Read Online A Glimpse of the Dream by L. A. Fiore - Free Book Online Page A

standing there, hands in his pockets, and a small smile on his face. The image burned into my memory. My fiancé. Thanksgiving was in three months; that wasn’t so long a wait.

    New student orientation was surprisingly fun. My roommate, Eleanor, was as sweet in person as she had been over the phone. She was also very shy, so it took a bit to get her to talk in the beginning. But after the first few hours together, she warmed up to me—even going so far as to initiate conversation. Our first weekend was packed with activities, learning the campus, getting introduced to the school’s organizations, learning how to use our meal cards, and meeting our advisors. It was during lunch that first day that I met Simon Dale.
    The dining hall made the most amazing chocolate chip cookies. I wasn’t the only one to think so, since the platter emptied quickly. There was only one cookie left, and just as I stepped up to it, a large hand reached over me and grabbed it.
    “Hey,” I said, turning to see a boy standing there holding my cookie. He grinned. He actually grinned at me. He had a Mediterranean look: golden-brown skin, hair on the long side and so dark a brown it looked almost black, which matched his eye color perfectly. Standing several inches over six feet, he was all muscle. He was undeniably hot, and yet there wasn’t even a spark of interest in me, only irritation.
    “That’s mine,” I whined.
    “I got it first.”
    “Seriously?”
    “Yep, they’re that good, but I’m willing to share.” Aside from Kane, I didn’t have a lot of experience with guys, so I was surprised at how comfortable I felt talking to this guy. Comfortable enough to even tease him despite his imposing stature.
    “How magnanimous of you.”
    He broke the cookie in half, but before he handed it to me, he said, “I’m Simon Dale.”
    “Teagan Harper.”
    “You from Boston?” he asked.
    “Maine. What about you?”
    “Beacon Hill. I’m pretty sure one of the standard questions we’re suppose to ask is, what’s your major?”
    I couldn’t count how many people had asked me that. “Undecided. You?”
    “Art history.”
    “Really? That actually sounds kind of cool. Are you interested in working in a museum?”
    “I’m not sure, but I love art in all forms and the history behind it.”
    “It must be nice to have a general idea of what you want to do. I’m so not there yet.” An odd look swept his expression, so I asked, “What’s that look for?”
    He kind of snorted in reply. “It’d be even nicer if my parents would get on board with it.”
    “So their aspirations for you don’t include the study of art?”
    “Far from it. They want me to major in political science for my future career in politics, but I have no interest.”
    “Do you think they’ll eventually come around?”
    “Yeah, eventually. But I could do without all the drama now.”
    It had been years since the thought of my parents had brought me pain, but I couldn’t deny being at Boston U had pulled those feelings close to the surface. If I had the chance to see them again, I’d welcome conflict, even an argument, over my choice of major.
    Not knowing where my thoughts were, Simon asked, “What about you? Are your parents pushing a major on you?”
    The pain was no longer under the surface, but right there and clearly very easy to see—Simon’s smile faded. “Did I say something wrong?”
    “My parents died when I was nine.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry.”
    “No, it’s okay. It was so long ago. I’m feeling a little more tender than normal because they both attended this school.” Just as I’d hoped, walking in their footsteps really did make me feel connected to them, but it was heartbreaking too. I wasn’t living in one of the dorms they’d once called home, but I passed by them. In my head, I could see my parents walking up the steps, loaded down with books, so young and eager. The reality that they were both gone only fourteen years after they