The Girl in the Glass Read Online Free PDF Page B

think it’s very safe to travel these days. Look, here’s the wine.”
    As the waitress poured, I chanced a peek at Devon. He was looking over the rims of his glasses at my mother, a thoughtful look on his face. He had probably just figured out my mother hadn’t told me that she had set this up. It was a rather awkward position in which to put a nice man, I thought. Asking him to dinner to meet me and then not telling him that I would have no idea he’d be there.
    The waitress walked away, and my mother raised her glass. “To good food and great company!”
    Devon smiled at her, a bit uneasily, and raised his glass.
    In spite of my frustration with my mother, I felt bad for him. He was clearly sensing the tension in the situation. And he seemed a nice enough guy. She should’ve told him. She should’ve told us both.
    But, then, of course, I probably wouldn’t have come.
    “To surprises,” I whispered, wondering if he would hear me, hoping he would. A smile, small but genuine this time, cracked across his face.
    “What was that, Meg?” my mother asked.
    “To Fridays,” I said.
    “Oh yes. Most definitely. It’s only April, and the kids at school are already restless for summer.”
    We sipped from our glasses and then in unison placed them on the table.
    A weighty silence followed.
    Devon cleared his throat. “So, I suppose your company has published books on all kinds of places?”
    I hesitated, wondering what else I could reply to a question like that except yes.
    “That was a dumb thing to say,” he said quickly. “Of course you’ve published books on all kinds of places.”
    My mother laughed easily. “I said the same thing when she got the job!”
    Devon turned back to me. “Okay, how about what’s the one place you’ve published a book about that you want to visit more than any other?”
    The moment he asked this, I felt a tingling kinship with him, tiny and subtle. He had detected there was a place that called to me, a place that reminded me of home and family and safety, even though I had never been there. He did not know all this, of course, but he sensed there had to be a place …
    Florence was on my lips, a breath away from being said when my mother interrupted.
    “Oh, that’s easy!” my mother said, smiling. “I know the answer to that.”
    The tingling sensation stilled. Devon blinked, waited.
    “Florence,” I said. It fell off my lips somewhat flat.
    Devon nodded. “Beautiful place.”
    “You’ve been?” I couldn’t keep a trace of envy out of my voice. I’ve met plenty of people who’ve been to Florence but never on a first date. Or a first date–like evening.
    He nodded. “I hope you get to go sometime. You’ll love it.”
    But I already do , I wanted to say.
    “She’s always wanted to go there, ever since she was little,” my mother said. “She had a grandmother who was born and raised there. She had pictures of Florence all over her walls.”
    “Oh well, then, you must be sure to go.” Devon’s voice was soft but urgent, as if he understood my longing.
    I felt for the stem of my wineglass and tried to pull my gaze away from him. The waitress appeared at our table and asked if we needed more time with the menus, and I nearly thanked her for the well-timed intrusion. Except that we hadn’t even opened the menus.
    “A few more minutes would be great,” Devon said, the take-charge tone of his voice surprising me a little.
    The waitress left and awkward silence fell across us again.
    Devon folded his arms on the table and cocked his head. “Look, I don’t think we started off very well here, Meg. I am sorry about that. Maybe we should back up a little?”
    “What do you mean back up?” My mother looked from him to me. “You two only just met!”
    Devon’s gentleness and honesty calmed me at once. “It’s not your fault,” I said to him. “And it’s not you, Devon. Really it’s not. You seem like a very nice person. It’s me.”
    “What do you mean,