I am not."
"Any one with good eyesight can see just upon looking at you that you aren't a woman easily deterred."
"You experienced that first-hand earlier today," I say, smirking. I'm flirting, and I know it.
He stares at me, unmoving, completely silent. I watch his gaze linger on my face, and feel it sink below the skin, which instantly blares alarms throughout my body. Fearing for how far he can dig with just a glance, I rise off my elbows, uncomfortably shielding my face.
"You're the fantasy for somebody," he finally says.
He strikes me with immediate uncertainty. I'm hardly ever uncertain, at least in regards to who I am. Somehow, I let his words sink in, and I allow them to comfort me.
I smile, kindly, shrugging because I have no clue what to say. He remedies the tense silence.
"You should fix things with your mother. Despite your differences, she won't remember you for long and you'll regret even fighting with her to begin with for the rest of your life."
His bluntness takes me off guard. My eyes widen as he manages to stab with me with the harsh truth, retaliation forming with a defensive quickness. It's the thought of this cold, lonely house and the reminders of his losses that prevent arguing words from my mouth. I don't know his relationships, but I do know they aren't here anymore and this warning must hold some meaning for him.
"I think I should...be getting to bed. It's late," I whisper, heaving myself onto my feet. I have half a mind to down the rest of my drink in front of him, figuring I may need it after this soul-searching conversation but resist and set it on the tray.
"Can you find the room?"
"I can," I reply, scanning the room because I don't know what else to say. "I'm probably going to be really embarrassed in the morning."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not used to divulging my life stories to complete strangers."
"No, of course it's always the other way around," he says, sarcastically. I glare at him, too buzzed to have a comeback and head for the door. At the entrance, I remember the subject of my phone and spin.
"Oh, I forgot. What kind of phone do you have?"
"A cell phone?" I nod encouragingly, and he regards me curiously. "Well, it's ancient. I only have it on me when I'm in the mountains for safety reasons."
I blink at him, stupidly. "Seriously? You, a creature of the 21st century, don't have an iPhone? A Samsung?"
He deposits his drink on the tray beside mine, looking embarrassed. "I like to detach myself from everything. It helps."
I have a mind to erase the look of awe from my face, despite realizing that after tonight, I will not have a cell phone to call the links to my world from. He tucks a few strands of hair behind his ear, and points to the door.
"I think I should probably walk you up. It's dark at night and you're tilting to the left."
I laugh at that, mostly to hide my shame. He follows me out of the room, and while we start up the staircase, it becomes clear he wasn't lying. Somehow, the halls have darkened to a low dimming light, which in seductive purposes would do fine, but this isn't that moment.
And it's uneasily dark.
At the last step, his hand flattens against my back to keep me in balance, and I close my eyes.
"Kill me now," I mumble, pushing a few pieces of hair that have dislodged from my ponytail back from my face. My skin is hot. We stop in front of my door, and I turn to him. "I can't promise I won't be awkward tomorrow after this by the way. Because you know, this wasn't the plan."
He regards me closely, his features warmed by the light from the wall fixture. "What was the plan?"
"To get my story."
He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, and I second-guess literally everything I just said. His brow heightens on his forehead, a small smirk dawning across his mouth. "What's changed?"
Fuck.
Big fuck.
I shake my head, searching for something to say, anything. "That came out wrong."
He laughs, clearly enjoying my intoxication. "Did it?"
I point at him when I've got the door open, angry at myself but deciding it's easier to take it out on him. "You know this was all your big plan, wasn't it?"
"I didn't do anything," he says, still laughing, his hands up in defeat. I shake my head and shut him out, only finding safety with the barrier between us.