Free Find Her, Keep Her by Z. L. Arkadie Page A

Especially if they look like you.”
    I drop my face and blush. “You’re such a charmer.”  
    “Do you know how beautiful you are?” He sounds serious.  
      “I’m uncomfortable with that kind of stuff,” I admit easily and shrug. I’ve never said that to anyone.
    “No, you’re not.”  
    “I’m not?” I ask, a little annoyed.
    “Those are some very in-depth articles you wrote. Do you really think those cab drivers would’ve carried you around if you weren’t so damn hot? What did you wear? The kind of dress you have on now? Or the red one from yesterday?” He bites his bottom lip as his mind wanders.
    “You’re just saying that because you are attracted to me. That’s how it works. Attraction is subjective.”
    “Is that what you tell yourself?”
    “That’s what I believe,” I say.
    “That’s what you choose to believe. Why is that?” There’s nothing condescending or malicious in his tone, which makes it easier to answer his question.  
    I look up at him. He looks eager to hear my reply. “Who cares what I or anyone else looks like? In the end, it’s the heart, spirit, and soul of a person that we’re ultimately attracted to.” I wait for his response, but all I hear are our footsteps and birds making peculiar noises around us.
    “I agree,” he finally says. He takes my hand and lifts it in front of his face. “It doesn’t seem like we just met, does it?”  
    “No, it doesn’t.”  
    “I want to kiss your hand, but that’ll be me making a move on you.”
    “That’s true.” I take back my hand playfully.  
    He tugs at the skirt of my dress. “When are you going to do it?”
    “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe on Friday.”
    “You really think I can wait that long? Hell, could you wait that long?”
    “I don’t know.” I stare down at my soiled feet. “Maybe.”
    “I can’t wait that long. I probably won’t be able to wait five more minutes,” he whispers. He looks at the ground as if the thought is burdensome. In a more spritely tone, he asks, “Were you an English or philosophy major?”
    “Both, actually. Why you ask?
    “It’s what you said about subjective meaning.”
    “How do you know about it?”
    “I’m an oracle, baby. I know everything.” There he goes grinning again.  
    I shake my head, officially and once again charmed.
    “All the hot girls were English majors, so I took a lot of classes I really didn’t need,” he confesses.
    “Chasing girls in college, now that’s a novel idea,” I remark sarcastically.
    “I bet you were being chased.”
    “No,” I shake my head. “No, I was not chased. I’m sure of it. When I was in college, I looked like a twelve-year-old. I didn’t blossom, really, until I was thirty-two.”
    “How old are you?”  
    “You’re not supposed to ask a lady her age.” I wink. “How old are you?”  
    “I’m thirty-five,” he says.
    “Ha! We’re the same age.”
    “See, I told you. You and I”—he shifts his finger back and forth between us—“soul mates.”
    I gaze at the trail.  
    “Wait,” Belmont whispers as he comes to an abrupt stop. He guides me to stand in front of him. “Look.” He points out past a field of high grass that comes to a stop at the edge of a stagnant pond.
    I narrow my eyes to see a little red ball perched on a broken tree stump.
    “Is that a bird?” I ask.
    “Shush,” he gently admonishes me.
    “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, heeding the warning.
    It’s a tiny bird about the size of my palm. Its skin is furry instead of feathery. I could literally pet it like a cat. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what it looks like, a brand-new kitten, only it’s bright red and makes choppy, squeaking noises.
    “Shoot,” I curse under my breath. “I don’t have my camera.”  
    “How about this?” Belmont slides a cell phone out of his pants pocket and takes a picture. As soon as the camera clicks, the tiny bird leaps off the tree stump and flies