The Best Part of Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

sandwich and took a bite, determined to set a world record for the fastest time eating a sandwich and scorching hot chowder. He glanced up at her and stopped in mid-bite.
    There was a yellowish-green bruise around her right eye. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, but he definitely did now.
    Fucking Remy.
    She must have figured out what he was staring at, because she cast her eyes down and poked at the pieces of arugula next to her salmon. “That bad, huh?”
    He quickly swallowed and shook his head. “It’s not that bad.”
    She looked up at him and laughed. “Liar.” Her smile reached all the way to her eyes. And now that he was looking at her eyes and not the nasty bruise surrounding one, he saw they were a dusky bluish gray.
    Ewan resumed eating as he studied her, thinking it was slightly suspicious they would run into each other considering the greater Boston area had more than four and a half million people.
    â€œWhat brings you to Cambridge?” he asked.
    â€œI needed to pick up a couple things at the antique store across the street. The shop was so much more extensive than I thought, so I completely lost track of time and skipped lunch. This was the first place I saw when I came out, so I stopped in.” She shrugged. “What an odd coincidence that someone from Ballagh owns it.”
    He chewed his sandwich while he watched her daintily place a bite of pink, flakey salmon in her mouth. Her lips closed over the fork and rubbed together as she chewed. He blinked, wondering why all of a sudden it was borderline erotic for someone to chew a piece of fish.
    The server approached the table and set his water glass next to his plate. “How is everything?”
    â€œIt’s lovely. Thank you so much.” Quinn smiled gratefully at the server like the woman was personally responsible for pulling her puppy out of a storm drain. Ewan took another bite of his sandwich and watched as Quinn meticulously cut her salad greens.
    â€œThis is such a charming restaurant,” she stated.
    Ewan looked around at the empty barroom. The space was relatively small with only a handful of tables. On busy nights, it was anything but charming. They packed quite a few people into this room, usually three people deep at the bar. Those patrons who were looking for a quiet dinner usually sat in the dining room on the other side of the restaurant.
    â€œDo you know whether this building used to be an old residence? It’s gorgeous.”
    He did in fact know that the building was a townhouse built in 1823 by one of the owners of the New England Glass Company, which at the time was well known for its blown and pressed glass. When his uncle had been looking for a Cambridge property and come across this listing, he’d immediately known that the history of the home along with its colonial charm would be perfect for his upscale pub concept. In fact, where they were sitting was once the front parlor of the townhouse. He could have told Quinn all of this, but it would probably lead to more questions requiring more answers. So instead he shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich.
    â€œI bet someone used to live here. What a view they would have had of the river. Back in Pittsburgh, there are so many of these lovely old townhomes along the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers. I think it’s wonderful when old industrial cities try to preserve some of these treasures.”
    He studied her as she looked around the room. She looked wistful, like she was far, far away in her peaceful, calm dream world. She turned back to the table, and when she caught him staring, she smiled timidly.
    She resumed poking at her plate and said, “Your uncle mentioned you were dropping something off?”
    He nodded as he finished one half of his sandwich.
    â€œIs that something you do every week?”
    â€œYeah,” he replied as he moved on to his chowder. Goddamn soup was too hot or he’d have drunk