Meeting Sam, part one

Tonight I was at the supermarket near my house, buying some fancy cheese. It was one of those miserable, wet days where the cold seems to creep into every bone in your body. The thing that sounded best was to get home, get dry, and have a nice salad and a bit of brie and a glass of wine. Work on my novel a bit.
So I was dressed with that aim. Rivulets of rain had been running through my hair, and I was thoroughly drenched, my makeup was probably a mess, my feet were uncomfortably chilled. I had a bottle of wine under my arm, and was holding a bagged salad and picking through the plastic wrapped wedges of cheese with my free hand...a true class act.
"Hi," said a man, and I looked up. He was no one I recognized, which sent me into full panic mode. He was probably in his mid to late forties, my height, with slightly graying hair and a sheepish grin. Was he an old teacher of mine? A customer I'd helped earlier that day? Had I snagged the last bottle of ten buck Malbec that he was reaching for, totally heedless?
"I'm sorry," I said, after a desperate moment. "Where do I know you from?"
He turned a bit red. "I don't, you don't, I don't think. I'm sorry. I never do this, but I saw you in the wine aisle, and than I saw you here. I'm grabbing something for the little cafe I own, just across the street."
Holding up several plastic packets of thyme, he asked me if I would like to have a glass of wine at his cafe. On him, he said.
"Look, if you're interested, just swing on by. If not..." he shrugged and smiled. Disarmed, I put out my hand.
"I'm Bunny," I said. His hand was warm and dry, his handshake was strong and firm.
"Sam," he said. I told him I'd think it over and maybe see him later. He walked towards the cashier, and I went back to mindlessly picking through cheese. I liked his posture. It was commanding. I thought of Garrett for a moment, but who knows what was going on with that. And it was a cafe, which was safe enough, not that I really worry much about that sort of thing.
The cafe he owned was only a few blocks away from my house. I'd never been there. Dive bars were more my scene. I suppose it's the cheap introvert in me. Why pay seven bucks for a glass of wine at a place full of snobs when I could pay ten for a bottle that will last me a week? Or better yet, share with a friend.
Unless of course, someone else is buying. I paid, and put the food in my cloth grocery bag (yes, I'm one of those girls). Gritting my teeth, I walked back into the rain, crossing the busy street safely at the traffic signal. A few minutes later, I opened the door and stepped into the cafe. It's named after one of my favorite poets, whom I won't name here for privacy, but I took it as a good sign.
"Hello," I said, stepping up to the cozy wood bar. Sam turned around and smiled. He was opening the packages of thyme and putting the herbs in a bowl.
"Bunny," he said, softly. I smiled. "What kind of wine do you like?"
"Reds," I said. He poured me a glass of Oregon pinot noir and invited me to sit down. I peeled off my jacket, slowly, and though he kept working, I noticed him watching me. I hung my things up on a tall chair, and sat down.
"I've got to go take care of some customers who just came in, but I'll be right back," he said. He knocked on the bar in front of a tall man with an interesting face. "Rainier, keep Bunny amused til I get back."
Rainier is French, apparently, a former Cirque de Soleil acrobat. He'd just returned from his family's home in Normandie, and was back here finding a job.
"I do tarot," he said, "and palm reading. Look, give me your hand."
It was small in his big one, his long, strong fingers running over my lines and mounds and valleys. He laughed softly, and I blushed. He told me that my love life was very strong, that I was an erotic woman. He dropped my hand, and picked up my glass of wine, leaning in towards me as he did so.
"I'll give you my number," he whispered. His voice was so low and commanding, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. "I'm a very generous man, remember that, Bunny. Little rabbit. I'll come kiss your twitching pink nose."
Rainier leaned back and laughed, drank some of my wine. "What is this horse piss, Sam?"
"Oh fuck off, Rainier," Sam said, sliding his keys across the bar. "You're drunk."
He said it with good nature, though, and leaned across the expanse of wood. I smiled, and thanked him for the wine.  

Sorry this isn't exactly erotic, but I think the situation has a lot of promise! I'll finish this up next week.