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PART TWO: “Hi,” she said, smiling still. His brain began to melt. What now? “I noticed you were perusing a Jane Austen novel,” he continued. “I once read Pride and Prejudice.” Wow. Had he just said “perusing” aloud? “Yeah, she’s the best author ever,” she answered. “I personally enjoy her character analyses the most.” Was she openly mocking him? She had just said “analyses” aloud, without flinching. All the while, she had deftly been checking out each of his books, scanning the barcodes. Why did he have so many books? He was such a geek. “I see you’re into philosophy,” she said, and again the small smile lit up her features. “Yes,” he said, starting slowly. “But it’s mostly a hobby. I’m majoring in theology. I’m actually, later this year, traveling to the southeastern part of England to study different church and cathedral designs and practices. We’re going to start in Canterbury.” “Oh, I’m so jealous!” she exclaimed. “Jane Austen lived in the southwest of England…you’ll have so much fun.” The stack of books was gradually shrinking. He had to take some action before she finished - but why? A sudden urge of…something, an odd feeling had come over him. A few moments later, he found he didn’t need to think of anything. She did it for him. “Hey, do you want to talk more over lunch?” she started to babble. “Well, that is if you feel you want to. I-I know we’ve known each other all of four seconds and you could possibly be a serial killer--” (small laugh) “or something, but I have a good feeling about you.” Wow. He’d just been asked to lunch by a beautiful, intellectual and slightly funny woman. A woman who didn’t think him a serial killer and who had a “good feeling” about him. “I have only one condition,” he stated, his confidence brimming. “What’s your name?” “Oh, geez, sorry!” she said, the smile returning, yet again. “Judith. My parents are a bit old-fashioned.” “Rob,” he answered back. Her arm snuck over the counter and she stuck her hand out for shaking. He took this small, clean, cold hand in his revolting, large, sweaty one. Was that dirt under his nails? She let go, scribbling something down on a scrap of paper. “That’s my number and the name of the café down the street.” She suddenly seemed shy. “See you there at 12:30?” “Sure,” he said, just a bit shell-shocked. Quickly, he jotted down his number, slid it across the counter and smiled. Books in arms, he left the library, feeling more than a bit confused.
PiroFanMongoose · Sat Dec 29, 2007 @ 05:26pm · 0 Comments |
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