Lavender and Merlot

It was a warm, humid mid-August evening as Abigail made her way to the small Italian restaurant called La Pasta. The bright green leaves in the crepe myrtles whispered in the light breeze and their bountiful blooms loomed stark against the twilight hour as her black heels clicked methodically with each step she took on the narrow sidewalk. Reaching up, she attempted to push back the loose wisps of russet colored hair that flew about her face, but it was a futile endeavor. Her hair, thick and lustrous, had a mind all its own, and tonight, one thing was certain: there was no escaping the heat of the summer that lent it a new strength against any of her efforts to tame it. She mused to herself that she would likely look a mess once she arrived at her destination, but alas, it was what it was. She should have taken that taxi after she had agreed to come on the first date only if she was allowed to arrive and depart of her own accord.

Against her better judgment, Abigail had allowed her friends or co-workers to set her up on this first date with someone about whom she knew absolutely nothing. They had insisted, however, that it was a match meant to be, akin to the likes of Cleopatra and Mark Anthony or Romeo and Juliet. Walking the last few steps to the restaurant, Abigail rolled her eyes at the thought; after all, everyone knew exactly how those famous matches had ended: in tragedy.

She was very early, and she much preferred it that way. She could acclimate herself to the surroundings and be sure that she was comfortable before meeting her date. What was his name? Oh that’s right – it was Luca. Well, at least he had a decent name going for him. She wondered if Luca was short for Luciano as she opened the door of the small establishment and stepped inside out of the wind. It would be inherently pleasant to finally meet someone whom she found attractive or with whom she could carry on a decent conversation.

Abigail was immediately engulfed in a new world as she entered La Pasta. The warmth and ambience of the place was pure magic and transported her to Italy in the mere skip of a heartbeat. Small, intimate tables were scattered throughout, covered with crisp, white tablecloths upon which sat shimmering candles, small crystal vases filled with purple and yellow flowers, and gleaming silverware. The place was enchanting, she thought to herself. A small bar ran the length of one side of the room, so Abigail quickly headed to it and took a seat. Despite the charming, inviting atmosphere, the room was eerily quiet, with the exception of the soft strains of Italian music playing in the background. It appeared she was one of only a few patrons. Still, everything combined to lend her an ease and comfortableness as she took a seat and settled herself on the high stool at the end of the bar.

The bartender approached her. “Buona serata, signorina,” he said with a huge smile. “What would you like to drink this evening?”

Abigail returned his smile. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

“We have a new Merlot from Tuscany. It is the best,” the bartender replied.

“Excellent. I’ll try the Merlot please.”

He poured a small portion of the rich, burgundy Merlot into her glass and waited for her to taste it. Abigail slowly lifted the glass and inhaled of the sweet fragrance before softly swirling the wine in the glass and then sipping of its richness. The warmth of the Merlot was delicious, and she eagerly nodded for him to fill her glass. It was perfect. She had always found Merlot to be a soft, sensual wine that fully warmed her. It was one of her favorites and perfect to ease the slight tension or apprehension she felt this night as she waited for her first date with Luca.

She heard the light tinkle of the bell at the door but glancing at her watch, she realized it was still far too early for her mysterious date of the night to arrive. She had generously given herself a full hour prior to the scheduled time to give herself ample course to partake of a drink and familiarize herself with the surroundings. If she did this small thing, it would allow her a level of comfort with the evening that she was sure she otherwise would not achieve.

As she continued to sip the luscious glass of Merlot, a gentleman settled himself on the bar stool which was situated two seats away from where she sat. Lightly strumming the stem of her wine glass with her slim fingers, she eventually turned, and in pretense, glanced about the room as if searching for someone. As her glance came full circle to land on the newcomer, she nearly gasped aloud. His crystal blue eyes watched her intently, never wavering in their regard despite the fact that she’d caught him staring. In response, his brow cocked slightly above his left eye, and then ever so slightly, his lips rose into a semblance of a smile as he nodded his head in greeting, the barest hint of a dimple peeking from his left cheek as he did so. Nearly mesmerized by the intensity of his blue gaze, nonetheless, she managed to reply with a slight smile and nod of her own.

She listened as he ordered a glass of Merlot. Still feeling a bit unnerved by his direct, intense gaze, she continued to sip her drink, allowing the warmth embodied in the wine to relax her. She was musing that she’d never seen such icy blue eyes as his when he interrupted her thought process.

“May I join you?” His voice was deep, melodic - yet another mesmerizing quality.

She turned to watch as he stood. He was brutally handsome. She mused that it was quite possibly not the color of his vivid blue gaze that was so different, but the intensity therein instead. He was tall and lean with dark hair to contrast against the blue of his eyes and the lightness of his skin. He was dressed immaculately in a black cashmere sweater, a crisp white shirt beneath, tailored, charcoal grey slacks, and fine Italian leather shoes. She momentarily considered abandoning her blind date as she watched him, but she knew she could never do such a thing no matter how inclined to the stranger she seemed to be.

