Roses & Bullets

XII. Trouble

CLAIRE

I try with all my might not to look at the man sitting in front of me. I pretend to read something on my phone even though there isn't anything to see. He glances in my direction every now and then, probably wondering if he should say something.

Please, just don't. Even if he does, I just don't know how to respond to him. It makes me nervous every time he opens his mouth.

I want to start washing the other dishes in the sink, but that doesn't seem polite. Sitting here with him makes me want to bang my head on the wall because the silence is just too much to bear. As much as I want to leave him here alone, I can't.

My father told me to stay with him and keep him entertained. What am I supposed to do? Show him some magic tricks or something?

The guy clearly doesn't want to talk about himself or to talk about anything at all. He is quiet, brooding, and rude. Although to be fair, he has apologized to me already.

Still, first impressions last. I'll never forget the way he talked to me when he first arrived. He was arrogant, and that's what I hate the most in a person.

Erik quietly eats the food I made. As he does, he unknowingly smudges a drop of gravy on his chin. I try to ignore it, but my OC self got the better of me.

"You have something here," I say, pointing to my chin.

"What's that?" he asks, looking up from his plate.

"Here, on your chin..." I can't finish my sentence.

He touches his chin, and he only spreads the gravy. Great. I click my tongue as I get some napkins.

"May I?" I ask him. I'm not sure what has gotten into me.

Erik doesn't respond. He just looks at me with those electric blue eyes of his like he's seeing me for the first time. His eyes are so compelling that I almost forgot to blink.

I reach out to wipe the gravy from his face, and he suddenly turns rigid. He is still staring at me with his mouth slightly open. After just a few seconds, he seems to get back to his senses.

"I could have done that," he says in his usual, rude tone. So we're back to that, huh?

"Or you could just thank me." I refuse to be intimidated by him.

Neither of us speaks for a moment. Erik drops his fork and knife on his plate that I'm sure everyone in the hostel has heard its sound. Thank goodness that nobody has decided to check what's going on.

"Forgive me," he says as he combs his fingers through his hair. "I'm just tired."

"It doesn't give you the right to be rude towards others," I reply with one eyebrow raised.

"I know. I'm not usually like this."

"I find that hard to believe."

"It won't happen again," he tells me. He sighs loudly before adding, "Can we start over?"

Did I hear him right? Now, I'm not an ill-mannered person, so naturally, I agree.

"Sure. Of course."

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Erik Daniels, a former US Navy SEAL. And you are?"

"I'm Claire Wilson, manager of the Hostel Corazon. Daughter of the owner and an aspiring writer." We shake hands, and I feel some tingling sensations in some parts of my body that I should not have felt.

"Wow, really?"

"What do you mean?"

"You want to be a writer?" Erik goes back to eating his steak, and I'm just so glad that he didn't see my expression when our hands touched.

"Yes, I want to be a writer."

"But?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's stopping you?" Erik stuffs his mouth with a big slice of steak that it makes me happy he finds it delicious. Or maybe he's just being nice.

"What makes you think that something is stopping me?

Erik only shrugs his shoulders, and when I don't answer, he just stares at me in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. It's like he can see right through me. And then I remember that this man has probably seen a lot of things during his service that he hardly misses anything now.

"Now doesn't seem like a good time," I finally reply.

"And why is that?" In all fairness, I can hear the sincerity in his voice.

"Well, because my father is sick and there's no one to look after my younger brother."

"Your brother is not a kid anymore, Claire," he tells me gently.

"I know that. But for me, he still is. Aside from that, my chances of becoming a writer in this town are very slim."

"So you want to move to a different city," he guesses.

He is freaking good. It's like he can read my mind by just looking at my face. It's kind of creepy in a way.

"Yes," I answer hesitantly, feeling guilty that I'm talking about my dreams and plans with a stranger. "But, as I said, I can't leave my family."

"I'm sure they'll understand." Erik is now done with his meal, and he stands up without warning to take his plate to the sink. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Water, juice, or beer? Sorry, we don't have any wine.

"That's fine," he tells me, smiling. "I'll just have some juice."

Before I can stand, Erik is already by the refrigerator, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. Did he just smile? No, my eyes must be playing tricks on me.

Once he's done, he goes back to the sink to wash the dishes. It takes me a while to realize what he's doing before I finally rise from my seat to stop him.

"Erik, you don't have to do that," I say as I try taking away a plate from him.

"Please, allow me. It's the least I can do." He smiles again, and my knees almost give out.

I have to hold on to the counter to steady myself. What the hell is this? I'm being foolish.

"All right. How about you wash, and then I'll wipe," I offer him. "That will save us some time."

"Sounds good."

We do the dishes together, and it surprises me how much information I've shared with him about myself. I find it easier to talk to him, now that he's smiling, even for just a bit. We finish the chore in no time, and I'm embarrassed to admit that it stings a little that we have to call it a night.

"Thank you for the meal," he tells me awkwardly as we reach the door to my room.

"You're welcome. I'll be cooking every day."

Erik nods before adding, "I guess I'll see you around. Good night, Claire."

"Good night, Erik. By the way, I told you a lot about my life, but you didn't tell me anything about yours."

"Let's save that story for another day. Good night," he says before he turns to leave without waiting for my response.

I enter my room, and as I close the door, I hear him slowly going upstairs. I press my ear against the door, and when I'm sure that he's gone, I let out a sigh. So much for staying away from him.

As I lie in bed, Erik's face keeps popping in my head. I cover my face with a pillow in an attempt to push away the image, but it's useless. Even when I close my eyes, I see him and hear his voice.

I think I'm in trouble.