Read Online Charmingly Yours (A Morning Glory #1) by Liz Talley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Liz Talley
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into the chair, letting loose a breath. “Made it.”
He handed her the menu. “What would you like to drink?”
She stared at the words. “Well, I’m fine with a glass of iced tea.”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. You’re just . . . cute.”
She blushed again. “You keep saying that. Is ‘cute’ code for lame?”
He laughed.
“Well, maybe I am,” she said. “I don’t drink much except for special occasions.”
“And this is . . .”
“Right.” Rosemary looked back down at the menu. “Hmmm . . . this Ruby Slipper looks good.”
He took the menu and eyed the description. “Yeah, that’s what me and the guys call a ‘panty dropper.’”
“In that case I’ll take a glass of white zinfandel.”
Laughing had become a habit around Rosemary. Another thing he liked about her. As his laughter died, a waitress appeared. Seconds after he ordered her a glass of wine and a domestic beer for himself, he took her hand. Her fingers were soft, with manicured nails painted the color of the lining of a seashell. Very ladylike.
She looked at him questioningly.
“I’m not feeding you a line when I say this, okay?”
“Okay,” she said looking perplexed.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight. I’ve been waiting for someone like you.”
“You said that before. What do you mean by someone like me?”
“You’re just different. Lately I’ve been surrounded by women who seem one thing but then they’re not as billed. Thing is, you seem like a person who isn’t afraid to be herself.”
She made a face. “Well, I don’t know who else to be. I’d like to pretend I’m worldly and sophisticated, but we both know I’d fall as flat as I nearly fell out there.” She jerked her head toward the dance floor.
“Who needs sophistication? So overrated.” His mind flipped to Hillary, to the way she’d ordered drinks with bitters and stalked about in heels that cost as much as a small island. She’d had money and absolute control . . . and she’d never given his broken heart a second glance. Because to her, he’d been something to play with. When it came down to cutting bait, Hillary had chosen to please her Fortune 500 CEO daddy by not slumming with a greaseball from Brooklyn.
Sal watched the guileless Rosemary in the flickering candlelight. Outside the window, Manhattan lay glittering like a backdrop in a movie. Inside he wondered if he’d indeed jumped track. Or was he lying to himself? The conflicting parts of his psyche twisted around each other, each struggling for a foothold. This wasn’t about Rosemary. This was about his life.
After a few seconds she said, “Tonight feels surreal, like I’m a different person. I know it sounds like I’m beating a dead horse, but I’m amazed at myself.”
“Do you have a boyfriend back in Mississippi?” he asked, not even knowing why that popped into his mind. Maybe because she’d said she felt not herself when all he could see was someone so genuine.
Rosemary shook her head with a wry smile. “My hometown’s not exactly wriggling with eligible bachelors.”
“You’d like to think NYC would be an easier place to find the right person, but it’s not. So what do you do back in—where was it?”
“Morning Glory. We’re not too far from Jackson.”
He tried to remember where Jackson was.
“It’s in Mississippi. That’s the state between Louisiana and Alabama,” she said, reading his mind.
“I know.” Though he didn’t. He’d kicked ass in math, but geography was always a weakness. The South was an area he had little cause to know much about. His world consisted of five boroughs. And maybe New Jersey when he wanted to go to the shore.
She grinned. “I’m teasing. I own a fabric shop called Parsley and Sage.”
“Like you sell material for sewing?”
“And supplies for knitting, quilting, and crafts.”
“My grandmother likes to knit,” he said, understanding now why Rosemary
He handed her the menu. “What would you like to drink?”
She stared at the words. “Well, I’m fine with a glass of iced tea.”
He couldn’t hold back the laugh.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. You’re just . . . cute.”
She blushed again. “You keep saying that. Is ‘cute’ code for lame?”
He laughed.
“Well, maybe I am,” she said. “I don’t drink much except for special occasions.”
“And this is . . .”
“Right.” Rosemary looked back down at the menu. “Hmmm . . . this Ruby Slipper looks good.”
He took the menu and eyed the description. “Yeah, that’s what me and the guys call a ‘panty dropper.’”
“In that case I’ll take a glass of white zinfandel.”
Laughing had become a habit around Rosemary. Another thing he liked about her. As his laughter died, a waitress appeared. Seconds after he ordered her a glass of wine and a domestic beer for himself, he took her hand. Her fingers were soft, with manicured nails painted the color of the lining of a seashell. Very ladylike.
She looked at him questioningly.
“I’m not feeding you a line when I say this, okay?”
“Okay,” she said looking perplexed.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight. I’ve been waiting for someone like you.”
“You said that before. What do you mean by someone like me?”
“You’re just different. Lately I’ve been surrounded by women who seem one thing but then they’re not as billed. Thing is, you seem like a person who isn’t afraid to be herself.”
She made a face. “Well, I don’t know who else to be. I’d like to pretend I’m worldly and sophisticated, but we both know I’d fall as flat as I nearly fell out there.” She jerked her head toward the dance floor.
“Who needs sophistication? So overrated.” His mind flipped to Hillary, to the way she’d ordered drinks with bitters and stalked about in heels that cost as much as a small island. She’d had money and absolute control . . . and she’d never given his broken heart a second glance. Because to her, he’d been something to play with. When it came down to cutting bait, Hillary had chosen to please her Fortune 500 CEO daddy by not slumming with a greaseball from Brooklyn.
Sal watched the guileless Rosemary in the flickering candlelight. Outside the window, Manhattan lay glittering like a backdrop in a movie. Inside he wondered if he’d indeed jumped track. Or was he lying to himself? The conflicting parts of his psyche twisted around each other, each struggling for a foothold. This wasn’t about Rosemary. This was about his life.
After a few seconds she said, “Tonight feels surreal, like I’m a different person. I know it sounds like I’m beating a dead horse, but I’m amazed at myself.”
“Do you have a boyfriend back in Mississippi?” he asked, not even knowing why that popped into his mind. Maybe because she’d said she felt not herself when all he could see was someone so genuine.
Rosemary shook her head with a wry smile. “My hometown’s not exactly wriggling with eligible bachelors.”
“You’d like to think NYC would be an easier place to find the right person, but it’s not. So what do you do back in—where was it?”
“Morning Glory. We’re not too far from Jackson.”
He tried to remember where Jackson was.
“It’s in Mississippi. That’s the state between Louisiana and Alabama,” she said, reading his mind.
“I know.” Though he didn’t. He’d kicked ass in math, but geography was always a weakness. The South was an area he had little cause to know much about. His world consisted of five boroughs. And maybe New Jersey when he wanted to go to the shore.
She grinned. “I’m teasing. I own a fabric shop called Parsley and Sage.”
“Like you sell material for sewing?”
“And supplies for knitting, quilting, and crafts.”
“My grandmother likes to knit,” he said, understanding now why Rosemary
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