A throat clearing draws my thoughts back to the present and my attention away from the window. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome stands at the end of my table.  He inclines his head toward the chair across from me, his eyes still studying me intently.  “Is this seat taken?”


I shake my head, mute, goosebumps skittering over my skin at the sound of his voice, and my diaphragm paralyzed again.  His lips curve even more, more of a smirk than a smile. He folds himself so that he sits across from me, his glass of red wine on the table in front of him.  


I take a drink of my own wine, needing something to do and a way to clear the blockage that has formed in my throat.  After a couple of swallows I think maybe I can get some words out.  “I didn’t invite you to take it.”  I lift an eyebrow, hoping to come across as coy and flirty, and take another sip from my glass.  My voice rasps the words out, an indication of his effect on me, but I don’t sound like I’m choking, so that’s good.  God, what is wrong with me?  Why am I reacting like this?  I’d chalk it up to being tired from the drive, but I stayed with Brian and Jenna for a couple of days before coming down here, and it’s only a few hours from their house to Walla Walla.  


He laughs, throwing back his head like I just told a great joke.  My other eyebrow raises to join the first.  What the hell?


He calms down and leans his forearms on the the table, his fingers spinning his glass by the stem.  “No, I suppose you didn’t.  Usually when a woman doesn’t want a man to join her, she says the seat is taken even if it isn’t.  At least in my experience.”  


“You get rejected a lot?”


He laughs again, though not as much as before.  “Not especially, no.”


I nod.  Not surprising.  With his smooth confidence, it’s hard to deny him what he wants. “You could’ve wanted the chair for another table, though.  In which case it would be rude of me to say it’s taken when it clearly isn’t and deprive you of a needed chair.”


He gives a pointed glance around the nearly empty space. When his gaze returns to me, he raises an eyebrow and takes a drink of his wine.


“Fine.  Point taken.”


“Would you like me to leave you alone?”  The smile has fallen from his face, his gaze still intent, but sincere.  


I drop my eyes to consider that for a moment, toying with my glass.  Do I want him to leave me alone? The way he flusters me with just his presence alone makes me think I should send him packing, my sense of self-preservation strong.  The same smooth confidence that makes him hard to deny has my senses on high alert. Pierce was smooth and confident at first, too. After his betrayal, I haven’t been interested in guys or relationships.  But something about this man makes me want to see where tonight could go.  There’s no harm in sharing a table with an attractive man while we each drink some wine, is there?  What’s the worst that could happen?