Read Online Forgotten Yesterday by Renee Ericson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Renee Ericson
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you’re staying while you’re in town?” I ask, referring to the hotel.
“Yeah. The whole team is here.”
“Ah, I see.” I play with end of my scarf. “It’s nice.”
“The hotel? Yeah and the location is good, too.”
We make our way out of the hotel and tread silently together to the end of the street. When we reach the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, Brent steps out in front of me so we’re face-to-face.
“This is weird, right?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not just me, is it?”
I let out a relaxed laugh, my tense shoulders dropping. “It’s completely weird. You have no idea what I was thinking about on the way here.”
“What?” he asks, captivated.
I shake my head, tossing my hair along my shoulders. “Your birthday.”
He tightens his lips, forcing them into a hard line, withholding…something.
“At The Drake,” I continue.
“Oh, I knew what you meant.” He wipes his hand over his mouth. “I was thinking about it all last night.”
I laugh harder. “No wonder you had trouble sleeping.”
“No kidding.”
The light changes indicating we can cross the street and I step off the curb with Brent next to me. When we’re almost to the other side, his hand touches my lower back and my stomach drops.
My heart wants to soar.
Nine
We ascend the escalator to the sixth floor of the shopping mall located on Michigan Avenue. Brent keeps his hands in his pockets, and so do I, but acutely notice our proximity to one another.
I’ve only been to this restaurant a few times before, but the food is really good. The first time I came here was with my cousin, Cody, when he came to visit about a year ago. The reviews were intriguing, so I convinced him that we should give it a try. My cousin called the food “snooty,” but found a way to devour every bite. He always has been a lot of hot air.
At the host stand, we check in. There isn’t a wait and we’re soon lead through the restaurant toward a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Michigan Avenue. The hostess gestures to an empty table right along the view. I shrug out of my coat, hang it on the chair and then take a seat. Brent does the same. She hands us each a menu and tells us our server will be right over.
My nerves are more noticeable now that we’re sitting and unmoving. I open the menu and pick the first item that looks mildly appetizing, unable to give a lot of thought to eating, and then sit back watching Brent’s eyes sift through the food choices. He puckers his lips a few times and their tiny movements mesmerize me. His fingertips rub the outside of the menu over and over. I can’t help but smile. He’s nervous too.
“What are you smiling at?” he questions, still focused on the menu.
Caught, I relax my cheeks.
“Nothing,” I reply a little too quickly.
He smiles widely, releasing those wicked dimples and continues to look through the menu.
Knowing that I won’t be able to keep my unabashed ogling and curiosity under control, I stare out the window into the grey street bustling with early morning shoppers and tourists. People watching is always a good distraction. This morning, the sidewalk is filled with couples bundled together in their wool and leather coats, adorned with scarves, hats, and gloves.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Brent has finished searching through the menu and is sitting back in his seat, watching me.
“What are you looking at?” he questions.
“People.” I reply, still angled toward the street below. “They seem so different from up here.”
Brent leans over in his seat, to gaze out the window. I dare to glance in his direction—and another—and another until I openly watching him. He’s lost in what’s happening below and I’m lost in his profile.
I can’t seem to help myself.
In the daylight, there’s a different side of him to take in. Since we’ve come back in contact, I’ve only seen him in the dim
“Yeah. The whole team is here.”
“Ah, I see.” I play with end of my scarf. “It’s nice.”
“The hotel? Yeah and the location is good, too.”
We make our way out of the hotel and tread silently together to the end of the street. When we reach the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, Brent steps out in front of me so we’re face-to-face.
“This is weird, right?” he asks. “I mean, it’s not just me, is it?”
I let out a relaxed laugh, my tense shoulders dropping. “It’s completely weird. You have no idea what I was thinking about on the way here.”
“What?” he asks, captivated.
I shake my head, tossing my hair along my shoulders. “Your birthday.”
He tightens his lips, forcing them into a hard line, withholding…something.
“At The Drake,” I continue.
“Oh, I knew what you meant.” He wipes his hand over his mouth. “I was thinking about it all last night.”
I laugh harder. “No wonder you had trouble sleeping.”
“No kidding.”
The light changes indicating we can cross the street and I step off the curb with Brent next to me. When we’re almost to the other side, his hand touches my lower back and my stomach drops.
My heart wants to soar.
Nine
We ascend the escalator to the sixth floor of the shopping mall located on Michigan Avenue. Brent keeps his hands in his pockets, and so do I, but acutely notice our proximity to one another.
I’ve only been to this restaurant a few times before, but the food is really good. The first time I came here was with my cousin, Cody, when he came to visit about a year ago. The reviews were intriguing, so I convinced him that we should give it a try. My cousin called the food “snooty,” but found a way to devour every bite. He always has been a lot of hot air.
At the host stand, we check in. There isn’t a wait and we’re soon lead through the restaurant toward a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook Michigan Avenue. The hostess gestures to an empty table right along the view. I shrug out of my coat, hang it on the chair and then take a seat. Brent does the same. She hands us each a menu and tells us our server will be right over.
My nerves are more noticeable now that we’re sitting and unmoving. I open the menu and pick the first item that looks mildly appetizing, unable to give a lot of thought to eating, and then sit back watching Brent’s eyes sift through the food choices. He puckers his lips a few times and their tiny movements mesmerize me. His fingertips rub the outside of the menu over and over. I can’t help but smile. He’s nervous too.
“What are you smiling at?” he questions, still focused on the menu.
Caught, I relax my cheeks.
“Nothing,” I reply a little too quickly.
He smiles widely, releasing those wicked dimples and continues to look through the menu.
Knowing that I won’t be able to keep my unabashed ogling and curiosity under control, I stare out the window into the grey street bustling with early morning shoppers and tourists. People watching is always a good distraction. This morning, the sidewalk is filled with couples bundled together in their wool and leather coats, adorned with scarves, hats, and gloves.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Brent has finished searching through the menu and is sitting back in his seat, watching me.
“What are you looking at?” he questions.
“People.” I reply, still angled toward the street below. “They seem so different from up here.”
Brent leans over in his seat, to gaze out the window. I dare to glance in his direction—and another—and another until I openly watching him. He’s lost in what’s happening below and I’m lost in his profile.
I can’t seem to help myself.
In the daylight, there’s a different side of him to take in. Since we’ve come back in contact, I’ve only seen him in the dim
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