“I’m meeting someone in just a while,” she quietly replied.

“Ah, well, just for a bit then,” he responded with a bit more of a smile evident as he took the seat beside her.

She was surprised by his boldness despite her words. While admittedly curious as to what conversation he might strike up, she promised herself that she would leave and get a table prior to the arrival of her date.

As the stranger took the seat beside her, she was suddenly very self-conscious of the short black dress she’d chosen to wear this evening. She conspicuously pulled at the hem of it, ensuring it covered as much as possible of her long, slender legs. She suddenly felt flushed and wished that it was not summer so that she’d have the comfort of a shawl to securely wrap about herself. It was as if she felt the nearness of this man with her entire being. He continued to watch her, and she wondered, strangely enough, if he knew every move she would make before she made it. And those eyes! They were unbelievably beautifully blue and seemed to penetrate to the depths of her soul.

As he settled next to her, he took a sip of his wine before glancing up to lean toward her ever so slightly before speaking. The deep sound of his voice reverberated within her.

“Lavender,” he said, his tone just as penetrating as his vivid blue gaze.

Abigail was momentarily perplexed. “Excuse…me,” she stammered in response.

He watched her closely as he continued. “Your skin. It smells of lavender.”

Was that the trace of a smile she saw on his face? Confusion filled her mind with his words and a multitude of questions swept through it like particles of sand in a windstorm. Who was this man? Did he really just say that her skin smelled of lavender? Really? Lavender? How did he know? This night, she wore no lavender scented oil or perfume, but the previous evening she had bathed in lavender scented bathwater. Her mind raced, full of questions and then quickly drifted to the memory of the rosemary and mint shampoo she’d used. Curious, she could not help but wonder…….

However, before she could form another thought, and as if he’d read her mind, he reached out his hand to lightly touch a wisp of a russet curl that lay against her neck. “But here, right here, there is the faintest hint of rosemary and mint, is there not?” He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if knowing the effect his voice and its low timbre had on her. He was still lightly touching the wisp of hair while he watched a myriad of questions flood her face and green eyes.

“How….do you….?” She could barely speak, less alone form a coherent thought in response to his perceptive abilities and comments. And then, there was the matter of his touch. Though light, she felt it as intensely as she felt every other facet about the man.

The look in his blue eyes shifted to her neck and lingered there on the beating pulse for a brief moment before he reluctantly dropped his hand, pausing as he did so to look down at his glass of Merlot. With a stern smile, he said, “I have a keen sense of smell. A hidden talent of sorts, one might say.”

A keen sense of smell? A hidden talent? One might say? What the devil? Abigail didn’t want to admit that she was impressed, but she very much was. He had been completely right about every scent, and more to the point, every scent she had used the previous night.

Regaining her wits, she admitted to herself that this was certainly unlike any other pickup line she’d ever encountered. She attempted, likely in vain, to act nonchalant, as if this sort of thing happened every other day to her. But the truth was that she wanted to know more about this man. Where was he from? What was his name? And where the devil did one get such a super talent as a keen sense of smell? She was inexplicably drawn to him, feeling as though she already knew him in ways she didn’t understand. And why did she feel as if he had secrets she needed to uncover – that he yearned to divulge to her?

Abigail sighed to herself, resignation and a bit of disappointment filling her being as she reminded herself that she needed to be respectful of the impending arrival of her date. Luca would most likely be there at any moment, and it would not do for him to find her seated at the bar with this stranger, no matter what attraction the mysterious stranger held for her. She eyed the man beside her before she reluctantly stood.

“As intrigued as I am, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. As I told you, I really am expecting someone,” she said. It took everything inside of her not to remain rooted to the seat and make this man the focus of her undivided attention. She yearned to know more about him.

He nodded. “Of course,” he said with a smile and watched as she walked across the room, where the waiter seated her at a cozy table near the back of the room.

Slowly, he resumed his seat, sipping the Merlot he’d ordered as he continued to watch her. She was much lovelier than he had imagined she would be. Indeed, she seemed to be nothing short of perfect. He was looking forward to knowing more about her. And, if he’d read her correctly, she also wanted to know more about him. It was strange, but he was wondering why it had taken so long for their worlds to suddenly collide. If he was sure of anything, he was sure that tonight was a fated meeting and was long overdue.

After a short while, he stood and ran a hand through the dark, thick waves of his hair. Picking up his glass, he finished the remainder of his wine and carefully sat the glass back on the bar. He then turned and slowly made his way to the table where she sat patiently waiting for her blind date. As he approached, she looked up, confusion and surprise clearly etched across her lovely face.

He extended his hand. “Hello, Abigail,” he murmured. “I’m Luca. It’s very nice to meet you.”