Lavender and Mystery

There was a distinct, frosty chill in the fall evening as Abigail made her way to the small Italian restaurant, La Pasta. The rustic, multi-colored leaves whispered in the breeze, blowing and scattering along the path as black heels clicked methodically with each step taken on the narrow sidewalk. Reaching up, she attempted to tame loose wisps of russet-colored hair flying about her face, but it was futile. Thick, lustrous curls had a mind of their own, and there was no luck to be had with escaping gusts of wind which lent it new life. She thought she might resemble Medusa after such, but alas, it could not be helped. She wished she'd had the foresight to take a taxi in lieu of walking. Perhaps if she had, she would not have looked like a mythological creature laying in wait for her blind date. At the visual, she grew tickled. Well, she had fervent hope her date would be made of sterner stuff and could handle just such a creature.

It had been against her better judgement, but Abigail had allowed two friends to arrange the blind date with someone about whom she knew nothing. They had insisted, however, it was a match made in heaven, akin to Cleopatra and Mark Anthony or Romeo and Juliet. As she approached the restaurant, Abigail rolled her eyes at the unfortunate comparisons. Hopefully their references weren't not bad omens because everyone knew exactly how those matches had ended: quite tragically. Wry amusement surfaced and she smiled. It wasn't as though she hadn't already had enough recent failures in the realm of love. What difference would one more make?

Abigail was at least an hour early, and she preferred it that way. This way she was able to acclimate to her surroundings and would be comfortable in every aspect before meeting her date for the first time. It also meant she could have a drink and relax a bit before she met…..what was his name? Hadn't they said his name was Luca? Well, at least he had one thing in his favor - a strong Italian name. She hoped it was a good sign. Still wondering about her date and if Luca was short for Luciano, she opened the door of the restaurant and stepped inside its warmth. It would be inherently pleasant - and surprising - to meet someone she found attractive and could carry on an intelligent conversation with instead of stilted ramblings all night long.

Entering La Pasta, a new world embraced her senses. The warmth and ambience of the restaurant was like pure magic, transporting her to the loveliness of Italy in the skip of a heartbeat. A beautiful fire blazed from the stone fireplace situated across the room. Small, intimate tables were covered with crisp, white tablecloths set with shimmering candles, small crystal vases of purple flowers, and gleaming flatware and glasses. Yes, the restaurant was an enchanting one and a sign her date may have excellent taste. She wondered how she had managed to miss the small establishment while living in Charleston. A small bar ran the length of the room, so Abigail made her way over to it. Despite the charming, inviting atmosphere, the restaurant was eerily quiet except for soft strains of Italian music playing in the background and the low hum of a fan slowly rotating above. Still, everything combined to lend an ease and comfortableness. She took a seat, settling on a high stool at the bar's end.

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

Abigail smiled in return. “What do you recommend?” she asked.

“We have a wonderful Prosecco from Veneto, Italy. Perhaps la signorina would like to try a glass?” he asked, his accent thick and charming.

“Yes, I would love a glass, please.”

Leaving for only a moment, the bartender returned with a bottle of the champagne. Placing a crystal glass before her, he poured a small portion of the pink, bubbly liquid into it, and waited for her to taste of its sweetness. Abigail lifted the glass and inhaled of the fragrance, feeling tiny bubbles burst to tickle her nose before lifting it to her lips. The Prosecco was most pleasing, so she nodded for the bartender to fill her glass. The delicious warmth of her drink spread with each sip and was the perfect way to ease any tension as she awaited her date's arrival.

She heard the light tinkle of bell at the entrance but glancing at her watch, she realized it was still too early for her mystery date to arrive. No, the new patron entering the door assuredly was not her date.

As she continued to sip her drink, the new arrival, a man, settled on the stool two seats away. Abigail's fingers strummed the stem of her glass before she turned about, and in pretense, glanced around the room as though searching for someone. Her glance came full circle and focused on the new arrival, and she nearly gasped. His crystal blue eyes were watching her intently, never wavering despite the fact she'd caught him. As though in half a greeting, his brow cocked slightly above his left eye as ever so slightly, his lips rose in a semblance of a smile. He gave a slight nod of his head, the barest hint of a dimple peeking from his left cheek. Mesmerized by the intensity in his blue gaze, she managed to respond in kind and then quickly looked away.

She feigned disinterest but heard as he ordered a glass of Merlot. Unnerved by the unwavering regard he had displayed, she continued to sip her drink, hoping it would relax her even more. Her thoughts erratic, she was just thinking she had never met anyone with such icy blue eyes when the owner of them interrupted her musings.

“May I join you?”

His voice was deep and strangely melodic. She turned to watch as, not waiting for her response, the man stood and moved toward her. Upon closer inspection, it was easy to see how handsome he was. Moreover, quite possibly, it was not the color of his blue gaze that was so different, but the intensity therein instead. He was tall and lean with waves of dark hair to contrast against the sharp crystal blue of his eyes. Dressed immaculately, he wore a black cashmere sweater, a crisp white shirt beneath, tailored, slim fitting charcoal grey slacks, and expensive Italian leather shoes. Looking at his wrist, she saw a black leather banded watch and easily surmised it had cost more than six months of her rent. Indeed, everything about this stranger was alluring and very appealing. Inwardly, she sighed, sorely tempted to abandon an unknown - and potentially disastrous - blind date. Alas, she could never do such a thing no matter how attractive she might find this man.

