Read Online Goodnight Tweetheart by Teresa Medeiros - Free Book Online
Authors: Teresa Medeiros
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Phantom of the Opera seem like an extrovert.
She was reaching to close the laptop when a familiar chirp sent her pulse into overdrive.
Chapter Six
Friday, May 13—7:01 P.M.
MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?
Abby_Donovan: A spritz of Chanel No. 5 and the ice-blue satin evening gown Grace Kelly wore to accept her Oscar for THE COUNTRY GIRL. You?
MarkBaynard: Harrison Ford’s leather bomber jacket from RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK and Steve McQueen’s Persol aviator glasses from THE GETAWAY.
Abby_Donovan: Speaking of getaways, I came this close to standing you up, you know.
MarkBaynard: Better offer?
Abby_Donovan: It’s hard for any man to compete with Ben and Jerry.
MarkBaynard: I didn’t know you were into threesomes.
Abby_Donovan: I was going to throw in Mr. Darcy and make it a foursome.
MarkBaynard: Naughty girl! And to think I had you pegged as a Bronte woman! How can you resist Heathcliff’s smoldering good looks and incessant brooding?
Abby_Donovan: Heathcliff was a misogynistic asshole.
MarkBaynard: Could you explain that to my Lit 101 class? I hate to see all those impressionable young females swooning over him like he’s Edward Cullen.
Abby_Donovan: I’ve always been Team Jacob myself. And Team Mr. Rochester.
MarkBaynard: So you don’t mind if a guy keeps his mad wife locked up in the attic?
Abby_Donovan: Not if he puts the seat down after he uses the toilet. So where are we going tonight?
MarkBaynard: I found this charming little cafe in Volterra just a short walk from here. See what you think …
MarkBaynard: http://twitphoto.com/BM7stf
Abby_Donovan: Oh … it’s darling! Hang on … let me grab my chiffon scarf and trade my heels for some sandals.
MarkBaynard: There’s a cool breeze tonight. How about if I go all Cro-Magnon on you and drape my jacket over your shoulders?
Abby_Donovan: Mmm … thank you. It smells nice … like your aftershave. Is it Michel Germain?
MarkBaynard: Old Spice. I borrowed it from my grandfather.
Abby_Donovan: I wish you’d take off those shades. It makes me nervous when I can’t see a man’s eyes.
MarkBaynard: It would make you more nervous if you caught me staring at your chest while you talked instead of gazing deep into your eyes.
Abby_Donovan: Or if I caught you gazing deep into my eyes when I was hoping you were staring at my chest.
MarkBaynard: Ah, here we are. I reserved a candlelit table on the terrace. Would it offend your feminist sensibilities if I pulled your chair out for you?
Abby_Donovan: Not if you put the seat down after you use the toilet.
MarkBaynard: Do you like the music? I put in a special request.
Abby_Donovan: Very nice! What is it? Puccini’s “O Mio Babbino Caro?”
MarkBaynard: No, Insane Clown Posse’s “Somebody to Smoke Wit.”
Abby_Donovan: OMGee … you are 15, aren’t you?
MarkBaynard: What? Not a big hip-hop/thrash metal crossover fan?
Abby_Donovan: Not a big fan of insane clowns. Haven’t you seen POLTERGEIST? Or read Stephen King’s IT?
MarkBaynard: I prefer the more amiable charms of Ronald McDonald myself. It’s the Hamburgler who creeps me out.
Abby_Donovan: I’m suddenly craving a Quarter Pounder. Maybe we should have just gone to McDonald’s for dinner.
MarkBaynard: There’s one right next to the KFC on the corner. Oops … too late! Here comes the waiter with the specials.
Abby_Donovan: So what are you having?
MarkBaynard: I’m in the mood for focaccia topped with fresh spinach and smoked gouda and the mascarpone ravioli in tomato vodka sauce. You?
Abby_Donovan: I believe I’ll have the Chef Boyardee SpaghettiOs.
MarkBaynard: Let me ask the sommelier which vintage he recommends with those. Price, of course, is no object.
Abby_Donovan: Then I’ll have the 1945 Mouton for $120,000.
MarkBaynard: You heard the lady. She’ll have a Diet Coke.
Abby_Donovan: Cheapskate! I thought you’d pay for my wine with your trust fund.
