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I heard a knock on my door at, much to my surprise, precisely 7:30. I took an extremely long, deep breath and opened the door. Ruel was smiling, looking gorgeous as usual in a tailored outfit. His green European-cut shirt hung perfectly on his broad-shouldered frame. His gray slacks fit him snug, but not too tight, in such a way that I couldn’t wait to follow him to the car just so I could look at him from behind. I was pleased to see he wore gray so that we would complement each other.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello, are you all ready?”
“I am.”
“You look wonderful. I think I did a pretty good job at helping you pick out your outfit.”
“Oh, just terrific,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You look pretty good, yourself,”
He just smiled and stepped away from the doorway so I could walk out. I locked the door and we walked to his W12 Volkswagen Phaeton, which I was infinitely jealous of, despite having the horsepower of my S5. Ruel had no idea I used to street race and compete in autocross. He did not know most things about my past, few people did. Ruel opened the silver door for me, and I slid into the black leather interior. Even though I saw his car every day at work, I hadn’t been inside of it until now. A jolt of excitement ran through me as I realized how intimate this whole event really was. Once we were on the road, I asked him where we were going.
“Well, I am taking you to a delightful little place called The Frosty Mug in the heart of Mt. Dora,” he said, as he turned to face me with a warm grin and winked. I reminded myself to breathe and recovered from his gestures. After gaining my composure, I realized that he said we were going to Mt. Dora.
“Mt. Dora?” I asked, drawing out the “o”.
“Yes, have you been?”
“Well, no, but isn’t that where the huge flea market is, and some crazy corn festival with the ‘Miss Corn’ pageant?”
“Yes to the flea market, and no, the Zellwood Sweet Corn Festival is held in Zellwood,” he replied. “How long have you lived here?”
“Too long.”
“But not long enough to have visited Mt. Dora.”
I laughed. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what Mt. Dora would look like. It was probably one of those blink-and-you-miss-it towns, cut through by Highway 441.
“Well, tell me about this Frosty Mug place,” I said.
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
“You were going to tell me anyway.”
“As I was saying,” he said, after clearing his throat loudly, “The Frosty Mug is a lovely restaurant and pub that I feel holds a particular interest to us because of its ethnicity.”
“Oh?” I said. I took a moment to relish how his casual use of the word “us” made it sound as if we were a long-term couple.
“It’s Nordic!”
“Cool!” I exclaimed immediately. He laughed. I first met Ruel when he joined on to my program to close the Norway deal. While on travel to Norway, he would bring his company laptop with him and email me from his hotel room around before he went to bed. It was generally around 4:30 my time, which meant I was still at work and able to reply. It was through these emails that we discovered our mutual fascination with Norway. I stored all of our email exchanges in a folder called “Fjords.”
“Yes, I think it’s cool, too. So, it’s Icelandic. Not quite Norwegian, but same mythology, more or less.”
“Indeed. Wait, is there a dinner show? Does Thor make an appearance? You know how much I like Thor.”
“This place isn’t some tacky tourist trap on I-drive,” he said, in an offended tone. He then added, “You like Thor?”
“Oh yes, wouldn’t he make the perfect mate?” I replied with a smirk.
“He might, if you’re into gods.”
I refrained from saying, “Well, I’m into you.” There was a long pause before he spoke again.
“I’m glad you said you like Thor,” he said, softly. “I always thought you did. Not that you ever explicitly mentioned it, but I just had a feeling.”
“You’re so intuitive,” I said, using my Ruel voice.
“Right, so intuitive. There are some things though that…” He trailed off. This was a fairly common trait of his. He would sometimes just stop abruptly as though he suddenly remembered he shouldn’t be telling me that particular bit of information. It was peculiar, but I had become accustomed to it by now. I decided to push for the info this time though. We were stuck in a car after all.
“Some things that…?”
“Oh, nothing. I just completely lost the thought, no big deal,” he replied quickly. Almost too quickly. He added, “But, back to Thor. You know that his hammer is the symbol of protection, right?”
