Scarlet took another sip from her cup and found that her taste buds disapproved. She set it back down on the saucer. “If you were a gentleman, you would offer to buy me one as well.”
“If you were a lady, you would have waited for me to make the offer.”
Scarlet smirked, but the man was already beckoning to the bartender and ordering a second chocolate milk.
“I’m Ran, by the way.”
“Scarlet.”
“Like your hair?”
“Oh, wow, I’d never heard that one before.”
The bartender set the new drink on the bar, then turned away and upped the volume on the screen.
“And where are you traveling to, Mademoiselle Scarlet?”
Paris.
The word clunked into her head, filling up her thoughts with its weight. Her attention danced to the netscreen on the wall, checking the time, calculating their distance, their arrival.
“Paris.” She took a long drink. It wasn’t fresh like the milk she was used to, but the thick sweetness was a rare treat. “I’m going to visit my grandmother.”
“That so? I’m heading to Paris too.”
Scarlet nodded vaguely, suddenly wanting the conversation to be over. Sipping at the thick beverage, it occurred to her that she’d gotten it through manipulation, subconscious as it may have been. She wasn’t interested in this man, had no curiosity about why he was going to Paris or if she would ever see him again after this moment. She had only needed to prove that she could garner his interest, and now she was annoyed that she’d captured it so easily.
It was just like something her father would do, and that realization turned her stomach. Made her want to shove the chocolate milk away.
“Are you traveling alone?”
She tilted her head toward him and smiled apologetically. “No. In fact, I should be getting back to him.” She emphasized him more than was necessary, but he didn’t flinch.
“Of course,” he said.
They finished their drinks at the same time and Scarlet swished her wrist over the scanner on the bar before the stranger could object, paying for her own.
“Bartender,” she said, sliding off the stool. “Do you have orders to go? Some sandwiches or anything?”
The bartender jerked his thumb at the screens inset into the bar. “Menus.”
Scarlet frowned. “Never mind, I’ll order something back at the room.”
The bartender showed no sign of having heard her.
“It was nice to meet you, Ran.”
He propped an elbow on the counter, twisting his stool toward her. “Perhaps our paths will cross again. In Paris.”
Hair prickled on her neck as he settled his chin onto his palm. She noticed with a jolt of disgust that each of his fingernails had been filed into a sharp, perfect point.
“Perhaps,” she said, her tone suffused with politeness.
The instinctual alarm hung with her for two whole cars as she made her way back through the train, a warning buzzing in the air. She tried to shake it off. This was her own nerves playing tricks on her, paranoia finally catching up to her after what had happened to her grandmother, and her father. It was amazing she could carry on a conversation at all with all the panic that was residing just beneath the surface of her skin.
He’d been polite. He’d been a gentleman. Maybe talon-like nails were a growing trend in the city.
Just as she’d determined that nothing about Ran had been deserving of the sudden, ardent distrust, she remembered.