"I'm sorry." He cut himself off, eyebrows tilted in a worried manner. "I can get a little long winded. I didn't mean to lecture."
In the breath before answering, my heart took his picture – his remarkable blue eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the way the edge of his sleeves molded to the muscles in his arms – and I knew I'd have it forever.
"Don't apologize. I've enjoyed every moment. You make me want to rush home and pack for an expedition." The lines smoothed from his forehead. "Teaching is important to you, isn't it?"
His eyes softened, like a friend with a shared insight. "Yes, I suppose it is. Probably one of the more worthwhile occupations I've had in my life. What about you? Do you enjoy what you do?"
"Very much," I said without hesitation, but a little disappointed to rejoin the world that was not part of his stories. "I quit my corporate job a couple of years ago. It's not easy to get time off when you're your own boss, but it's a lot more rewarding. Not nearly as exciting as finding dinosaur bones in the wilderness, though."
A self-conscious chuckle escaped his lips and his gaze shifted to the table top. He rubbed his hand across his mouth.
I traced my fingertip around the lip of my glass. "The big advantage is having more time to ride since I don't have to deal with the commute anymore. And Uncle Henry finds it easier to fit me into his schedule." The memory of him touching my hair after Greg's attack surfaced, complete with a vivid flash of fantasy involving Paul's naked body. I felt myself flush, and looked away, making a small diversion out of sipping my drink.
"Henry's quite a man," Paul said. "Do you have any ambitions of following in his footsteps?"
"No, I'd never be able to do it. Two Olympic Games, complete with medals, World championships, and countless international competitions. It's a grueling, demanding life."
"You don't compete?"
"No. Not any more." The moment the curt words left my lips I realized how unfair my tone was. He had no way of knowing.
But he seemed not to notice. "Dressage shows aren't like regular horse shows, right? There are individual tests and the horse is judged against a standard instead of against the other competitors? That what Henry told me, if I remember correctly."
I had to hand it to him, he must have paid attention. I picked up the conversation. He hadn't crossed any line. "Right. The tests are a series of patterns, done at the walk, trot, and canter, and they vary in difficulty depending on the level the horse and rider are working at."
"So one arrives at a competition and is handed patterns to memorize?"
"No, thankfully. The tests are published and available to anyone. They get changed once every four years – the year before the Olympic Games."
"You mean a rider gets to practice the test, and ride it for four years before having to learn a new one? Kind of sounds like cheating."
I laughed, but he asked good questions. "You're equating a dressage test with the academic equivalent. This is a little different. The tests are used to help the horse progress through his training, not just evaluate his progress, and certainly not to trip him up by springing something new on him. And besides, over the course of four years the horse is bound to move up a level or two." It seemed he understood. At least his eyes weren't glazing over.
"If you know a lot about it, why don't you compete? It seems to me Henry would be top notch support."
My smile went rigid, and I straightened in my chair despite reminding myself that his sucker-punch was unintentional. I hedged my response. "I think he would like me to, and I might someday. It's more important to me to learn, though. I guess I got caught up in the education."
But I saw where this conversation was going and it depressed me. Any second now he'd smile in that condescending male-way they all did, tell me to cowboy up and not be so sensitive. After all, if I really loved dressage I'd take my reward from the doing of it, and other people's opinions wouldn't matter. I'd had this chat so many times before with Jonathan and others that I could have faxed it in.
"I can understand that." Paul sipped his drink and watched me for a moment. "It's easier to risk failure when you're not related to someone who's been remarkably successful at the same thing."
Okay, this was different. Maybe. I had the uneasy sense of being transparent until perception spoke loud enough to be heard over the grumbling of my good buddy, defensiveness.
"Sounds like the voice of experience." I tried to sound casual, but I was probing and not sure if I should.
"Yeah, I guess." He swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. "I became the family renegade and a teenager simultaneously. Made a big deal about not following my dad into medicine. Told my parents I wanted to do things my own way."
"Was that when you joined the Army? Right out of high school?"
"You could say. I joined the Army, then finished high school."
"You dropped out?" I never would have guessed, and couldn't help the amusement in my voice.
"Pretty funny, now, isn't it?" A corner of his mouth turned up and he met my gaze.
"I think it's admirable you've done so much." I sincerely meant it.
He shook his head, picked up the salt shaker, and moved it as if it were a chess piece. Still looking at it, he shifted in his seat, and what must have been his knee, brushed the inside of mine. A jolt sizzled up my thigh and collided with the base of my spine before sending its heat radiating into my belly. I gulped – and waited for another touch. He shifted again, and I knew he'd moved his knee away.
"Mostly, I made things difficult for myself and everyone else. My folks are proud of what I do now even though I'm not a doctor like my dad and brother. Looking back, I think I was so scared I would fail I took a short cut to reduce the misery."
"But you didn't fail, you're doing something you love. And you did end up making your own decisions." Without thinking, I reached across the table and briefly touched the back of his hand.
His laugh was soft as his gaze met mine. "Not a waste of time in your book, then?"
"Hardly." His gentle humor made my heart flutter. He cared what I thought of him. "It's made you what you are. Nothing wrong with that."
It occurred to me, as our conversation drifted back to shared acquaintances, unique family members, and other subjects with varying in degrees of seriousness, that I could talk to him without being wary. I forgot my earlier discomfort. There was none of the judgmental posturing I was so used to, and so distrustful of, with Jonathan. Paul listened. Why hadn't you noticed that on the drive home from Seattle Saturday night, Thea? I knew the answer immediately. I had been too wrapped up in my own drama.
The waitress interrupted our sharing of grad school woes, clearing her throat at a decibel level we couldn't ignore. "More of the same?"
My glass had been empty for a while. I think she'd attempted to refill our drinks before and we ignored her. Whoops.
"Would you like another?" Paul asked.
"No, I'm good."
"Why don't we leave then? I haven't had a chance to look around downtown yet. Are you up to playing tour guide?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sounds like fun."
Paul left a sizable tip. Maybe it was an apology.
We strolled down First Avenue, looking into the windows of the various merchants and abundant antique shops, now closed for the evening. Nearby bars and several restaurants were hopping. Parking would be at a premium for the remainder of the evening.
"I've never seen so many antique shops crammed into one place," Paul observed. "What's the history of this town?"
"Hmm…" I dug around in my inadequate memory and improvised a lengthy tale.