The night air was unseasonably chilly for May, so my little sundress and sweater weren't going to do much to keep me warm. I hadn't planned on walking very far that night, so my shoes weren't really right for what he wanted to do either.
Tristan remained his quiet self as we made our way one block and then two away from the bar. Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked, "What did you want to talk about?"
Glancing at me, he said, "You."
"That's the second time tonight you've answered that way. What about me?"
"What made you decide to live in this section of Brooklyn after college?"
I stopped dead and stared at the back of him as he continued walking. After a few steps more, he noticed I wasn't next to him any longer and stopped to turn around. "Nina?"
"How do you know so much about me, Tristan?"
"I asked."
"Asked who?"
He closed the space between us and stood no more than six inches from me. That gentle smile spread across his lips again. "People who'd know. I like to know about the people I surround myself with."
"What are you talking about? Do I have to ask you to do the straight answer thing again?"
He cocked one eyebrow and then finally said, "You make me smile, Nina. I can't say that about most people."
"That's nice. It's not a straight answer, though."
His hand clasped mine, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. "Let's keep walking so you don't get cold. Your place is near here, isn't it?"
I felt like I was dealing with a madman. It was like we were having two different conversations, neither of which was very satisfying. And now he was holding my hand and appeared to be directing me back to my apartment—a place he'd only been once. I didn't know whether to be flattered he had made the effort to find out about me and remembered where I lived or concerned that he was some kind of scary stalker.
The fact that I had done a little of my own stalking of him didn't escape me either. We made one interesting couple.
"Tristan, please just tell me what you want. I know you're probably used to women who love this mysterious Bruce Wayne-Batman behavior, but I'm just an ordinary soul who likes straight answers."
"Why do you always think you're so ordinary?"
I yanked my hand from his and shook my head. "No more! You show up out of nowhere in the alley behind the gallery, force me to go for a ride, and now you show up at a bar I hang out at. Are you some kind of scary stalker guy or do I owe your company for some kind of bill and you're here to collect? Either way, you're driving me crazy!"
I hadn't meant to sound so emotional, but there it was. The truth. I barely knew this person and already he drove me nuts.
Instead of looking surprised like I thought he would, he just smiled. Not that it wasn't a gorgeous smile, but something about it just sent me over the edge. I stalked away toward home, frustrated enough not to care whether he liked it or not.
I heard his footsteps behind me as he walked quickly to catch up with me. It felt good knowing he wanted to talk to me, even if all he said sounded like damn riddles!
"Nina, I'm sorry. Stop and let me talk for a minute."
Spinning around, I was nearly knocked over as he took a step right into me. His much larger and muscular body crashed into mine, and I went tumbling backwards. Thankfully, he caught me before I landed on my ass.
There I was, in his strong arms, staring up into those dark eyes as he gazed down at me. "You want to talk? All you say are one syllable words and sentences that make no sense. I'd love it if you'd talk, but you don't."
"I'm not usually much of a talker, but you seem to want to hear what I have to say, so let's talk."
He released me and I stood up, smoothing my dress over my thighs. "About what?" I didn't mean to sound so exasperated, but the man had a way of bringing that out in me.
"Art."
More one syllable words. If it wasn't no or yes, it was art with this guy. "Art? What about it?"
"Why do you work at that gallery if you went to school for art history?"
Talking about work wasn't talking about art. Deflated, my shoulders sagged under the disappointment that he seemed once again interested in hearing about my job as personal gopher to Sheila Anderson.