Lone eagle

He was waiting for his friend to tell him they could leave.

“Thank you. I'm Kate Jamison.” She introduced herself, as he shifted his plate to the other hand, and extended his right hand to her."

"“Joe Allbright. Do you want some food?” He was direct and clear, and spare in what he said. He only said what he felt he needed to. He had never been one for flowery words. And she had not yet taken a plate at the buffet. As she nodded, he handed one to her. She took very little, some vegetables, and a small piece of chicken.

She wasn't hungry, she'd been too excited all night to eat. Without saying a word, he carried her plate for her, and they walked to one of the tables where the others were dining, and found two seats. They sat down in silence, and as he picked up his fork, he looked at her, wondering why she had befriended him. Whatever the reason, it had improved his evening immeasurably. And hers.

“Do you know a lot of the people here?” he asked, without glancing at them, only at her. She was picking at her food, as she smiled at him.

“Some. My parents know more than I do,” she explained, surprised by how uncomfortable she felt with him. It was unusual for her, but it felt as though everything she said counted, and as if he were listening to every inflection in her voice. Being with him didn't have the light, easy feeling that she had with other men. There was something startlingly intense about him. With Joe, it was as though all the frills and subterfuge were stripped away, and what you were left with was very real.

“Are your parents here tonight?” He seemed interested as he ate one of the shrimp.

“Yes. Somewhere. I haven't seen them in hours.” And she knew she wouldn't for several more. Her mother had a way of settling into corners with a few close friends, and whiling away the evening, without even dancing. And Kate's father always stayed close to her. “We came down from Boston for the party,” she offered to further the conversation, and he nodded.

“Is that where you live?” he asked, eyeing her carefully.

There was something about her that mesmerized him. He wasn't sure if it was the way she spoke, or the way she looked at him. She looked calm and intelligent, and interested in what he was saying. He wasn't comfortable with people paying such close attention to him. And beyond her obvious intelligence and poise, she was exquisite looking. He loved just looking at her.

“Yes. Are you from New York?” she asked, abandoning her chicken.