As she lightly touches her rainbow-streaked hair with ends that look like they’ve been freshly dipped in soft pink today, my fingers are practically trembling as I imagine running my hands through her hair to feel how soft it is, resisting the urge to ask her how often she dyes it.
What color will it be the next time I see her?
I could look at her face all day and never get tired of it. I’m enjoying every second of her company.
Positively buoyant, she’s almost teasing me when she points out, “You know, it’s incredible how I own my own business, and yet I find myself working under you.”
I’d like to know what she feels like under me.
Not now, Eli.
Not ever.
“I don’t mean to make you feel like you’re not your own boss. I’m sorry.” I am. “I just find it difficult to let someone else take control of things at work.” Everything, actually.
Leaning in, she looks me dead in the eye, and I expect her to say something radical and life-changing, possibly even scathing about me and my methods. Instead, she says, “Let’s not talk about work, Eli. Tell me about yourself.”
I hate talking about myself and find therapy difficult at times. It’s too personal. Too deep. Too raw. Too much of everything and too many feelings I’m not a big fan of facing. “There’s not much to tell.”
She scoffs. “That can’t be true. For starters, you collect chess sets and know how to play since you offered to teach me; what else?” She lifts her mug, takes a sip, and smacks her lips together in satisfaction.
When I take too long to reply, she fills in the awkward silence. “Okay, I’ll go first. Every morning, before sunrise, I cycle to the beach followed by swimming in the ocean. Naked. It’s freeing and makes me feel alive and at one with nature.”
My mouth goes dry as I imagine her swimming like a real-life mermaid in the ocean, instantly feeling several degrees hotter when it’s already blazing hot today.
Also, sharks. Is she crazy?
She’s oblivious to my flustered state, adding another fact about herself. “I have a cat, he’s white, super fluffy, and can be very naughty when I don’t give him enough attention.”
I’m grateful she switched direction.
“What’s his name?” I’m genuinely interested.
“Ghost.”
“That’s a good name.” This small talk stuff isn’t as bad as I thought, and I offer something about myself: “I play tennis with my three brothers every Saturday morning.” It’s a bit blunt but it’s a start.
Her brows lift in surprise at my sudden U-turn to share. “Are you any good?”
“My eldest brother, Nathan, was good enough to be a pro.”
“But he chose law instead. Was that because your dad wanted you all to follow in his footsteps?” She peers over the lip of her mug, taking another long sip of her matcha latte.
“My father never forced any of us into law; it’s what we all wanted to do, and Nathan’s love for law overtook his love for tennis. It’s more of a hobby for him now, for all of us.” I still think he wishes he had pursued that career because he’s mentioned it a few times, but like he says, we can’t live in the past or the what-ifs.
“I’m not into fast-paced sport. I’m more of a yoga girl.” She takes a bite of her muffin and moans with satisfaction.
Rightly or wrongly, I commit her moan to memory, secretly imagining what it would sound like with my name added to the end of it.
Deaf to my silent thoughts, she adds, “I trained to be a yogi years ago, but I haven’t taught for a while.”
Now I’m imagining what she’d look like in a pair of yoga pants, contorting her body into shapes I’m much too stiff to do myself.
“Nathan tried goat yoga once.” It was the funniest thing Arianna made him do. “Although he wasn’t too impressed when the goat shit all over his back while doing something called a cat-cow pose.”
“Oh dear.” Sapphire covers her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh, setting her mug on the table.
“I would have paid good money to see it for myself.”