He didn’t have to wait long. Within just a few minutes a tall, willowy woman approached, crossing the main office, heading for the reception area. It was the woman who had caught his eye, the one he was counting on to say yes.
Immediately, Rafe hopped to his feet. Anya was here. Time to show what stuff he was made of.
***
“Mr.…Rafe. I…what a pleasant surprise.” Anya almost groaned. That hadn’t come out quite the way she’d intended. But this visit really was a surprise and she hadn’t lied when she said it was a pleasant one. After all, this was the man who'd been on her mind all this time. And now he was here in the flesh and looking as tall, tanned and handsome as ever.
Even more surprising, today Rafe was looking nothing like the bohemian she’d met two days earlier. Now he looked nothing-short of debonair in his coal-gray business suit and wine colored silk tie. His hair was the same, though – black and shiny and slicked back. And his eyes – those eyes that had grabbed her the first time they met – now gleamed like liquid gold as he let his gaze slide up her body and to her face which she knew was probably flushed and pink. And it was all his fault. Why was he looking at her like that?
It was enough to make a girl grow moist and…she blinked. What in heavens was she doing? The man was standing right in front of her and she was busy daydreaming about what he could do to her. Thank goodness he couldn’t read minds.
“Uhm, how may I help you, Rafe?” She’d asked him that question once before and instead of giving her a proper answer he’d asked her out on a date. What was he up to now?
“Miss Petersen,” he said, giving her a very slow, very charming smile as he approached the reception counter. “I’d like to start over, if you don’t mind. I want to introduce myself properly. My name is Rafe Kent, businessman, entrepreneur, and lover of international culture.” He held out his hand as if they were meeting for the very first time.
Anya bit her lip. She’d thought he was going to say, lover of women. He certainly looked the type. But then she did a mental shrug. That wasn’t fair, judging him like that. Just because he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever met it didn’t mean he was a sower of wild oats. The least she could do was give him the benefit of the doubt. So, granting him a small smile, she reached out and took his hand.
This time, instead of waiting for her to pull her hand away, he was the one who let go first.
And, despite herself, Anya could not stop the feeling of disappointment that rose inside. She was being stupid, she knew that well enough, but although she’d been the one who’d rejected him she could not stop herself from hoping he would try again.
And then she saw him stick his hand inside his breast pocket and pull out a business card. So that was why he’d pulled his hand away so fast. He’d wanted to give her something. She almost smiled in relief.
“Here you go, Miss Anya,” he said as he handed her the card. “Rest assured, I’m not the beatnik I seem to be."
She took it from his fingers, a shiny ivory and gold card with the words, Kent Software Communications. She’d never heard of it but his business was legitimate, she guessed. In any case, she could always go online and check him out. She slid the card into her pocket. Later, she would do just that.
And then he shoved his hands deep inside his pockets and for a moment he looked uncertain. “I was wondering,” he said, “if you would join me for a late lunch. I know you’re a busy woman but even busy women have to take a break to eat.” Then he gave her a crooked smile. “Unless you’re a cyborg.”
His attempt at a joke made her relax. “I can assure you, I’m not. I doubt a cyborg’s tummy would growl when she’s hungry.”
“Great. So you’ll have lunch with me?”
“I didn’t say that,” was her quick response. “All I said was-”
“Oh, go ahead. We can survive without you in the staff room this one afternoon.”
Anya turned to see the smiling face of the woman who served as both receptionist and secretary at the small school. “Why, Frau Schuler,” she said, surprised, “are you encouraging me to go out with someone I hardly know?”
The lady nodded, seeming totally oblivious to the fact that she’d just interrupted a private conversation. “Just take separate cars, Anya. And eat in a public place. You will be all right.”
That made Anya lift an eyebrow.
“If you want to get ahead in life,” Mrs. Schuler persisted, “you have to take chances. Go for it.” Then the woman patted her on the shoulder and ambled away, leaving both Rafe and Anya staring after her.
When she turned back to face Rafe, Anya was laughing. "I guess I have no choice. The 'boss' has spoken.”
That made Rafe laugh, too, and then he was waving at the woman who had helped him out. “Vielen Dank, Frau Schuler. I owe you one.”
The mood lightened, Anya didn’t have it in her to say no to Rafe this time. After Mrs. Schuler had intervened, how could she? In fact, she didn’t want to say no. There was nothing she wanted more than to get to know the handsome man who had gone out of his way to track her down.
After they’d agreed to meet at Das Kleine Lokal in thirty minutes Rafe left, giving Anya the opportunity to tackle the resident matchmaker. “Frau Schuler, I know you’ve been telling me I need to get out more, but really.”
“Yes, my dear. Really.” The woman gave Anya more of a smirk than a smile. “You do nothing but spend all your free time with senior citizens. Go out with someone your own age for a change.” Then she moved closer and whispered, “You never know, he may be the one.”
“Oh, please,” Anya said with a laugh. “I don’t think so. I hardly even know the man.”
“And that’s why you should go out with him,” Mrs. Schuler insisted. “Get to know him. I can see the two of you ending up together. He’s American, you’re American. See? You already have one thing in common.”
“I’m half German,” Anya reminded her but Mrs. Rosner was shaking her head as if that didn’t matter at all. “I’ll probably have nothing in common with the man. I won’t know what to say.” Anya was airing all the doubts tumbling around in her head. She was thinking of the fact that she’d never been great at conversation. Too reserved, she’d been told. What if today was more of the same? What if she came off as too quiet or too stilted? And what was she going to talk about, anyway? The more she thought about it, the more nervous she got.