Influence will be 1 week old tomorrow – I can’t believe she’s so old already, LOL!! In honor of her 1 week birthday, I figured a Sunday Snippet was in order. Here ya go:
The place Nick chose, The Good Pig was one I’d never been to before, situated on the west side of Columbus Avenue between 65th and 66th streets. I wondered at the reason for the odd name.
The moment I came into the place my focus was stolen from checking out the surroundings when I spotted Nick at the bar, his attention zeroed in on the front door. He stood, a drink sitting in front of him, an elbow leaning against the top of the bar, one hand in his trouser pockets.
He looked effortlessly elegant and supernova hot at the same time. Magazine model gorgeous looks combined with raw sexual heat.
What a combo.
I stumbled in my Paredos as I made my way to him.
And I never stumble. Not in six inch stilettoes, kitten heels, or flats.
This guy really got to me.
His smile started in one corner of his mouth and ambled toward the other, his lips parting to reveal his pleasure. His entire face smiled, causing tiny lines to fan across his temples and two twin crevices to pop up on his cheeks.
I couldn’t ever remember any man grinning at me the way he was, not even Lucky. My insides went into a free-fall like when you’re on the downslope of a rollercoaster, and I felt my clutch tremble in my hand.
He met me more than halfway, his hand extended.
“You look lovely,” he said as he slid that hand around my bare upper arm and bussed both my cheeks, European fashion.
My toes tingled in my Paredos.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as he removed his hand from my arm and slid it around to my back, stopping just above my waist as he guided me forward.
“I reserved a table in the back,” he said. “It can get loud in here at lunchtime, but the noise is buffered back there.”
He led me through the packed bar area through a connecting door and into a deceptively large dining room. A white shirted, bow-tied waiter met us and escorted us to a booth along the back wall. Once we’d slipped all the way in, he handed us menus and said he would be right back to take our drink orders.
“You were right,” I said, as I opened my menu simply for something to do with my shaking hands. “It’s much quieter back here.”
Nick ignored his menu, instead, leaning his elbows on the table and threading his fingers together. His gaze took a slow stroll over my face, the smile that sent tingles all the way down my spine focused on me.
“I’m really glad you said yes to lunch,” he told me. “I’ve been looking forward to this since last night.”
Those little tingles increased.
I smiled at him, unsure of what to say, another facet of my personality that isn’t usual. I never have trouble making small talk with anyone. Deportment lessons mixed with social graces were ground into me as a child.
Apparently, with this man, deportment went dormant.
Our waiter returned, took our drink orders – a diet soda for me, water for Nick – and then recited the specials of the day.
“What do you recommend?” I asked him.
His pleased smile told me most people never consulted him. My father and mother raised me to be respectful to everyone we interacted with be it a bus driver, garbage man, or the prince of a neighboring monarchy. I was the type who over-tipped, always said please and thank you, and tried to be gracious and courteous to everyone.
“You can’t beat our Caesar salad,” he said, pen poised above his order book. “Our chef does something to the dressing that makes it stand out in a crowd.”
“Sold. I love a good Caesar. I’ll have it with grilled salmon, please.”
He beamed at me, then took Nick’s order of a turkey club.
“You have that effect on men, you know,” he said once our waiter left us.
“What effect?” I wasn’t being coy. I really didn’t know what he meant.
“When you smile at them and give them your undivided attention they practically melt.”
Pleased and embarrassed, I shrugged. “My mother taught me it’s much easier and nicer to be polite to people than demanding and rude, which many in our position can be and are.”
He nodded. “My mother taught Charlie and me the same thing. You get more flies with a drop of honey, she always says.”
“She’s right.”
He nodded again, then unfolded his hands, slid one across to me and weaved his fingers with mine. The gesture shocked me. So much so, I didn’t pull back or give any indication I wasn’t fully on board with him touching me.
“Did I mention,” he said, one corner of his lips lifting, “how glad I am you took me up on my offer of lunch.”
I laughed. “Once or twice,” I said.
The smile broadened and I swear my ovaries popped to attention.
What. The. Actual. Hell??
The waiter returned with our drinks, and a huge smile for me.
Flattering? Sure. But I was still trying to come to grips with how my female organs were all moving to alert status simply from Nick holding my hand.
Peggy Jaeger, Author 