Read Online Draw Me A Picture by Meredith Greene - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Meredith Greene
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For the first time in years, William was looking forward to eating with company, something he normally avoided. He liked solitude and had for years; there was never any pressure to be this or that or act properly, but, after being with Michelle eating alone simply no longer appealed. Suddenly, William could see Michelle sitting with him for every meal he’d ever have. The idea of her constant company filled his soul with a warm comfort.
“William?” Michelle’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. She looked amused at his daydreaming. “Are you tired?” she asked, tilting her head a little to one side. William grinned down at her, perusing her face with pleasure; she’d spoken his first name and naturally so. This was progress.
“Not a bit,” he said, warmly. “I was merely thinking how long it had been since I’d had such pleasant company.” He spoke with such sincerity that Michelle immediately dismissed her doubts of boring him to death. “I’ve never brought a date here,” William continued.
At his words, Michelle looked a bit taken aback.
“This is a date?” she wondered aloud; after a moment she allowed a smile to return to her face. “A date,” she said, nodding to herself. She looked up at William; he appeared amused. “Do you always ask out ragged street artists that you barely know?” Michelle asked, crossing her arms defensively. Chuckling, William lowered his eyelids a little.
“Only the pretty ones that run away,” he said in a low voice. He got what he was after; Michelle blushed again.
At that moment, a dark-clad waiter appeared bearing two pewter soup-plates. A large, wicker cornucopia of rolls was set down on the table as well and the server swept off, leaving the two hungry guests to themselves. William and Michelle exchanged a look of mutual relief... food. William was genuinely famished, having skipped lunch that day. He watched Michelle from the corner of his eye as she expertly flicked out her napkin and laid it across her lap.
“You’ve done that before,” he observed, grinning boyishly at his guest.
“Yes,” Michelle replied, returning his smile. “I was a server at four-star restaurant while I was at college. I’m resisting polishing the silver.” William chuckled as Michelle critically eyed her fork; how fun it would be to tell the owner his silver did not measure up to the standards of an unemployed Manhattan street-artist.
They dipped into their dinner with relish; the savory, thick soup was creamy and delicious, the fresh, buttery rolls the perfect accompaniment. William and Michelle spent several pleasant minutes eating in the warm atmosphere. The clink of glasses and the soft murmurs of quiet conversation sounded now and again but nothing disturbed the peace.
Michelle enjoyed every morsel; it reminded her grandmother’s clam chowder. As she ate, Michelle thought of her kindly 'Gramma Betty'; the lady had died several years earlier. She had owned a ‘cottage’ on the Chesapeake Bay, which was in reality a sprawling domicile by the water. Though well off, the woman has always done her own cooking; each Christmas, Michelle and her family flew out to see her. They’d make the special clam chowder together as well as dozens of different cookies. Later they’d sit out on the snowy veranda, watching the stormy, gray water, well bundled up with hot cocoa in hand. Deluged with fond memories, Michelle smiled down at her bowl, lovingly dipping a piece of bread into the soup.
Enjoying his own food, William snuck a few glances at Michelle; she did not eat as though starving but with such enjoyment he couldn’t help but smile. Rarely would women eat well on a date, in his experience; they usually ordered a few lettuce leaves or something and nibbled away daintily, pretending they did not feel anything as archaic as Hunger. Sitting by Michelle, William felt at home, like he was in his own living room; he was momentarily tempted to remove his shoes and slouch
“William?” Michelle’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. She looked amused at his daydreaming. “Are you tired?” she asked, tilting her head a little to one side. William grinned down at her, perusing her face with pleasure; she’d spoken his first name and naturally so. This was progress.
“Not a bit,” he said, warmly. “I was merely thinking how long it had been since I’d had such pleasant company.” He spoke with such sincerity that Michelle immediately dismissed her doubts of boring him to death. “I’ve never brought a date here,” William continued.
At his words, Michelle looked a bit taken aback.
“This is a date?” she wondered aloud; after a moment she allowed a smile to return to her face. “A date,” she said, nodding to herself. She looked up at William; he appeared amused. “Do you always ask out ragged street artists that you barely know?” Michelle asked, crossing her arms defensively. Chuckling, William lowered his eyelids a little.
“Only the pretty ones that run away,” he said in a low voice. He got what he was after; Michelle blushed again.
At that moment, a dark-clad waiter appeared bearing two pewter soup-plates. A large, wicker cornucopia of rolls was set down on the table as well and the server swept off, leaving the two hungry guests to themselves. William and Michelle exchanged a look of mutual relief... food. William was genuinely famished, having skipped lunch that day. He watched Michelle from the corner of his eye as she expertly flicked out her napkin and laid it across her lap.
“You’ve done that before,” he observed, grinning boyishly at his guest.
“Yes,” Michelle replied, returning his smile. “I was a server at four-star restaurant while I was at college. I’m resisting polishing the silver.” William chuckled as Michelle critically eyed her fork; how fun it would be to tell the owner his silver did not measure up to the standards of an unemployed Manhattan street-artist.
They dipped into their dinner with relish; the savory, thick soup was creamy and delicious, the fresh, buttery rolls the perfect accompaniment. William and Michelle spent several pleasant minutes eating in the warm atmosphere. The clink of glasses and the soft murmurs of quiet conversation sounded now and again but nothing disturbed the peace.
Michelle enjoyed every morsel; it reminded her grandmother’s clam chowder. As she ate, Michelle thought of her kindly 'Gramma Betty'; the lady had died several years earlier. She had owned a ‘cottage’ on the Chesapeake Bay, which was in reality a sprawling domicile by the water. Though well off, the woman has always done her own cooking; each Christmas, Michelle and her family flew out to see her. They’d make the special clam chowder together as well as dozens of different cookies. Later they’d sit out on the snowy veranda, watching the stormy, gray water, well bundled up with hot cocoa in hand. Deluged with fond memories, Michelle smiled down at her bowl, lovingly dipping a piece of bread into the soup.
Enjoying his own food, William snuck a few glances at Michelle; she did not eat as though starving but with such enjoyment he couldn’t help but smile. Rarely would women eat well on a date, in his experience; they usually ordered a few lettuce leaves or something and nibbled away daintily, pretending they did not feel anything as archaic as Hunger. Sitting by Michelle, William felt at home, like he was in his own living room; he was momentarily tempted to remove his shoes and slouch
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