Read Online LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) by T. S. Ellis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T. S. Ellis
Ads: Link
want to agree with him about lunch with whoever being a better option, but he had a point.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You know you don’t want to clean that toilet.”
“Okay,” I said. “But can we make it not too far away? I’m a little busy. Kingston?”
“Yes, Kingston will be fine. How about two o’clock at Café Amélie?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ll see you there.” The line went dead.
I had three hours to get home, cool down and prepare for the date that wasn’t a date. But it was. Who was I kidding? If I hadn’t fancied the guy, would I have agreed to this lunch? Well, it would do me good, I decided. And Emily would be proud. Not that I would tell her.
I resumed jogging, dialling up some Lady Gaga music to help me run faster. By the time I reached the flat, I was exhausted. More tired than I’d ever been. The app on my phone told me I’d also run quicker than I’d run before. I’d burned hundreds of calories which meant I could eat whatever I liked at lunch. Perhaps I should really stuff my face. That would put him off. There’s nothing more off-putting than a woman with half her lunch on her chin.
After I showered, I set about selecting an outfit for my date that wasn’t a date. The main dilemma was choosing between a dress and jeans. It was spring, just about warm enough for a dress.
“Why would you wear a dress? Are you trying to tell him you’re up for it? That you’re oh-so-available?” It was Russell, standing by my side.
“How very Victorian of you,” I retorted.
“Not at all. Clothes send out messages. You know that. Why else would you spend so much time deciding on an outfit?”
This annoyed me. He was right, of course. I would wear jeans with a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and cardigan. It was supposed to be a casual lunch. Casual clothes for a casual lunch.
“That t-shirt is fitted. Haven’t you got something looser? Baggy even?”
I ignored him. He wasn’t here. Why should I let him take up residence in my head? But I did want to make a point.
“Why shouldn’t I go out for lunch? It’s been six months now. And you haven’t been in touch at all for weeks.”
“Like I said, you can always get in touch with me . It’s allowed, once or twice. Perhaps that’s what I’m doing. Perhaps I’m waiting for you to get in touch with me. It’s a little test.”
“Well, are you?”
But naturally, the Russell in my head couldn’t answer that. So he didn’t. There was just an empty space in the “conversation”. It wasn’t for long. I couldn’t resist asking the question again.
“Or perhaps you’ve found somebody else,” I said.
“Perhaps.”
I put on my jeans and t-shirt, then stared at the perfumes. Daytime or evening?
“Daytime.”
“Shut up, Russell.”
I chose Coco Madamoiselle , but made sure that I didn’t overdo it, just a couple of dabs. Then I panicked that I hadn’t used enough. It wasn’t wrong to want to smell nice. Another couple of dabs would do it. Was that too much? I tried smelling myself, tilting my nose down towards my neck. I looked like somebody with a very stiff neck, somebody who had been sniffing her armpits and had been caught out by the wind changing direction. And anyway, it was impossible to be objective. I was so nervous.
But I didn’t know just how nervous until I stepped outside. As I double locked the front door, a chill wind swept up through St Andrew’s Square. My light raincoat’s collar flapped up into my face.
When I walked down the steps to the street, my legs went all wobbly. I hoped it was the effect of my super fast jogging time, and not because I was nervous. But I was nervous. My heart fluttered and I could feel the goosebumps rise up on my skin.
I shrugged it off and walked down to the river with what I hoped was purpose. I could have chosen to drive into Kingston, but I chose to walk, even though I’d already had my quota of exercise. I thought it would steady my nerves.
What was
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You know you don’t want to clean that toilet.”
“Okay,” I said. “But can we make it not too far away? I’m a little busy. Kingston?”
“Yes, Kingston will be fine. How about two o’clock at Café Amélie?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’ll see you there.” The line went dead.
I had three hours to get home, cool down and prepare for the date that wasn’t a date. But it was. Who was I kidding? If I hadn’t fancied the guy, would I have agreed to this lunch? Well, it would do me good, I decided. And Emily would be proud. Not that I would tell her.
I resumed jogging, dialling up some Lady Gaga music to help me run faster. By the time I reached the flat, I was exhausted. More tired than I’d ever been. The app on my phone told me I’d also run quicker than I’d run before. I’d burned hundreds of calories which meant I could eat whatever I liked at lunch. Perhaps I should really stuff my face. That would put him off. There’s nothing more off-putting than a woman with half her lunch on her chin.
After I showered, I set about selecting an outfit for my date that wasn’t a date. The main dilemma was choosing between a dress and jeans. It was spring, just about warm enough for a dress.
“Why would you wear a dress? Are you trying to tell him you’re up for it? That you’re oh-so-available?” It was Russell, standing by my side.
“How very Victorian of you,” I retorted.
“Not at all. Clothes send out messages. You know that. Why else would you spend so much time deciding on an outfit?”
This annoyed me. He was right, of course. I would wear jeans with a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and cardigan. It was supposed to be a casual lunch. Casual clothes for a casual lunch.
“That t-shirt is fitted. Haven’t you got something looser? Baggy even?”
I ignored him. He wasn’t here. Why should I let him take up residence in my head? But I did want to make a point.
“Why shouldn’t I go out for lunch? It’s been six months now. And you haven’t been in touch at all for weeks.”
“Like I said, you can always get in touch with me . It’s allowed, once or twice. Perhaps that’s what I’m doing. Perhaps I’m waiting for you to get in touch with me. It’s a little test.”
“Well, are you?”
But naturally, the Russell in my head couldn’t answer that. So he didn’t. There was just an empty space in the “conversation”. It wasn’t for long. I couldn’t resist asking the question again.
“Or perhaps you’ve found somebody else,” I said.
“Perhaps.”
I put on my jeans and t-shirt, then stared at the perfumes. Daytime or evening?
“Daytime.”
“Shut up, Russell.”
I chose Coco Madamoiselle , but made sure that I didn’t overdo it, just a couple of dabs. Then I panicked that I hadn’t used enough. It wasn’t wrong to want to smell nice. Another couple of dabs would do it. Was that too much? I tried smelling myself, tilting my nose down towards my neck. I looked like somebody with a very stiff neck, somebody who had been sniffing her armpits and had been caught out by the wind changing direction. And anyway, it was impossible to be objective. I was so nervous.
But I didn’t know just how nervous until I stepped outside. As I double locked the front door, a chill wind swept up through St Andrew’s Square. My light raincoat’s collar flapped up into my face.
When I walked down the steps to the street, my legs went all wobbly. I hoped it was the effect of my super fast jogging time, and not because I was nervous. But I was nervous. My heart fluttered and I could feel the goosebumps rise up on my skin.
I shrugged it off and walked down to the river with what I hoped was purpose. I could have chosen to drive into Kingston, but I chose to walk, even though I’d already had my quota of exercise. I thought it would steady my nerves.
What was
Similar Books
