|
Scarlett settled back into her seat, trying to get comfortable and forget about the crazy morning she'd just endured. The havoc began with a pre-sunrise phone call from the airline to say they had overbooked the flight and she had been kicked off. The girl apologized and said they would fly her anywhere in the country for free, anytime. Scarlett calmly pointed out that "anytime" was this time, since she needed to be in New York tonight.
Ophelia Hunter, a 40-some eccentric but generous widow from new and old money in Georgia, had decided to purchase some property in New York, and wanted Scarlett to have free rein in redecorating and revamping the entire place. Scarlett couldn't very well refuse her; she enjoyed Ophelia's company and her fascinating, epic stories, and as an added bonus, she was paid handsomely for her work.
"You could try the train, ma'am," the girl had nervously suggested. Scarlett mumbled something unladylike and hung up. With no other alternatives and Olivia's New York penthouse to remodel in her own vision, Scarlett decided to get a train ticket instead. Now she waited for the train to leave the station, knowing that without a doubt, by the end of the seventeen-hour trip, she would never want to board again. Even though this was a more modern train, and she had her own small "room", she still felt all its movements. She tried to relax, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply.
Four hours later, Scarlett awoke, startled, not realizing she had fallen asleep. Her stomach growled, indicating its owner's negligence, and Scarlett decided to sate her. She went down to the cramped train "restaurant", where everyone's eyes watched her. Granted, she was wearing a red dress, while most of the other diners were in more sober colors. Scarlett drummed her fingertips on the table tunelessly, scanning the restaurant until saw someone who didn't look quite so... basic.
His face was cast down, and he was scowling down at a crossword puzzle. His fingertips were covered in ink, but he seemed not to notice, or not to care. Scarlett tried to absorb as much information about him as she could. He was almost a decade younger than her thirty-one years, and he was inexplicably decadent. His hair was jet black and he wore it short and somewhat spiky, although haphazardly maintained. His white t-shirt, distressed leather jacket and loose-fitted denim jeans made him look like a high-school kid trying to look older. But the mature angle of his jaw, lined with two days' worth of stubble, cut through his aura of innocence and gave him a mysterious, masculine edge.
Scarlett realized she was staring, but before she could look away from him, he caught her eye. The piercing blue of them astounded her, as did the shivers that ran down her spine. What was happening to her? Was she really breaking into a sweat over a boy? Then he smiled at her, a deliciously boyish and flirtatious grin that revealed his perfect teeth and crinkled the corners of his eyes. Scarlett felt a blush creep up over her fair skin to the roots of her strawberry blond hair. She wondered what it was about this particular male that piqued her interest.
Suddenly, he stood up and passed several tables until standing in front of hers.
"May I sit down?" he queried, and she nodded. He slid comfortably into the bench, resting his folded arms on the table, hearing his leather jacket rubbing against itself as he laid down the crossword puzzle and pen. Scarlett saw that the theme of the puzzle was "Things That Burn," and was intrigued.
|
