Violet
I would have known those eyes anywhere – I’ve dreamed about them nearly every night since I was twenty-one years old.
Three years ago, when I looked into them for the very first time in real life, it had shocked me beyond belief.
Much like right now.
He’s saying my name and it’s just like in my vision.
I can’t breathe.
I don’t know who this man is, but I know he means something to me.
He’s literally the man of my dreams and that scares me half to death.
I know nothing about him, but he’s here, saying my name and touching my arm and I still can’t breathe.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, and I can hear the obvious concern in his voice.
‘No, I’m not okay at all’ I want to scream, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
I can feel the anxiety clawing its way out of me and I know I only have seconds to get it under control.
I think of the technique one of my doctors taught me when I was younger.
Five, four, three, two, one…
I need to concentrate on five things I can see, four things I can touch, three things I can hear, two things I can smell and one thing I can taste.
Five… I can see him, the table, the waiter taking orders, cars on the street, my bag on the seat.
Four… I can touch him, the seat, the floor and the tablecloth.
Three… I can hear him saying my name, the people at the next table talking and the hum of energy from the kitchen.
Two… I can smell him, and garlic bread, and honestly, I’m not sure which smells better.
I can feel my breathing settling now as my body becomes more grounded and calm.
One… I can taste… my eyes immediately dart to his lips, but I grab my glass of orange juice before I do something stupid.
“I’m so sorry,” I finally say as I put my glass back on the table. “You gave me a fright.”
I look up and he’s still watching me carefully.
“Rylan?” I ask, even though it’s obviously him.
“That’s me,” he replies, his face lighting up with a smile so beautiful it actually pains me to look at it.
I find myself smiling back at him; like I don’t even have a choice in the matter.
It’s not lost on me that all five of my senses were drawn to him first and foremost, and considering I don’t know him in the slightest, that’s an unexpected revelation.
He sits opposite me and I’m overcome with a feeling that maybe my life is only just beginning right in this very moment.
“And that’s why I was late,” he replies with a shrug, only now getting around to explaining why he’d kept me waiting.
“You’re an obstetrician?” I ask, surprise clearly colouring my voice.
We’ve been talking for over half an hour, and so far, I’ve managed to keep myself from asking him how or why it is that he frequents my dreams at night.
I’ve also managed not to freak out and panic again, but the more he talks the more I get a feeling of déjà vu that I can’t explain.
He nods and smiles, acknowledging that it’s somewhat of an unexpected field of medicine for him to be in.
He looks like a real man’s man – not someone that looks at women’s private parts all day, while periodically delivering little bundles of joy.
His shoulders are broad and strong, his golden skin is freckled from time spent in the sun and his hair is as dark as the night sky.
If I didn’t already know he worked in the hospital, and someone had told me to guess, I would have gone with something like a builder or a farmer – something that required him to have strong, rugged hands.
He’s tall and lean – he’s very obviously physically fit, and I know I really need to stop looking at him.
“You got it, I’m an obstetrician,” he confirms with a shrug.
“And you were delivering a baby…” I repeat his words back to him, still not quite believing.
He chuckles and the sound is warm and comforting.
I smile at him while I watch the curve of his mouth as the laughter falls from his lips.
“She came early. We weren’t expecting her until next week, but really, at this point I should know better than to expect a baby to come on its due date.”
“Did you know Emmett and Lucy are having a baby?”
He points to himself. “Who do you think is delivering it?”
I gape at him. “Seriously?”
He nods his head proudly.
“Wow… you must be good. You should have seen how long it took her to decide on a car seat. I can’t even imagine the process she went through to pick a doctor… did she bring you in for a formal sit-down interview?”
He grins, and once again the breath is stolen from my lungs.
“I know you’re joking, but you’re actually not far off.”
A realisation I’d previously missed appears front and centre in my mind.
“Hold the phone, so she knows you? That sneaky little she-devil gave me the distinct impression she didn’t know you.”
My eyes are narrowed now, and my finger is pointed at him in an incredibly accusing manner.
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” He holds his hands up in surrender.
I make a pretend shooting motion with my finger, and he laughs – really laughs for the first time tonight.
It’s a perfect sound and I’m already wishing I was funnier so I could say something that would let me hear it again.
“I can’t believe she played me like that.” I scowl half-heartedly.
He looks right into my eyes. His stare is strong and unwavering, and I almost shudder under the weight of it.
“Did she choose wrong?” he asks seriously.
I hold his gaze and shake my head, one small little movement that he doesn’t miss.
She chose good – really good.
He’s interesting, kind, funny, and somehow, manages to pull off this intense thing he has going, all the while looking like an absolute dream.
But the thing is, I’m not sure that Lucy and Emmett chose him at all.
I’m forced to think, that after nearly four years of dreaming of the deep blue eyes that are now focused on my face, watching me carefully, that perhaps this meeting was just meant to be.
I’ve never been a big believer in fate, because then I’d have to accept the fact that someone, somewhere deemed it my fate to suffer when others don’t, but after spending tonight in his magnetising presence, I might have to rethink my views on the world.
“Well… good then,” he replies, reminding me where I am and who I’m with, even though my eyes haven’t left his for a moment.
