"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right, what is this for?"

"For... you?"

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong person," I held out the box in my open palm, gesturing for him to take it, "We've never met and—"

He stepped back, away from the proffered box and waved his hands in a negative gesture.

"No, no!"

Stepping forward quickly, he gently wrapped his hands over my proffered one and pressured my fingers closed around the box again, a clam clutching its precious pearl.

His downcast eyes focusing on our connected hands, creased eyebrows, and slight frown stilled my automatic response to yank my hand back. A few timeless moments later, after just simply looking at him, waiting for him to continue, he looked back up into my face and our eyes glued together again.

"This is for you."

The sincerity of his voice and expression wet my eyes a little, but I was and always have been a sucker for puppy dog eyes. It came with the allergies.

"But I don't—" His expression stopped my protests. I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes again, his eyes were roving my face anxiously. My heart panged.

"Why."

"Why?" He cocked his head to the side, the slight frown back.

"Why me? Why scam me? Why'd you pick me!"

My voice grew louder and louder until I was yelling. He blinked furiously, and drew back a little bit, but never let go of my hands.

"Scam? What is 'scam'?"

"Scam is—well, its—you seriously don't know what scam means? Where are you from?!"

He looked away to the coastline,

"Not here."

I rolled my eyes.

"Obviously, I mean your accent gave that away pretty quick."

Right after I said it, I felt the pang in my stomach. His face fell, and so did my heart.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—I didn't—"

"It is alright." His hands dropped from my own and hung limply at my sides.

"No, it's not, I'm sorry," My hands quickly grabbed for his limp ones, and I clutched his large tan hands between my smaller, paler ones, "I'm upset and confused and angry and I don't think about what I say before it leaves my mouth a lot of the time."

I didn't know when I'd gotten comfortable enough to touch this guy's hands so casually, I guess his comfortableness rubbed off on me pretty quick. His behavior reminded me of an overzealous toddler who was yelled at for getting too excited. Maybe that was influencing my own, making me more comfortable with him.

"I'm really, really sorry."

I crouched down to catch his eyes. His would switch to the other side of the walkway and I would duck my head to catch his own repeatedly. A slight smile grew on his lips, and beaming grin split my own.

"C'mere, sit down. We need to talk."

I cautiously pulled his hand with me when I went to sit on the closest bench, leaving enough give that he could pull away if he didn't want to. He didn't. We sat together on the slightly chilly bench outside the bookshop, hands now awkwardly folded in laps. I set the ring box down between us.

"So why did you give me that ring."

I phrased it more like a statement than a question, like my third grade teacher, when she had asked me why my old math homework had flown into the recycling bin folded into the form of a paper airplane.

"Because we are getting married."

"According to who?"

"According? What is that?"

I sighed.

"It's like, I don't know, means... shoot. Just, like, who said that we're going to be married?"

"You did."

"I what?!" I shot to my feet, "When?! When did I say that?!"

"You did not say it!" Mr. Soft Coat's hands were held out placatingly, open palms facing me, "It is your actions!"

That stopped me cold in my tracks.

"My actions?"

My much calmer voice must have sounded encouraging to him, because his face broke into an over-eager smile,

"Yes! Your actions!"

"What actions?"

"You gave me my coat!"

"I gave you your—what does that have anything to do with it?!"

He reached out for my hand and pulled on it gently. I sat back down again, this time our bodies turned towards each other.

"My people, more important when we talk with your people," His emphasis on the 'your' struck me as odd, but I let him continue, curious, "say our coats sacred. When I lose my coat to you—"

"Wait wait wait wait wait, I never stole your coat!" I protested vehemently.

That stopped him, and he seemed to be thinking hard about what I said for a few moments. I could see him mouthing things, but no sound came out. Was he translating? I didn't know.

"You did not but you did."

"Explain."

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb.

"I am not good at explaining because I am not good at English. I will try."

"Okay, shoot."

I sat back, crossed my legs, and folded my arms. He threw me a confused look, but continued,

"My coat is mine, it is on back of chair. You knock my coat on floor, my coat is not mine. You give me my coat back, after it is yours, I accept, we get married."

"Wait wait wait wait, hold on a minute. You mean, because I accidentally knocked your coat on the ground and picked it up, it became mine?" He nodded, "And because I gave it back to you we have to get married?"

"No no no, because I accept coat from you we get married."

"So because you took your coat back from me when I offered, we're going to get married?!"

"Yes!"

"This is ridiculous!"

I threw my hands in the air and stormed off down the road. He looked a little shocked, once he'd sprinted to catch up with me.

"Why are you upset?"

"Because! You're a freaking scammer who thinks that he's gonna get my social security number and or a green card through a marriage scam!"

"Green card?"

I stopped in my tracks, and turned sharply to face him. He backed away a step, hands up again in that same placating gesture.

"Ok, you're cute, and so's your accent. Russian, right? But the joke's over. I'm not marrying you so you can become a U.S. citizen, alright? Try another girl." I turned away for a second then back to him, "And the coat story? Nowhere have I ever heard that Russians think their coats are 'sacred.' That's just total bogus."

I turned the last and final time, hoping to never see his attractive, annoying face again and stomped away, hands shoved into my coat pockets, fuming.

For a full three minutes, I thought I honestly would never see him again, but just as that thought crossed my mind, I heard the stomping of steel-toed boots against the pavement after me.

"Wait! Sam!"

I turned to glare at him. Obviously, Sally had told him my name. I was going to have a word with her tomorrow. Giving names to possibly-Russian scammers was not things best friends did.

"I can prove it." That threw me for a loop.

"Prove what?"

"I tell truth."

"Well, then, go on."

I waved my hand, gesturing for him to move along. He froze for a moment, seeming to consider his options, then held out his hand for me.

"You need to come with me."

"If you think—"

"Tell Sally. I must show you."

Headlines of "Girl Went Missing after following Russian scammer," and "Girl Found Murdered after trusting a guy she doesn't know," ran through my head. He was letting me text my friend, though, beforehand. That had got to be a positive flag, right?

"Ok, just let me text her first."

He nodded, and pocketed his hand again as he waited for me to fish my phone from my pocket.

I quickly got a reply back,

Good luck? What the—

Mr. Soft Coat quickly grabbed my hand, he had obviously seen that she had replied, and pulled me along behind him.

"Where are we going?"

He turned to look back at me but did not stop walking. His eyes met mine and the pools of dark that were his irises dragged me down in a whirlpool of shadow.

"The sea."