“I’m sorry, but I'm meeting someone in a short while,” she said, more so to remind herself of the obligation than to advise him.

“Ah then, just for a little bit,” he responded with a confident smile and took a seat beside her. Amazed by his boldness, she was still curious what conversation might ensue. She promised herself she would be sure to leave in a few minutes and take her seat at a table prior to her date's arrival.

As the stranger settled onto the stool, Abigail was suddenly very self-conscious of the black dress she wore. She could feel the nearness of the man seated next to her with her entire being, as though he encompassed all air and space. She conspicuously pulled at the hem of her dress, ensuring it covered as much as possible and wound her hands through the emerald green shawl about her shoulders, securely draping it through her arms as though it was a shield that could offer protection from the intensity of his nearness and gaze. The stranger watched her, and she wondered why it seemed as though he might know everything and anything there was to know about her - like he knew what she would do before she did it. His eyes, this close, were truly amazing. Clear and beautiful in their depths, it felt as though they penetrated her soul.

He took a sip of wine before studying her again. With deliberate purpose, he leaned ever so slightly toward her and said, “Lavender.” His whispered tone, lyrical in timbre, reverberated through every facet of her being. It was just as powerful as his penetrating blue gaze if not more so.

Abigail drew back and gave him a look of complete surprise. She had no idea what he meant. “Excuse…me?” she stammered.

He remained silent at first as if gauging her reaction before finally answering. “Your skin. You, smell of lavender.”

A trace of confident smile crossed his handsome visage at the words. Confusion soared through Abigail as a multitude of questions swept through her mind like particles of sand in a windstorm. Who was this man? Did he really just say that her skin smelled of lavender? Lavender! This night, she wore no lavender scent but memories surfaced to taunt her. How could this man possibly know she had bathed the previous evening in lavender scented bathwater? Her mind raced, reeling with surprise. In her confusion, her mind drifted to the memory of rosemary and mint shampoo she had also used. Curious, she wondered whether.…..

Before she could form another thought, and as if the man had read her thoughts, he reached out his hand to lightly touch a wisp of a russet curl falling against her neck. “But here, right here, there is the faintest hint of rosemary and mint.” He spoke slowly, his words precise and deliberate, as if knowing their affect. He was still lightly touching the wisp of hair as he watched a myriad of questions flood her face.

“How….do you… how could you.....?” Abigail could barely form coherent thought, less alone speak. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, echoing something she didn't understand, and she knew her face had flushed a bright pink hue.

The man's blue gaze shifted to her neck where a wild pulse reflected Abigail's reaction, and rested there for long moments before he reluctantly dropped his hand. Pausing, he turned away and looked down into his glass of wine. After long moments, he lifted his blue gaze back to her and smiled nonchalantly. “I have a keen sense of smell. A knack for such things....a hidden talent of sorts one might say.”

A keen sense of smell? A hidden talent? What the bloody hell? He had been inexplicably right - there was no accounting for his rare knack. She would not admit she was shaken - and impressed - but she was. This man had quite the unusual pickup line and it was like none other she had ever encountered. She tried to act nonchalant, as if this sort of thing happened every day - as though some stranger was always revealing intimate details about her - but she suddenly realized, much to her surprise, she desired to know more. Where was this man from? What was his name and what other talents did he possess? Moreover, where did one get a super talent like a keen sense of smell? He was a paradox, an enigma, and yet also intriguing, piquing her interest beyond measure. She longed to uncover his secrets, and she intuitively knew he wanted to uncover her as well.

Abigail took a sip of her champagne and did not try to hide the sigh that left her lips as she reminded herself she needed to be respectful of her date's impending arrival. It would not do for Luca to find her seated at the bar with another man. She eyed the mysterious stranger beside her and reluctantly stood.

“As intrigued as I am by your, hmmm, hidden talents, I apologize, but I cannot stay. I really am expecting someone.” She fought a deep seated urge to remain rooted to her seat and focus on the man in front of her.

The stranger stood, nodded, and smiled. “Of course,” he said. He watched her leave and walk across the room, where she was seated at a table in the corner by the fireplace.

He resumed his seat, drinking from the glass of Merlot. He didn't want to take his eyes from her. He wanted to turn around and continue his observance from where he sat but resisted. He knew he had already unnerved her enough, but she had been so irresistible, so much lovelier than anticipated. Indeed, with her wild russet curls and apprehensive green gaze, she was perfection personified, and exactly she for which he had been searching for many centuries. He yearned to know every minute detail of her existence, allow the lovely lilt of her Southern accent to wrap fluidly around him as he watched the smallest nuance in her expression. Furthermore, he wanted to inhale the sweetness of her lavender scented skin, listen to the rapid beat of heart, and drink of her sweet nectar again and again. Moreover, he was sure she yearned to know his secrets, too. Why had time moved so slowly? Why had their worlds not collided until this night? If he was sure of nothing else, he was sure their meeting was predestined, a fated encounter long overdue.

Only moments later, he stood and ran a hand through dark waves. Picking up his glass, he downed the remainder of wine and placed it on the bar. Slowly, with a methodical purpose, he made his way toward where she sat. At his approach, she looked up, confusion etched across her lovely brow.

He extended his hand. “Hello, Abigail,” he said, a triumphant smile lingering on strong, handsome lips. “My name is Luca. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last.”