Waiting for a Girl Like You Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Christa Maurice
and Baskin Robbins franchises, but they turned them down in favor of this family owned place. It’s a better fit for the town brand.”
Sales numbers, units, and business plans. Was that coffee ice cream or butter pecan he had? According to the all-knowing Internet, people who liked coffee ice cream were passionate and over-committed. Butter pecan meant he was sensitive, but wouldn’t reveal himself to others. Was he fun and flirtatious or cautious and traditional? How was she supposed to know what to say if she didn’t know what kind of person he was? “The whole town seems to be very invested in their image. My cousin calls it Mayberry-ness.”
“Yeah, so does Cassie.” Marc scanned the square. He must be bored. Or he was looking for a good place to sit. Did he like to people watch as much as she did?
It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. Marc was extremely good looking. He just couldn’t quote Keats or smile at her like she was the most clever, exciting woman in the world. Or maybe he could if she gave him a chance. “So tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not much that hasn’t been in the press.” He turned toward a bench beside the now empty bandstand. It was dim there, but not dark. The perfect balance of being well lit without being in a spotlight. So he didn’t want to attract attention right now. Was that because he wanted to focus on her, or because he was tired of being mobbed by his many fans? Or did he not want to be seen with her? That wouldn’t be a first. He settled onto the bench and turned toward her. “Tell you about myself.”
What man didn’t want to talk about himself? His Wiki page had not been forthcoming on his pet cause or even what kind of movies he liked. Liking sports just proved he was a regular man. It didn’t supply her with any material. Alex sat down trying to mirror his pose, but when he crossed his ankle over his knee she gave up. There was no way to make that look good in this short of a skirt. “Just searching for a topic of conversation.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Where do you stand on global warming or the deficit or Arab Spring?”
“Ah, well, I recycle, pay my taxes, and Arab Spring is making it difficult to get to Egypt, but I’m not certain what they’re fighting about. What about you?”
Good question. “The same, I guess. Except I wasn’t planning on going to Egypt any time soon.” If he had an interest in Egypt, that was something she could study up on.
“Where were you planning to go?”
“Italy.”
“What’s in Italy?”
What’s in Italy? He couldn’t be that dumb, unless he was asking what she wanted to see. A test then.
“I mean, for you.”
The Keats-Shelley Museum. Keats’s grave. Trevi Fountain. The Sistine Chapel. Florence. Venice. The food. “The food. I love Italian food.”
He nodded like that wasn’t an odd, dopey thing to say. “Italy is nice. I’ve been there a couple of times on tour.”
“What have you seen?”
“In Italy? The Vatican, a couple of the museums. The usual stuff, I guess.” He shrugged. “I was focused on work at the time. It might be nice to go and just be on vacation.” He stared into her eyes like he’d just asked a very important question.
Her breath caught in her throat, but was it excitement or panic? If he was implying that he wanted to go to Italy with her, it could be either. She’d been pleased when he wanted to sit in the square eating ice cream like a publicly acceptable couple on a regular date. Alex arched a little more to enhance her assets and quell her nervous stomach.
“Listen, I know that Paul and Ida are up to something and if you’re not interested, it’s cool,” Marc said.
“Paul and Ida are up to something?” Alex clenched her free hand into a fist. She hadn’t assumed a fix-up was in progress until after work last night when Angela was so excited. He must have figured it out before she did, and he was okay with it. It would be awfully nice to
Sales numbers, units, and business plans. Was that coffee ice cream or butter pecan he had? According to the all-knowing Internet, people who liked coffee ice cream were passionate and over-committed. Butter pecan meant he was sensitive, but wouldn’t reveal himself to others. Was he fun and flirtatious or cautious and traditional? How was she supposed to know what to say if she didn’t know what kind of person he was? “The whole town seems to be very invested in their image. My cousin calls it Mayberry-ness.”
“Yeah, so does Cassie.” Marc scanned the square. He must be bored. Or he was looking for a good place to sit. Did he like to people watch as much as she did?
It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. Marc was extremely good looking. He just couldn’t quote Keats or smile at her like she was the most clever, exciting woman in the world. Or maybe he could if she gave him a chance. “So tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not much that hasn’t been in the press.” He turned toward a bench beside the now empty bandstand. It was dim there, but not dark. The perfect balance of being well lit without being in a spotlight. So he didn’t want to attract attention right now. Was that because he wanted to focus on her, or because he was tired of being mobbed by his many fans? Or did he not want to be seen with her? That wouldn’t be a first. He settled onto the bench and turned toward her. “Tell you about myself.”
What man didn’t want to talk about himself? His Wiki page had not been forthcoming on his pet cause or even what kind of movies he liked. Liking sports just proved he was a regular man. It didn’t supply her with any material. Alex sat down trying to mirror his pose, but when he crossed his ankle over his knee she gave up. There was no way to make that look good in this short of a skirt. “Just searching for a topic of conversation.”
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“Where do you stand on global warming or the deficit or Arab Spring?”
“Ah, well, I recycle, pay my taxes, and Arab Spring is making it difficult to get to Egypt, but I’m not certain what they’re fighting about. What about you?”
Good question. “The same, I guess. Except I wasn’t planning on going to Egypt any time soon.” If he had an interest in Egypt, that was something she could study up on.
“Where were you planning to go?”
“Italy.”
“What’s in Italy?”
What’s in Italy? He couldn’t be that dumb, unless he was asking what she wanted to see. A test then.
“I mean, for you.”
The Keats-Shelley Museum. Keats’s grave. Trevi Fountain. The Sistine Chapel. Florence. Venice. The food. “The food. I love Italian food.”
He nodded like that wasn’t an odd, dopey thing to say. “Italy is nice. I’ve been there a couple of times on tour.”
“What have you seen?”
“In Italy? The Vatican, a couple of the museums. The usual stuff, I guess.” He shrugged. “I was focused on work at the time. It might be nice to go and just be on vacation.” He stared into her eyes like he’d just asked a very important question.
Her breath caught in her throat, but was it excitement or panic? If he was implying that he wanted to go to Italy with her, it could be either. She’d been pleased when he wanted to sit in the square eating ice cream like a publicly acceptable couple on a regular date. Alex arched a little more to enhance her assets and quell her nervous stomach.
“Listen, I know that Paul and Ida are up to something and if you’re not interested, it’s cool,” Marc said.
“Paul and Ida are up to something?” Alex clenched her free hand into a fist. She hadn’t assumed a fix-up was in progress until after work last night when Angela was so excited. He must have figured it out before she did, and he was okay with it. It would be awfully nice to