The Attraction Theorem
Finally, it was time for you and me to meet the one and only Blake Rose.
Well, how could I describe him to you? At the very first glance, he seemed far from handsome; there was this ugliness present about him, yet a very appealing one.
Hmm, would I even be able to explain that?
Because Blake Rose was both strikingly plain and extremely hot!
Rather rough-looking and with a slightly crooked nose; those asymmetrical features of his face somewhat complimented that undeniable masculinity about him.
On top of that, the confidence this man had must have always been his key.
There was a very freakishly thin line between attractiveness and ugliness, because he was both, and the polarity of this paradox was a mystery to me.
I do acknowledge that the concept of beauty is rather subjective, and what I might or might not find good-looking would seem exactly opposite to someone else’s eye.
Nonetheless, this is my story and my take on it, so let me put it this way: Blake Rose was attractive but far from beautiful. He was charismatic. Yeah, there!
Blake arrived just in time for dinner. Unexpectedly energetic, he slipped into the room and a hint of freshness lingered about him, not typical for normal people after hours spent driving.
Dressed in a loose white shirt and blue denim jeans, dark hair framed his face, accentuated by thick black brows and a well-groomed beard.
“You must be Florence?” He offered me his hand and a very charming smile.
“One and only.” I let out a short laugh, giving him my warm but quite firm grasp.
“This might sound crazy—” He lowered his voice with intrigue. “But I feel like I already know you.”
“Really? Well, lucky you!” I chuckled. “Because I’m still trying to catch up with my user manual, and that, I will tell you, ain’t as straightforward as one would think.”
“Well,” he said with a playful tone, “let’s just say I know my way around when it comes to instructions.”
“Hmm.” A thin, bashful smile touched my lips as I slowly let go of his hand. “May I offer you a drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” he beamed at once.
While I ran through the hall to grab a cold beer, I caught my reflection in a huge mirror.
Blake definitely was a flirt but, I mean, he was…
fine? Not really my type. Yet here I was, cheeks flushed for some reason.
I glanced at my reflection—a white eyelet skater dress with four little buttons along the middle of my bodice looked very summery and pretty; a pair of embroidered white trainers going impeccably well with my outfit.
My hair, loose and slightly wavy, framed my face. Hmm, maybe lip gloss wouldn’t hurt?
“Oh, hi!” My breath hitched in my chest as I stumbled across another figure I’d perfectly managed to avoid the whole day until now.
“Hi,” Miles shot back at me, standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand.
A few top buttons of his white shirt undone, legs crossed; he was wearing dark, wide tailored trousers, like always, another hand hidden deep in his pocket.
Eyes focused on me under the thick furrowed brows.
“You look nice,” he said, his voice seductively husky.
“Um, thanks. I guess.” Offering him a subtle smile, I quickly opened the fridge and got two bottles of beer out of it.
“Florence?” He hesitantly called my name. “Can we…talk?”
“We are talking right now.”
“Look…” He raised his hand, rubbing the back of his neck. His brow furrowed as his gaze locked onto mine. “What I said to Mark the other day…I didn’t mean that.”
“Miles, it’s fine.” I lightly shook my head. “I guess I can be…” I rolled my eyes along with the words. “A lot to take in sometimes.”
“You are not,” he said, his stare intense, those grey eyes holding mine captive. God, that look…and why did he have to be so infuriatingly…him?
A low apology rumbled from his chest. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, chewing on his lip, a movement that unconsciously drew my gaze to his mouth. “And I owe you an apology for the way I spoke to you last night,” he added, grazing the rim of his mug with his thumb.
“Miles,” I took a step closer, looking at him. My hands curled around the cold glass, quickly becoming red as condensation dripped down my fingers. “There’s really nothing to be sorry about. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“Florence…”
“No, you don’t owe me a thing. And you certainly don’t owe me an explanation.”
“But I do.”
“Um…” The words suddenly died on my tongue. Annoyingly, there were fewer reasons to despise him now, but I did appreciate him saying that.
“And about my family…” He sighed. “It’s just hard, Florence—because they are all…”
“Please don’t say dead.” I stared at him, holding my breath.
His gaze momentarily softened, and he replied, “Gone.”
“There you go,” I whispered, a brief, understanding smile touching my lips. He too offered a faint smile back.
“And if you ever want to talk about them?” My eyes, tender with sincerity, met his.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I know. Thank you.”
A sudden chill passed through me as the cold bottles stung my palms. I glanced at the door, suggesting it was time for us to go.
