Blue Waltz Read Online Free PDF

chiseled features cast in sharp relief by the flickering candlelight. "Have you gained my attention simply to criticize my clothing, or is there something I can help you with?"
    His tone startled her, dispersing her delight as quickly as it had appeared. She couldn't tell from his ex-
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    pression if he was angry or sarcastic. Either way, she concluded, finally remembering the initial reason for their encounter, she no longer had any interest in sharing a portion of his meal. But when she started to offer her apologies and settle for the foie gras, their eyes locked and held.
    Her pulse slowed. And after a moment the dark heaviness that always lurked at the edges of her mind dissipated. As if she had come home.
    The soft clank of silverware on china and muted voices sounded around her. She didn't understand this feeling, didn't understand how it had happened, or from where it had come. She studied him more closely, trying to find some explanation. She saw that the confidence was still there; it was unmistakable in this type of man. But there was something else that she had failed to notice before. Something both repelling and oddly familiar.
    She didn't know him, she was sure of it. But somehow it seemed if she scoured the recesses of her mind she would be able to recall him, as if indeed she knew him after all.
    But that was absurd, she admonished herself as soon as the thought wafted through her head. She didn't know anyone in Boston, especially not this man with his icy reserve.
    "Why is it you have gained my attention?" he asked again, looking at her as if he, too, was trying to determine if he knew her.
    "Your rolls," she replied without thinking.
    His brow furrowed and his head cocked slightly to the side, and she knew he was trying to determine if he should be outraged or insulted.
    "My rolls?" he inquired.
    "Yes, your rolls. You asked if there was anything you
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    could help me with." She glanced at the food item in question. "Yours appeared to be going to waste. And silly me, I thought perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing."
    After a moment he looked over at the bread which sat on his table, then turned back. He studied her face for an eternity, before his eyes traveled down the length of her velvet gown.
    She felt the blood rush to her cheeks. Never in her twenty-nine years, neither while she was married nor anytime after, had anyone looked at her in such a way. Blatant. Perusing. Intimate, as if she wore no clothes.
    She started to turn away, cursing herself for the impulsive behavior that never failed to get her into trouble.
    "Help yourself," he said.
    His voice wrenched her loose from her thoughts. She nearly flinched back when he held the dish out to her, a silver edge catching her reflection and casting it back.
    "Have them all, if you like."
    And then she saw it. The sling that held his arm. Black and pristine, just like the rest of his attire, but a sling just the same.
    The man had been wounded.
    It hit her all at once why he seemed so familiar, why she felt she knew him. Because he had been hurt. Maimed.
    In a manner of speaking, she did know him. Perhaps not the man himself, but she knew the look in his eyes that said he had experienced a moment in his life that was so indisputable and consequential that it never stopped mattering. One incident—not a lifetime of incidents—just one that changed the way he looked at the world, and changed the way the world looked back.
    She didn't know if for him the incident had anything to do with the sling. But somewhere, sometime, some-
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    thing had happened. A quirk of fate undoubtedly, an anomaly in what had been a perfect world, that changed his life forever. She took a deep breath. Yes, she knew it all too well. She recognized the despair, glossed over with the same indifference that she saw when she looked in the mirror.
    Breathing deeply, she started to hum. Slowly. Softly.
    Could he remember his moment of change?