“Ruel, haven’t we discussed this before?” I said, even though I knew we had. It was in an email from November, and I was the one who mentioned what Thor’s hammer symbolized. “It’s not just the symbol of protection, though, it’s a symbol of destruction, as well. He protects the people who are faithful to him, even if that means destroying their enemies.”
“It’s a symbol of justice, I think, for the reasons you’ve just said. I think that protecting people who don’t have a loud enough voice to be heard is necessary, especially today.”
“Interesting. I always saw you as a bit more like Odin. He was very good at influencing people to do what he wanted, either by gaining their trust or through trickery,” I said, and looked at Ruel for a reaction.
“Why would you think that about me?” he asked, his eyes darting at me.
“Oh, it’s more of a joke. Have you already forgotten about the Russians the other week? They were falling all over you.”
“Hmm,” he said, smiling. “Why don’t you fall all over me?”
“Is this the turn? It says Mt. Dora,” I said, pointing to the green highway sign. I didn’t answer his question under the assumption he was just making fun of me for being so pathetically obsessed with him. I had literally fallen over him once in the hallway. We came to a corner, and I thought he was turning left, but instead turned right. I had gotten tangled up in his legs, and next thing I knew, his arm was pulling me back to my feet. I blushed, both at the memory’s embarrassing nature and at how much I yearned for his arm to be around me again.
“Yes, it is our turn,” Ruel replied. He took the left turn fast, which I enjoyed.
“I do love your car,” I said.
He grinned. “So, what do you think, Miss Corn?” He said and waved his right hand across the length of the windshield to suggest I take in the view. Mt. Dora’s downtown was really charming, just as he said. It was cozy and pedestrian-friendly. There were tightly spaced buildings and ample room on the sidewalks.
“It’s as you said.”
“I did good,” he beamed.
“Well, let’s see the restaurant first,” I laughed.
“Here it is,” he said as he parallel parked with such ease that I didn’t even notice the car was off until he got out. He opened my door and offered his hand. I took it, happily. He held onto me just a bit longer than necessary as we walked to restaurant’s entrance.
As soon as the hostess led us to our table, my pulse quickened to an almost unbearable speed. I thought for a second I was having some sort of heart attack or stroke, but then realized it was just my nerves getting the best of me. I felt dizzy surrounded by dark and exposed wooden beams in dim lighting. I really had to get a hold of myself. I wasn’t this nervous in the car.
We arrived at our table and I was very thankful to sit down. I forced myself to breathe, trying not to be obvious about it. Shifting around in the heavy wooden chair, I kept my eyes focused on Ruel, who was looking up and around the restaurant, specifically at its high vaulted ceilings and Nordic décor. Even after the extremely long car ride, I felt that if I looked away, even for a moment, he would disappear. I tried to slow my heart rate by going through the logistical issues I would face if he were to actually disappear. I was in the middle of debating whether I would call a cab or take the bus when Ruel spoke, quickly bringing my internal argument to the hasty conclusion of “cab”. I stifled a chuckle, thinking about how many hours, perhaps days, it might take the atrocious bus system to get back to Orlando from here. That is if it even ran out this far.
“This place still isn’t musky enough,” Ruel said, as if it were a declaration of high merit. His sharp, brown eyes had fallen back to my level and were looking with a hint of amusement. Maybe this would be the time when he winked and disappeared. I held my breath for a second, but he did neither.
“I’m sort of glad it isn’t,” I said, continuing to stare at him.
He looked back at me, picking up on my eyes’ intensity. I may have looked like I was anticipating something, but he couldn’t seem to figure out what. We sat there with our eyes interlocked for much longer than most people can stand. I had always been good at staring contests, but I’d never engaged Ruel in one before. Not that this was expressly a competition anyway. He looked confident; he always looked confident. I watched his pupils dilate slightly from time to time. I couldn’t believe he wasn’t fidgeting. Suddenly, his lips spread into a smile that did not seem like it was meant for me, and he said, “I’m great, how about you?” My eyes shot up to the waiter who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. How had Ruel seen him and heard him? I tuned into their conversation of discussing the waiter’s night so far. Ruel inserted what sounded like genuinely interested questions whenever the waiter’s steam began to run out. I tried not to roll my eyes. Of course Ruel would ask the waiter about his night. He was such a charmer when he wanted to be, it was actually rather hard to resist.