“Oh, and Florence?” He winced; a thought seemed to make him cringe.
“Yeah?”
“Um, your mother…She must be thinking…” He hesitated. “That…”
“That we slept together?” I finished his words, my eyes slowly drifting toward him.
“Um…yeah, that.”
“Well.” My lips pressed into a thin line then awkwardly stretched as I spoke.
“I heard her catch you this morning. Boy, she must be truly pleased with herself or amused, to say the least.” And by the way, my mind flashed back to the horoscope column, that prediction; I thought, that was really spot on.
“Some very impeccable timing,” Miles said with a warm, grinning smile. My eyes were instantly drawn to his mouth. Damn it!
***
The moment we entered the room, Blake approached me quickly, his beaming smile and gleaming eyes betraying him. His intentions were crystal clear: he was interested. But…was I?
“There she is.” He reached for my hands, freeing them both from beer. “Gosh!” he exclaimed, glancing at my red palms. “They are so cold.” And before I knew it, my fingers were curled around his arm.
“Oh!” I chuckled, surprised at his boldness and skill.
With a flourish, Blake pulled out a chair for me, purring, “Allow me, my dear.”
“Thank you,” I replied, my voice a touch huskier than usual.
“Do you mind if I take the one next to you?”
“Not at all,” I breathed with a smile. Then my attention was momentarily drawn by the unreadable gaze watching us from the seat across the table. Miles.
“So, Blake,” my father began, “I hear you are a plastic surgeon.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“That must be an interesting occupation.”
Blake smiled. “You might say that, but it has its challenges.”
“How so?” my mother asked, eyes peering over the rim of her wine glass.
“You see—” Blake raised his palms. “—these hands can do anything. And, unfortunately, when I see a person, I can’t help but notice their…how to say…imperfections, or flaws, if you will. It became sort of a habit, really. I see something that can be fixed or improved.”
“How interesting,” Jo said. “Tell me then, what would you fix about me?”
“Darling.” Blake laughed at once, glancing at my sister. “I told you so many times, you look absolutely perfect.”
An elbow resting on the table, she leaned closer, propping her chin on the top of her hand. “Surely there’s something you’d change?”
“That’s the thing.” He winked at her. “I wouldn’t change a thing!”
“That’s a really smart answer,” Mark beamed, planting a gentle kiss over Jo’s knuckles.
“What many people are forgetting these days is that we all have something special about us. Take my crooked nose, for example,” he laughed.
“I love your crooked nose,” Jo exclaimed with a chuckle, taking a forkful of salad to her mouth.
“What about me?” Mark asked, shifting forward expectantly.
“Hmm,” Blake mused, his eyes narrowing as he studied Mark’s face.
“Well, maybe your jawline? Could be stronger. And the bridge of your nose…yeah, definitely that. Huh, you know what?” He paused, a grin twisting his lips.
“Actually—” A sudden, derisive snort erupted from him. “—the whole thing would have to go!”
“Wow…just wow…” Mark’s jaw dramatically dropped as the table roared with laughter. “Alright.” He quickly cleared his throat. “What about Miles?”
“What about me?” Miles pushed back against his chair, shifting his gaze towards them.
“Sorry,” Blake quipped at Mark, “but how much more perfect do you want him to be?”
A sly grin played across Miles’ face. “Well, thank you!”
“There are no boundaries to perfection though,” Jo offered.
“Boundaries?” Miles chuckled, tilting his head with a smirk. “Darling, I am the boundary.”
Well…his ego seemed to be just intact.
“Lucky bastard.” Mark shot him a wry glance.
“I honestly wouldn’t change a thing,” Blake added, his gaze lingering on Miles. “Not a single thing about his appearance. His character on the other hand…well, that’s another story entirely…” He trailed off, his words making me nearly choke on my goat cheese salad. Couldn’t agree more.
“Florence, darling, are you okay?” Blake leaned in closer, taking too much of my space.
“Yeah.” A nervous laugh escaped me with a cough. “I’m fine.” Quickly wiping my face with a serviette, my eyes locked with Miles for a brief moment. A fleeting yet knowing glance.
“So,” my mother cut in, “that occupation of yours is a gift and a curse, then? The before and after?”
“Well,” Blake mused, “that’s just about right, Elizabeth.”
***
The dinner, as always, was chef’s kiss. You might say all you want about my mother, but her love for hosting these sorts of events was possibly her true-born talent.