MarkBaynard: Sorry. No trust fund until I turn 21,
She was reaching to close the laptop when a familiar chirp sent her pulse into overdrive.
Chapter Six
Friday, May 13—7:01 P.M.
MarkBaynard: What are you wearing?
Abby_Donovan: A spritz of Chanel No. 5 and the ice-blue satin evening gown Grace Kelly wore to accept her Oscar for THE COUNTRY GIRL. You?
MarkBaynard: Harrison Ford’s leather bomber jacket from RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK and Steve McQueen’s Persol aviator glasses from THE GETAWAY.
Abby_Donovan: Speaking of getaways, I came this close to standing you up, you know.
MarkBaynard: Better offer?
Abby_Donovan: It’s hard for any man to compete with Ben and Jerry.
MarkBaynard: I didn’t know you were into threesomes.
Abby_Donovan: I was going to throw in Mr. Darcy and make it a foursome.
MarkBaynard: Naughty girl! And to think I had you pegged as a Bronte woman! How can you resist Heathcliff’s smoldering good looks and incessant brooding?
Abby_Donovan: Heathcliff was a misogynistic asshole.
MarkBaynard: Could you explain that to my Lit 101 class? I hate to see all those impressionable young females swooning over him like he’s Edward Cullen.
Abby_Donovan: I’ve always been Team Jacob myself. And Team Mr. Rochester.
MarkBaynard: So you don’t mind if a guy keeps his mad wife locked up in the attic?
Abby_Donovan: Not if he puts the seat down after he uses the toilet. So where are we going tonight?
MarkBaynard: I found this charming little cafe in Volterra just a short walk from here. See what you think …
MarkBaynard: http://twitphoto.com/BM7stf
Abby_Donovan: Oh … it’s darling! Hang on … let me grab my chiffon scarf and trade my heels for some sandals.
MarkBaynard: There’s a cool breeze tonight. How about if I go all Cro-Magnon on you and drape my jacket over your shoulders?
Abby_Donovan: Mmm … thank you. It smells nice … like your aftershave. Is it Michel Germain?
MarkBaynard: Old Spice. I borrowed it from my grandfather.
Abby_Donovan: I wish you’d take off those shades. It makes me nervous when I can’t see a man’s eyes.
MarkBaynard: It would make you more nervous if you caught me staring at your chest while you talked instead of gazing deep into your eyes.
Abby_Donovan: Or if I caught you gazing deep into my eyes when I was hoping you were staring at my chest.
MarkBaynard: Ah, here we are. I reserved a candlelit table on the terrace. Would it offend your feminist sensibilities if I pulled your chair out for you?
Abby_Donovan: Not if you put the seat down after you use the toilet.
MarkBaynard: Do you like the music? I put in a special request.
Abby_Donovan: Very nice! What is it? Puccini’s “O Mio Babbino Caro?”
MarkBaynard: No, Insane Clown Posse’s “Somebody to Smoke Wit.”
Abby_Donovan: OMGee … you are 15, aren’t you?
MarkBaynard: What? Not a big hip-hop/thrash metal crossover fan?
Abby_Donovan: Not a big fan of insane clowns. Haven’t you seen POLTERGEIST? Or read Stephen King’s IT?
MarkBaynard: I prefer the more amiable charms of Ronald McDonald myself. It’s the Hamburgler who creeps me out.
Abby_Donovan: I’m suddenly craving a Quarter Pounder. Maybe we should have just gone to McDonald’s for dinner.
MarkBaynard: There’s one right next to the KFC on the corner. Oops … too late! Here comes the waiter with the specials.
Abby_Donovan: So what are you having?
MarkBaynard: I’m in the mood for focaccia topped with fresh spinach and smoked gouda and the mascarpone ravioli in tomato vodka sauce. You?
Abby_Donovan: I believe I’ll have the Chef Boyardee SpaghettiOs.
MarkBaynard: Let me ask the sommelier which vintage he recommends with those. Price, of course, is no object.
Abby_Donovan: Then I’ll have the 1945 Mouton for $120,000.
MarkBaynard: You heard the lady. She’ll have a Diet Coke.
Abby_Donovan: Cheapskate! I thought you’d pay for my wine with your trust fund.
MarkBaynard: Sorry. No trust fund until I turn 21,
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