I smiled as Ruel moved the conversation’s natural halt into placing his drink order, a glass of white Bordeaux. The waiter turned to me.
“Um, I’ll just start with water for now,” I said, not having looked at the menu.
“Water?” Ruel asked. “Well, what type of food were you planning on?”
“I’m not sure. I ordered a water to buy me some more time.”
“Oh.”
The waiter smiled and said he would be back with our drinks. Ruel and I perused the menu together. He told me he was having the smoked salmon, which is why he ordered the Bordeaux. I didn’t want smoked salmon, plus it was tacky to order the same dish, so I continued searching. I finally decided on the schnitzel, and Ruel was so excited to suggest the Piesporter Michelsberg that he ordered it for me when the waiter returned. After taking our food orders and complimenting Ruel’s choice of wines, the waiter walked away while chuckling.
Once he left, Ruel looked at me with a serious expression. I froze in my seat and wondered what I’d done wrong. I tried to formulate the words to ask him, but I simply could not will my lips to move. Fortunately, he spoke first.
“So, I wanted to tell you something,” he said and took a pregnant pause. My nerves jumbled again. “I wanted to let you know before Stanton does.” Victor Stanton was our boss.
“Know what?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
“They’re sending you to Russia.” His eyes glistened alive with excitement.
“Russia?!” I said, a little too loud.
“Right, Russia,” he said, lowering his voice.
At his drop in volume, I instinctively leaned forward, as did he. With our faces about a foot apart, I inhaled sharply, catching his scent of sweet spices and clean laundry. He smelled familiar, as though I was surrounded by his scent diurnally. The scent was wonderful.
“Russia?” I repeated. I must have sounded moronic. “But why? I don’t even speak Russian.”
“Well, because I told them they should.” He said with a flashing grin
“Why would you do that? I didn’t even know we had an office there. How many months am I going for?” I said. Panic began to set in. Why would Ruel send me away? What nerve he had to take me on this ‘date’ only to tell me he didn’t want to see me for an extended period of time. And that he had arranged it all himself.
“Months? We don’t have an office there. We’d be going to their office in Moscow,” he said with a furrowed brow.
“Wait, you said ‘we.’ Like you and I?”
Well, that could certainly be nice. My mind quickly wandered to us living in Moscow. Would we share a flat? Was that even appropriate? I would find it more than appropriate, but it may be odd for Ruel and I to be shacking up abroad on the company dime. Though, it would be saving them money if we did. I smiled at the whole prospect.
Ruel’s laugh brought me back to reality. He had leaned back into his chair, opening up his lungs in such a way that allowed for a laugh so loud, I jumped. My startled reaction made him laugh even more. I leaned back as well. People were looking at us with both amused and annoyed faces. The intimate moment I cherished was gone.
“Wait, you thought that I would send you to Russia for months, alone?” he said, finally gaining his composure. I blushed. “I might be evil, but I’m not that cruel. Especially not to you,” Ruel said as he lowered his voice and flared his nostrils.
My stomach jumped. “Well, I didn’t know. Your phrasing was a bit awkward.” I retorted with a frown. The word ‘evil’ lingered in my mind. I would never describe him as such. I might describe myself that way, but never Ruel.
“No, we’re only going for a week. Andrew and Maria are coming as well.
“Oh,” I responded flatly. The waiter arrived with my wine and left quickly.
“I had to add them in order to get you. It was all or nothing,” Ruel said with a wink. I felt my lips slowly spread into a broad grin.
“So when do we leave?” I asked, no longer worried about him disappearing. He wanted me there with him, just me.
“A week from Sunday on an overnight flight.”
“Splendid.”
Ruel smiled and lifted his wine glass towards me. I followed his lead.
“Budem!” he said.
Assuming this to be the Russian for “cheers”, I clinked my glass with his. I said the only phrase I knew in Welsh, the one for “cheers”, hoping it was too obscure for him to know.
“Iechyd da!” I beamed.
