She might have better command of herself if he had not leaned closer to her; Callista felt herself holding her breath, as if catching the merest scent of his cologne or the exhaled air from his mouth mingling with hers would doom her. Clearly, if she was already overthinking about things like this, she was already doomed.
This isn’t love, Callista told herself sternly: this was both a reprimand and a comfort to her. Whatever happened here, it could not be that. She had never been in love, but surely love did not come on so fast, knowing so little about a person. This was infatuation, and if she could not simply stamp it out with logic, she could – ride the wave until it crashed. (Hopefully. She had never been surfing, either.)
“Oh, I’m sure most people are clueless, but scarcely anyone takes the time to ask,” Callista admitted – more freely candid than she would have been otherwise, only because his closeness was distracting her. He was handsome, but not in an almost cruel way, the way some men were. His eyes were all kindness. “It’s a language, and a people – my family comes from Nigeria. One of my brothers lives there still.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the table they were sat by, to resist a truly inexcusable urge to touch his forearm instead. “You said your family had an interesting mix of personalities,” she continued bravely. “So – which sibling would you say you are?” (She had her guesses, of course; but she didn’t know his family well enough to know them, and she was curious to see how he would define himself in comparison.)
This isn’t love, Callista told herself sternly: this was both a reprimand and a comfort to her. Whatever happened here, it could not be that. She had never been in love, but surely love did not come on so fast, knowing so little about a person. This was infatuation, and if she could not simply stamp it out with logic, she could – ride the wave until it crashed. (Hopefully. She had never been surfing, either.)
“Oh, I’m sure most people are clueless, but scarcely anyone takes the time to ask,” Callista admitted – more freely candid than she would have been otherwise, only because his closeness was distracting her. He was handsome, but not in an almost cruel way, the way some men were. His eyes were all kindness. “It’s a language, and a people – my family comes from Nigeria. One of my brothers lives there still.” She curled her fingers around the edge of the table they were sat by, to resist a truly inexcusable urge to touch his forearm instead. “You said your family had an interesting mix of personalities,” she continued bravely. “So – which sibling would you say you are?” (She had her guesses, of course; but she didn’t know his family well enough to know them, and she was curious to see how he would define himself in comparison.)
