Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,36
minutes before I notice that Richard is watching me.
I’ve never seen that particular expression in his eyes before. I’m not sure how to label it. He’s not a soft man—not soft in any way. He can be warm. He can be funny and clever and thoughtful and careful. He can be as hard and cold as ice. I know it although he’s never shown me that side of him. And he can definitely be hot.
But I’ve never known him to be soft.
What I see in his eyes right now as they rest on my face, is almost—almost—there.
“What?” I say, my cheeks flushing with a self-consciousness I simply can’t help.
“Nothing.”
“Do I have ice cream all over my face?” I’ve been using my napkin whenever I feel even a hint of it, but it’s certainly possible that I’ve missed some.
“No,” he murmurs. Then he leans forward, adding, “Well, actually.”
I have no idea what to expect when he gives the side of my mouth a teasing little swipe with his tongue.
Surprised by an overflow of shivers, I give a little squeal and push him back with my free hand.
He’s laughing and still watching me in that almost soft way when he leans back against the bench again.
I lick a trickle of cream that’s trying to make an escape down the side of my cone. “This is a pretty big cone.”
“It is.”
“It might be a little too much for ten o’clock in the morning.”
“I’m sure you’re up to the challenge.”
I slant him a quick look. His eyes are still resting on my face. I want to ask what he’s thinking. I want to ask why he’s looking at me that way. I want to demand that he let me in to the mysterious recesses of his heart and soul.
I don’t. Not just because I know the effort would be self-defeating.
Also because I’m afraid to know. Afraid I won’t like what I find there.
Or that maybe I’ll like it too much.
I eat in silence for a few more minutes until I’ve tackled the top. I really am full now, so I offer the remainder of the cone to Richard. “I can’t eat anymore.”
To my surprise, he accepts it, biting into the cone and finishing it off with an impressive display of speed and tidiness. He bunches up the wrapper and napkin afterward and tosses it into the garbage can next to the bench.
I’m looking out at the boats on the water when I ask randomly, “Do you sail?”
He’s obviously been lost in his own thoughts because he blinks. “What?”
“Do you sail?” I nod toward a sailboat against the horizon.
“Oh. No, I don’t.”
“Do you just not like it? Or do you not get the opportunity?”
“Neither. I’ve actually never done it.”
This is unexpected enough for me to turn away from the beach and adjust my body so I can see him better. “You’ve never sailed before?”
“Why do you sound so surprised? Are you big on sailing or something?”
“No. I’ve never sailed either.”
“So what’s your point?” His tone is half-curious, half-amused.
“I don’t know. I just thought you would have sailed before.”
“Why?”
“Because you seem to have done everything.”
His smile fades into a thoughtful frown. He reaches out to push some hair behind my ear that’s escaped from the scarf I pulled it back with and was blowing in my eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“Why would I say that? Seriously? Have you seen yourself? You know everything and can do everything and are good at everything.”
He’s almost smiling again. “That’s not really true, you know.”
“I know, but you just give off the impression of being more experienced than anyone else. Experienced with everything. Like you’ve lived more than one life. Like nothing can surprise or rattle you. Like you’re just on the edge of world-weary.”
I didn’t actually intend to ramble out all that, and for a moment I’m worried he’ll take it the wrong way.
He doesn’t. He gives a soft huff of amusement. “Sometimes I feel that way. But there’s a lot I haven’t done.”
“I don’t believe you. Maybe you’ve never sailed before, but you’ve done pretty much everything else. We’re polar opposites. You’ve done everything, and I’ve done almost nothing. Maybe that’s why we hooked up with each other for a little while.”
“You’ve done plenty.”
“I’ve done some things, but inexperience is pretty much the name of the game for me. I’m not complaining. I’ve had a pretty good life, and I’ve got it way better than most people. But I’ve also been scared most of my life. Scared