"Do you see that guy?"
"What guy?"
"On your left. With a black sweater and sunglasses." A red-headed woman, probably in her mid-twenties, nudged her friend's, a gorgeous blonde's, leg underneath their table, trying to direct her attention to the said man. "He's been sitting there for as long as we have, and probably even longer because when we came, he was already there. Alone." The ginger wiggled her thin eyebrows, pointy nails drumming on the top of their table.
"You've been ogling him for two hours?" Complete indifference and boredom could be heard in her friend's breathy voice, and a pointed, indifferent look was thrown towards the man. The blonde's aquamarine gaze returned and immediately was thrown back again. Now she really took the man in, widening her black-lined eyes. "Damn you've got a good taste. First time for everything, I guess." Staring at him, the blonde did not notice a dirty look thrown her way.
"Yeah, well, observation is a quality not everyone is gifted with." The redhead retorted in a snarly tone, effectively bringing back her friend's attention from the male nearby.
She lifted one perfectly-shaped, light eyebrow. "Good to know. I was starting to worry about which point of your life you've lost it. Wouldn't want to repeat the same mistake." A slow smirk tore through her full, rosy lips, seeing the furious look that she was given. "C' mon, you know I am joking."
"Of course you are." The redhead mumbled underneath her breath, her beautiful green eyes returning to the man nearby. "Should we invite him or something...?"
"He is probably waiting for his date to show up. Such men do not sit in cafés alone."
"For two hours?" Disbelieving, the woman's tone rose an octave, scepticism clear. "Who in the world waits for his date for two whole hours?"
"I don't know. Perhaps he showed up early? Had some things to do beforehand? Or," The blonde shifted in her seat a little. "you could go and chat with him, Liz. Y'know, test the waters."
The ginger, Liz, gave her an annoyed look, which continued no longer than a few seconds. Her emerald orbs immediately shone with excitement, and lithe body straightened in its seat. "Why not? I might as well offer him some coffee. He doesn't have any." With renewed determination, she stood up and made her way towards the lonely figure, the blonde following her with an amused look on her face. Hips rolling from side to side, Liz straightened her white blouse underneath a leather jacket, making sure it accentuated her chest - small but bouncy. She reached the male, smiling brightly when he finally noticed her, rising up from his seat immediately. "Hey. Do you mind if I keep you company?" Not waiting for his response, she tugged a chair, lowering herself on it.
"No. Not... At all." The man muttered while sitting down, too, and his voice alone almost made Liz moan. You simply don't find such orgasmic voices that often. And it was just that, a voice worth to orgasm for. Low and deep, it came somewhere deep from his wide chest and had a hint of morning grogginess in it. The woman bit her lower lip, reminding herself to do it gently to not destroy her perfectly-applied lipstick. Red, of course, to complement her gorgeous hair colour.
"Could I get your name?" She smiled brightly, clenching her thighs together when the man gave her a tight smile of his own.
"Ashwood. Ashwood Mallory."
"Eliza Campbell." She stretched her manicured arm, allowing Ashwood to take her hand in his and squeeze gently, her touch lingering a little longer than necessary above the table. "But don't call me Eliza. Only my mother does when she's angry. For everyone else I'm Liz."
"Nice to meet you, Liz." Ashwood smiled once more, this time showing his model-perfect teeth. He brought his large hand to his face, taking off his sunglasses, and immediately narrowing his eyes. "Sorry. The light... I'm not used to such brightness."
"It's okay. I can see an outsider getting uncomfortable with our Canadian climate. Most people think it's dark and gloomy all year around, when truth is, we do get more than enough sun. Well, at least in this part of British Columbia. A little higher and the trees make it rather difficult to get a tan." She laughed light-heartedly, waiting for him to join her. But Ashwood just smiled politely in agreement. "So... An outsider, huh? Where are you coming from?"
"From far." The man indicated a certain finality, and Liz got the message. Topic closed. "What about you? Are you a native here, Liz?"
"Yeah, lived here all my life. Sucks not to know the world. The same faces mingling around and each day similar to yesterday. You know, routine." The ginger felt her face heat up. She knew she started to babble. But something about this man, Ashwood – and she was not sure what – made her feel at ease with herself. Maybe the way his gorgeous blue-green eyes gazed at her with précised seriousness, the way his luscious, bee-stung lips were pressed in a soft line, or perhaps his posture, non-verbally showing that he was listening and interested in what else she had to say. "I hate routine more than I hate anything else. It... I don't know. It kind of chokes me sometimes. Metaphorically, of course." Liz ended it with a gentle, sheepish smile, taking a glimpse at the man through her long eyelashes.
"Yeah, I know the feeling." Ashwood nodded, and the woman straightened in her seat.
"Do you?"
He lifted his eyebrows, amusement shining in his light orbs. "Of course. I would not live life if I didn't know what routine was, nor if I actually enjoyed it. It is good to have stable habits, don't get me wrong. But there is a limit that one should not overstep." He explained, leaning back in his chair, extending his long, jeans-covered legs underneath the table. One of them touched Liz's heeled foot, and she took in a sharp breath.