“Why do you know Welsh?” he asked, cocking his head to the side with an amused and bewildered grin. I pulled my glass from his and took a sip to hide my chagrin. I swallowed and summoned my Ruel voice.
“We all have our secrets, Ruel,” I said. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. My eyes locked onto his and I added, “Some darker than others.”
“Yes,” he said quietly through pressed lips. “Some are.”
We sat very still again, challenging one another silently and wondering what ‘evil’ the other had done before, or was doing now. The waiter walked up again, this time I actually saw him arrive.
“Thank you,” I said as he put my plate in front of me. Ruel smiled and I knew I had won. He nodded in concession and we simultaneously smiled up at the waiter.
“This simply looks delicious,” Ruel gushed to him, waving his hand over the smoked salmon.
“Excellent,” the waiter replied. “Did you need anything else right now?”
“Emma?” Ruel said to me with raised eyebrows.
“Oh, no. I’m fine.”
“We’re good for now, thank you.”
The waiter left and we began eating. The food was really good, and the wine Ruel suggested complemented the dish perfectly. I should’ve known he could pair wine well. We discussed how good the food was and exchanged some bites before I brought up Russia again.
“So, what exactly will I be doing over there?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said and laughed. “I just really wanted you to come. Is that okay? I mean, if there’s some reason you need to stay here, I can get you out of going. Honestly, I only had to tell Stanton that we would be more likely to make the sale if the engineers were there to answer questions. When he suggested a videoconference, I assured him that the Russians would trust us more if we were all there in person. That it was a cultural preference for them. Which isn’t at all true, but it worked nonetheless.” He laughed and grinned like a conniving little boy who had stolen a cookie.
“So, I just have a Russian vacation?”
“Not exactly, you’ll still have to be at the meetings, which will be most of the trip,” he said between bites. “You want to go, then? I understand if there’s something, or perhaps someone, keeping you here.”
“You make it sound so permanent. I thought we were only going for a week?” I replied, avoiding his implied question of whether or not I was seeing anyone. I thought he would’ve figured that out by now. It was impossible for me to even notice anyone else with Ruel in my life.
“Oh. Well, no. We are just going for the week. Have you traveled for work before? A week can seem like a long time,” he replied quickly. His eyes darted to the right at a couple who was finishing up. I glanced at them briefly; there was nothing unusual. The couple was probably in their mid-sixties, both with whiting hair. The man draped a shawl over her shoulders. She smiled her thanks at him and they walked towards the entryway. I turned my attention back to Ruel, who was gazing at me intensely
“What?” I asked.
“I’m just curious, what did you notice about them?”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to compare what we saw. A little experiment, just for fun.”
“You’re so peculiar,” I mused with a grin.
“I am? And what about you?” I rolled my eyes. “Go on then, humor me,” he said.
“I’d be delighted to as long as you tell me what you saw. Then we can compare each other’s observation against our own. But we can’t play off the other’s comparison because it would taint our own.”
“But that’s impossible if we say them out loud. We’d have to write them. Both the observation and the comparison.”
“You’re right. Do you think the waiter has paper and pen we could use?” I said. “You get to ask, though, you’re the overtly charming one.”
“Yes, but you’re the one wearing tights …”
“How did you know?” I asked, glaring at him. His eyes were sharp, too sharp. It really infuriated me. I thought I had keen eyes, but they were nothing compared to his.
“We all have our secrets, Emma,” he whispered and smirked. I scowled at him. He called over the waiter and asked for the paper and pens. The waiter obliged, and we were soon writing out our descriptions.
I thought about the couple’s hair color and the shawl. It was white and loose-knit. The kind of thing you make when you first learn to knit. Perhaps her granddaughter made it for her. I really concentrated on the scene and began to write. The woman had signed the bill, but she’d put the book back on the man’s side of the table to imply that he paid. This was pointless, since the receipt would print her name as the cardholder. Then, I remembered the man had looked at the receipt and written something else on the receipt. His hand led the pen up and down the paper without touching it, as if he were tallying the tip. He wrote something else, which must have been the total. Could the woman not do simple arithmetic? I continued to play back the scene in my head. The man had stood and helped her up. He put the shawl on her and led her out of the restaurant.
