—Milan Kundera
It was surrealistic, sitting in the campus restaurant having lunch with the girl from my dream.
If I tried to explain this to Abe he’d raise an eyebrow and probably want me to see the university psychiatrist.
And the truth was, I was beginning to think that way myself.
Everything with Marilyn was becoming blurred and I felt I crossed the line between illusion and reality.
But it was also possible it may have been a weird coincidence.
Maybe this beautiful girl who thinks she’s from the Thirties just happens to resemble the girl who’s been haunting my sleep—but if that were the case, then why did she ask me if I had weird dreams?
No, there was something deeper going on, and frankly, it was scaring me.
To complicate things, I was incredibly attracted to her and it grieved me to think she thought I was some kind of playboy trying to get into bed with her.
All this was going through my head while she sat across from me nibbling on her sandwich and occasionally turning her huge dark eyes upon me.
The color began rising up my neck. “Look, I’m not a player—I just found you interesting and wanted to get to know you.”
“Really?” she said softly.
I nodded.
“But you already know me.”
My jaw dropped. It felt like my breathing stopped.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, I could see it in your eyes when you saw me—you asked if you knew me—if we met before.”
“I did.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I could tell you, but it’s embarrassing.”
“I think we have a lot to talk about then.”
I nodded and sat back in my chair. “Can I take you to dinner?”
“Not tonight,” she said, “I promised my grandmother I’d go with her to a movie.”
“How about tomorrow then? I could drop by the bookshop and pick you up after work.”
She smiled a radiant smile. “I’d like that. Six o’clock, okay?”
“It’s perfect,” I replied.
I really meant to say she was perfect. Her dark eyes contrasted with her fair hair and I seemed to lose myself in their depths.
I felt giddy and shaky—as awkward as a schoolboy. But she didn’t seem to notice. I had the feeling she thought I was feigning being shy.
She stood up. “I have to get back to the shop. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She allowed a tiny smile to escape her lips—a momentary burst of sunlight that temporarily bedazzled me.
Then, she walked out, turning back halfway, to give me a tiny wave. I was reminded of Sam leaving the bar with Marcus.
She clutched her coat as if taking hold of herself and walked back through the restaurant to the dark foyer, disappearing into the street outside.
I leaned back in the chair. What’s happening to me?
I stared at the foyer, almost expecting to see her wraith in the doorway. There was nothing but shadows, but if I saw her ghostly apparition, I wouldn’t have been surprised.