"You're... Very smart... Ashwood." She managed to get out, before clearing her throat, trying to get herself under control. "So... Is there a photoshoot in British Columbia, or are you simply on holidays? What made you come here?"
"A photo shoot?" He seemed sincerely surprised at her question, his long, angled eyebrows furrowing a tiny bit, making a thin line appear on his otherwise perfect forehead.
"Yeah, well, aren't you a model or something? I mean, I have never seen you on magazines, but I don't really read British stuff either, so..." Liz rubbed her thighs with her palms, getting a little uncomfortable under Ashwood's heavy gaze. "I assumed you're British. The accent."
"I guess I should be touched, but I'm not a model. Although yes, my origins are from Great Britain, over seven years I've been living outside my homeland. I do consider myself somewhat the result of mixing various cultures."
"A man with multiple origins. So mysterious." The woman grinned warmly, curiously. "I get you've been travelling a lot, then?"
Ashwood smiled, too, nodding his head once. Ash-blonde hair fell forward from the top of his head, longish strands resting on his forehead. Only now did Liz notice how soft those locks seemed, shining in the bright sunlight, falling with a natural wave. Unlike most men these days, he wore his hair in an old-fashioned, yet classic and complimenting style, leaving the head full of hair, without shaving any part of it completely. The sides seemed shorter, not hiding his ears, but the top strands were left rather long and unruly.
Liz focused, waking up from her day-dreaming of burrowing her fingers in his hair in the middle of their heated interaction. And almost regretted it, acknowledging the man's knowing, amused blue-green eyes watching her like a hawk.
"I've been travelling a lot indeed."
"Huh?"
His eyes were openly laughing at her, yet the man's voice remained politely neutral, its deep and husky nature never failing to hide his true emotions. "You assumed I've been travelling a lot. I confirmed your presumption."
"Oh. That." She cleared her throat again, cursing herself (and her friend, and every non-existent person around) for getting herself in this awkward situation. What was she thinking? Was Liz thinking at all when she took the role of a temptress? A very friend-like, platonic temptress? "Well, where have you been, if you could be more precise? As I have mentioned, my knowledge of foreign lands is extremely narrow. Like, non-existent."
Ashwood shrugged. "America. Europe. A few countries of Asia. Mostly work-related stuff. I've visited Australia during the Christmas holidays a few years back. It's mind-blowing Aussies celebrate Christmas when it's thirty degrees Celsius. I prefer our snowy winters."
"Well, I assure you, you will most definitely experience some real winters here, in Canada. We are famous for that. Of course, if you intend to stay here for that long."
"I will, and I look forward to that. There is nothing better than to sit on a sofa in front of a fireplace late at night, staring at a huge Christmas tree and listen to the wind trying to break down the walls of your house. Besides, there is so much you can do during winter outside, in the mountains, too. "
Liz lifted her thin eyebrows, mindful of not keeping them up too high for too long. "Oh? So underneath that muscle armour of yours, you do have a soft heart? Secretly enjoying long winter evenings cuddling with your loved one? Hot chocolate and sugar cookies? Camping on a frozen lake, again, with a woman you love?"
Ashwood gave her a long, thoughtful look. "I agree with the 'loved one' part. But there is no need for it to be a woman." He watched Liz's eyes widen to enormous proportions, confusion morphing into disbelief until it transformed into the look of pure shock. "I mean, I would be fully satisfied having a dog pressed to my side, too. Sharing dog treats while I ate those sugar cookies, scratching his ears, murmuring sweet nothings to him. Women, unlike dogs, have their own opinions and preferences, they might be on a diet, therefore not being able to eat sweets nor dog treats, they might be grumpy and annoyed, get bored easily... Unless she was completely content with my wishes or we've reached a mutual compromise, I think a dog might be a better idea to spend Christmas with."
Liz's mouth was opening and closing, resembling a fish thrown into a desert. "I.. I mean... I thought... Oh." She let out an awkward giggle, trying hard to mask her relief. "Nevermind." The redhead waved her hand, voicelessly trying to stir Ashwood (and his attentive gaze at the same time) away from the topic. "So, uh, dogs. You like dogs or just the style?"
"Pardon?"
"Dogs! Do you like dogs? I mean, I love dogs! I prefer cats, but I love dogs, too."
The man raised his hand, rubbing five-o'clock shadow that covered his strong jaw with his palm. Liz assumed it took much more time to grow and maintain the stubble than it seemed in the first place. "Yes, I do like dogs. Animals more than the position."
A harsh blush crept up her cheeks, filling the woman's chest with hot embarrassment. "I didn't mean..." Her emerald eyes met his lighter, bluer ones. "Well, I don't know what made me say that. Normally I'd never ask a stranger about a sex position."
"It's okay. I don't mind. After all, any topic is good when executed properly."
"You think so?"
"I do."