That was it! He had led her, practically cradled her, because she could not see where she was going. She was blind, or at least nearly so. She signed the receipt in the proper place by feeling the bottom of it, but couldn’t read the total.
She must have had complete trust in the man, seeing as how was her credit card, after all. I found this rather impressive. I never trusted anyone that much. People had always been too self-absorbed to trust like that. Most people were easy to predict, and I could trust them to continue and repeat behaviors, but not trust them on a deeper level. Ruel was the only person I had ever considered trusting, and even so, it was still a challenge. Trusting him felt instinctive, and my instincts were yet to lead me astray.
“Are you done?” Ruel asked me. I realized I had stopped after I wrote that the level of trust the couple had was impressive.
“One more minute,” I said and thought over the scene once more. I realized I had missed a crucial detail. On the couple’s way out, the woman had to use the restroom. They were likely still in the restaurant.
“Okay,” I said and handed Ruel my paper. I looked towards the entryway and sure enough, the man was still there waiting patiently and holding the white shawl.
“Are you ready to write your comparison?” Ruel asked. He was all smiles. This was clearly a very fun game for him.
“You’re really enjoying yourself. You must not get out much. But when you do, you insist your dates play social psychology games. I can see reasons why you might not get a second date,” I said, smirking at him.
“That was very mean,” he said, with a pout. “You seem to like the experiment, though. Besides, it’s not that they reject me. Once they fail the experiment, I know they’re not worth asking out again.”
“Ruel, you don’t date,” I replied and paused. “Unless you’ve been lying to me.”
“Unless I’ve been lying to you.” He said matter-of-factly and took a sip of wine.
“Shall we?” I said, motioning to his paper beside my unfinished meal. He nodded and we both began to read in silence.
A couple, mid-sixties and assumingly married, have finished their meal. The man puts a loose knit shawl around the woman’s shoulders, white in color, like their hair. Beyond these superficial things, the woman is blind. This can be determined based on—
I stopped short. His words mimicked mine to a scarily precise degree. Had he copied me? He finished before me, so the ending would be different if he had copied me. I quickly scanned the bottom. It read: It seemed that the couple was leaving, but the woman needed to use the restroom. The man took her shawl and is still waiting patiently for her as I write this.
I looked up at Ruel. His eyes were on me, wide with alarm.
“You copied mine,” he accused.
“No, I did not,” I said in a cool, hard tone.
“You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie to you?” I replied fiercely. “Especially about something as frivolous as this?”
“There are always reasons to lie. And this is not frivolous. It has told me a lot about you.”
“Like what?”
“That you’re mischievous, you don’t respect me, and you lie.”
I shook my head and scoffed. “Well, I’ve learned quite a bit, too. I know that you’re arrogant, you don’t respect me, and you refuse to let anyone in, even me.”
Ruel’s pained eyes gave him away. They only lasted a split second before returning to their previous states of both reproachful and indignant, but it was enough for me to know my words stung. I found Ruel’s weak point. I was surprised to discover that his weakness wasn’t that he let no one in, but that he wanted to and was not allowed. I wondered why he couldn’t. What, or who, forbade it?
“I’m ready to go,” I told him.
“Good.”
When the waiter returned with our bill, Ruel shoved a neat stack of twenties into the book and got up abruptly. I followed him out. The couple was no longer there and I couldn’t find them once we were outside. Ruel walked quickly to his car. I couldn’t believe how mad he was! The whole thing was his stupid idea anyway. What did he expect, for us to see such different things? I figured he would have noticed much more than me. Was this why he was so angry, because he didn’t beat me at his own little game? Still, though, our descriptions were nearly identical. It was as though we had copied each other. The questions came to me in a flood as he raced us back to Orlando. What did this mean? Was he mad because we thought alike? I wondered, why would this be such a horrible thing? Was I simply unaware of any potential implications?
If we really did think exactly the same, that could mean Ruel felt as strongly for me as I did for him. I looked at him. His eyes were cold and fixed on the highway; his hands tightly gripped the steering wheel. Clearly this was not the case.
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