The sight of him in my mind has become a sense of calm for me, a comfort even… and I hope to God that I’m reflecting my behaviour in a way that is appropriate for two strangers meeting, rather than someone greeting a familiar memory.
“Tell me something about you.”
I refrain from groaning in response to his request.
I absolutely hate talking about myself. I despised the first day of school every year; the one where you had to stand up in class and tell the group a fun fact about yourself.
I would literally rather stick pins in my eyes than tell another ‘fun fact’.
There’s very little to tell about me that isn’t going to get me that look. The look of sympathy.
I loathe the look of sympathy.
I don’t want people to feel sorry for me, I want them to accept me for who I am and not what I’ve been through. I don’t want to become my condition, but sometimes I fear I’ve done exactly that.
“What do you do for work?” he prompts when I don’t reply.
I smile at the question because that is one I can answer – even if it’s not with total honesty. Technically, I don’t work – I volunteer, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet.
“I work at an animal shelter.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “That might be as rewarding as delivering babies.”
“I actually helped deliver a whole litter just last week,” I brag.
“Well then, here’s to new life.” He picks up his glass and holds it up to me.
I reach for my glass and clink it gently against his, repeating his sentiment back to him.
I spend the entire time it takes for our mains to arrive talking about the shelter and the quirky animals that come through, and he’s either an excellent actor, or he’s genuinely interested because he asks me questions the entire time.
I get to hear him laugh again and my insides feel all fuzzy and warm.
We eat in a comfortable silence and I’m aware that he’s watching me as closely as I’m watching him.
I’ve already learned that he’s the kind of person that eats each element on his plate separately, not starting the next type of food until the last one is finished. He’s methodical even in his eating habits.
I, on the other hand, am quite the opposite, I eat a little piece of this, then that, then this again. It’s the unrestrained artist coming out in me I think.
“I paint,” I blurt the words out before I even consider the implication of them.
I only paint for me, and the reason I don’t tell people about it is because the first thing they ask is if they can see my work.
He’s watching me again – honestly, I’m not sure he ever stopped, and I can almost feel him rummaging around in my thoughts – like he somehow understands that even though I brought the topic up, I’m not entirely sure I actually want to talk about it.
“What do you paint?” he asks cautiously after a moment of silence.
I fiddle nervously with the gold ring that I wear on a chain around my neck.
“My feelings, my thoughts…” I shrug. “Whatever comes to me.”
He nods for more than a few seconds, like he’s processing the information.
“I bet they’re incredible.”
I wait for it – the ‘I’d really like to see them sometime’, but it doesn’t come; he simply picks up his glass and takes another sip.
“That’s a beautiful ring.” He tilts his head in the direction of the ring I’m still playing with and I’m taken by surprise – he’s as observant as he is intense.
I bring it up to my face so I can study it, as though maybe I’ve forgotten what it looks like all of a sudden.
“It was my aunt’s. She gave it to me before she passed away.”
And there I go again… speaking before I think, but much like before, he doesn’t ask me questions that I don’t want to answer.
“It matches your eyes beautifully,” he simply replies.
I can feel myself blushing again. Even though he didn’t technically give me a compliment, it still feels like one.
It does match my eyes – that’s why she gave it to me. My Aunt Rita was more like a grandmother to me growing up, she was fifteen years older than my mother, and their parents – my grandparents, were both gone by the time I was born.
She was an absolute loon and I loved her dearly.
She lived long enough to see me get my new heart, and then she was gone, leaving behind a longing ache in my chest, the most wonderful memories, and a trail of wealth that gave my entire family more than we ever thought we’d have.
“You loved her.” He’s not asking a question, but merely reading my expression and stating a fact – it seems to be a skill of his.
We might not eat the same way, but we both appear to share the talent of reading people.
“I loved her very much. She was kind, kooky and very generous.”
When she passed away, she left me the home I now live in along with a small fortune that will ensure I never want for a single thing. Auggie and Charlie have one each too.
She’s the reason I can spend my time painting and volunteering without having to worry about how I’m going to pay the bills.
None of us had any idea that Rita was so well off, or that when she died, she’d leave everything to the five of us. She never had any children of her own, so my parents, my siblings and I, we were it for her.
“She gave me a house.” The words come out without thought yet again.
I don’t know what it is about him, but my walls keep slipping and I find myself telling him things I’d never normally consider telling a someone I just met.
Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like a stranger to me at all.
His eyes widen in surprise, and just when I expect him to question me further, he brings out the line I was expecting earlier, when I told him that I paint.
“I’d really like to see it sometime.”
My heart is beating overtime at the very thought of having this beautiful man in my home, I’m scared, so scared to let people into my life.
This all feels like I’ve been thrown into a pressure cooker. The force is already building up, and I don’t want it to explode, or the lid to lift and the air to escape. I just want to stay right here with him and let this pressure build.
I’ve never felt this comfortable and yet off kilter at the same time, but I think I like it – it feels like living.
“I think that might be okay,” I tell him coyly.
He dips his head and grins, like that was exactly the answer he was hoping for, and for the first time in a long time, I think that maybe everything might be okay after all.