I honestly didn’t know, when she was introduced to me at the tavern, if Ginger was her real name or if it was a nickname that people used because she had red hair. I’d never really been attracted to redheads, especially redheads with freckles all over their faces, but Ginger was stunning. I was instantly smitten and I couldn’t stop staring at her, which I knew made her feel uncomfortable.
“Is there something wrong with me?” she asked. “Or is there something wrong with you?”
“I’m so sorry for staring,” I said. “You must think I’m terribly rude, but I have never in my life seen anyone quite as ravishing as you.”
“Oh good,” she said. “Then there’s nothing wrong with me, but there’s definitely something wrong with you.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or facetious. “Again, I apologize for my weird behavior and I can understand if you think I’m strange. I’m actually not at all weird or strange. I just find myself to be simultaneously enchanted and intimidated by your beauty.”
Ginger opened her eyes wide. “Then you clearly are weird and strange,” she said, but I noticed a slight smile on her face. “People call me Ginger for obvious reasons,” she added, “but my real name is Heather.” She put her hand out for me to shake, which, of course, I did.
“Nice to meet you, Heather,” I said. “Can I get you a drink from the bar?”
“That would be lovely,” she said.
“What would you like?” I asked.
“Now you’re going to think this is a bit of a cliché,” she said, “given my red hair and freckles that you find so intimidating, but I’d like a Baileys Irish Cream on the rocks, please.”
“One Baileys Irish Cream on the rocks coming up,” I said. Walking to the bar I was surprised at how this striking Irish lass had totally stolen my heart.
Written for the Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt, where the word is “ginger.” Image credit: VianaArts at DeviantArt.com.