She nodded, a light feeling overtaking her. The man didn't make fun of her, did not tease, he simply accepted the nonsense that kept escaping her mouth without judging. "Why?"
"Why?"
Liz moved her head sideways a little. "The position. Why don't you like it?"
"I never said I didn't like it. I said I prefer animals under the same name. It's not my favourite position, though, I admit that." He obviously tried to contain the smile from breaking out, and his voice did not waver at all, but his eyes, those deep, knowing eyes kept glinting with mirth.
"But why?"
"It this your favourite word?" Now he grinned widely.
Liz smiled, too. "I think it might become soon. So, why?"
"Because I'm a romantic, and I like seeing my partner's eyes during sexual interactions." He straightened in his seat and opened his mouth once more to add something else to his previous statement.
Before a sound could escape, another one, breathy, much higher voice interrupted him. "Eliza, I know you're busy, but I'm cold. Could we go now?"
There she stood, small and petite, in her white-haired glory, gazing seductively at the surprised man. The words were directed to the redhead, but her aquamarine-blue eyes did not glance at her friend once.
"Well, you knew it will be cool outside. Why didn't you dress up properly?" Liz clenched her delicate hands into fists, throwing daggers at the blonde with her angry eyes. She did not want to end the conversation with this intriguing man. Not yet.
"I did not know you will take so long to sort business with your friend." Her cold, pale eyes flicked momentarily from one to another, trying to calculate something from the way Liz seemed to explode any time and the way the male remained silent, watching the interaction between the two women with interest and something close to confusion. "You didn't tell him you're not alone, did you?"
The redhead had good enough manners to feel a tiny bit of guilt for leaving her friend out. But could anyone blame her when she was on a hunt, trying to get to know this British man? No, they couldn't. She opened her mouth to throw a reply to the blonde, something sharp and smart, but Ashwood beat her to that.
"I'm sorry you've been forgotten. Liz, she's a charmer, she stole my whole attention. I didn't even think she might have been with someone else." The man smiled warmly, making the blonde's breath hitch in her throat. "Anyway, I'm afraid I overstayed my time. It was a real pleasure having this discussion with you." He addressed the redhead, bowing his ash-blonde head in a gentleman manner.
She grinned, touched by his words. "I feel the same way. Could I get your-"
"I'm glad. Now, if you excuse me." He stood up, abandoning his chair, leaving Liz with a half-finished question. The man put back on his sunglasses, nodded one last time to both of the women, and hurried away. Until his back disappeared behind the corner, Ashwood could feel a pair of emerald eyes following his retreating figure.
It was hardly polite of him to stop the female mid-sentence, not giving a chance to ask for his number, destroy the likelihood of meeting again. Or, to put it more clearly, decrease the likelihood. After all, they will be living almost in the same area. But Ashwood knew himself. He was not ready for a relationship, no matter how attractive the woman was. And Liz was attractive indeed. She had that easy-going vibe surrounding her, a warm smile and a kind, entertaining personality. Not to mention her good looks and charm. Under different circumstances, he knew he would give them a chance of developing something more. But now? Ashwood had his doubts.
The man sighed. So, he reached his desired destination, British Columbia. A place to stay? Sorted out. The house that he rented was half an hour away from where he was now, in the more secluded area, closer to the forest and mountains. He's already met the owner before he decided to spend some time in the small cafe. The hardcore Canadian wild-crafter, an elderly man with an impressive moustache didn't seem to mind an intruder occupying his old family house, as long as it was paid for a few months beforehand. He praised the Canadian climate, hospitable people and a wide variety of animals to hunt, and expressed his hopes to meet Ashwood soon in a tavern, which sounded suspiciously like a place for people like him - hunters - to hang out, cherish their prey and gossip about women that they met.
Grocery shopping? That will have to wait for a bit, too. Mostly because he had no idea where the shops were, and whether the fresh produce will not go bad before he reaches his new home. It was a good thing he ate in the morning and also had a large lunch. Food will not be a problem until tomorrow.
Overall, the situation seemed relatively acceptable. Things were moving well, nothing was out of order. On the other hand, that might have been the problem. There was too much time left to think about things that should have been forgotten, people that decided to cut Ashwood from their lives completely, and the complicated bunch of feelings, tightening his chest and making his head - not heart, definitely not the poor heart - hurt.
Stop, he commanded his mind, don't think. The new world, a new life awaited. It was time to bury the past and open a new page. Could he do that? Sure. As long as...
He couldn't. Even without a conscious acknowledgement, Ashwood had an inkling feeling the events a few weeks ago fucked him up more than he was keen on giving credit. Why couldn't women be like dogs? Uncomplicated and honest, content when given dog treats and loving unconditionally? That's a question he decided to solve as soon as he reached his new home.
Did he do that? No. The moment he finally found the large, old house, things of much greater importance came up, making the man forget and concentrate on a different kind of problem. A hairy, four-legged issue he refused to even imagine existing in a house of such reputable reputation.
Song of the chapter: Poets of the Fall - Choice Millionaire