Read Online Shadows of the Past by H.M. Ward, Stacey Mosteller - Free Book Online Page B

accept it with a shaky smile, allowing him to lead me down the street and into the gardens. We walk in companionable silence until we're standing in front of The Orangery.  
    I suppose Emily guessed right. The building is stately and beautiful, with big windows, orange bricks, and white accents. I want to look at everything at once, but Oliver continues walking, taking us inside, into open white room with gorgeous natural light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Long rows of white linen covered tables line each wall, with small bright green citrus trees scattered throughout, preserving the look of a Victorian greenhouse while serving as an elegant tearoom.
    We pass a glorious display of tiny cakes, cookies, and scones on our way to our terrace table. The amazing smells making my empty stomach rumble loudly. Our waiter immediately brings out a three-tiered silver tower of cakes, sandwiches, and scones, along with jam, clotted cream, milk, sugar, and tiny white china pots of tea. He asks Oliver's preference of Laurent-Perrier Brut, Pimm's or Merlot Rosé Spumante.  
    I don't hear his response, I'm so distracted by the dazzling smile he's aiming at me. I don't even realize he's asked me a question until he raises an eyebrow at me in question.
    Oliver asks, "Which would you like?"  
    “I…I’m not sure.” Code for: I have no freaking clue. I must look trapped because he takes my hand.
    "May I order for you?" His blue eyes are soft and kind, crinkled at the corners in a way that makes me want to let him order me anything, anywhere.  
    I give a grateful nod in response and he orders a glass of the Laurent-Perrier for both of us.
    There are so many things on the table I'm not sure what to think or where to start. I want it all—even the weird looking cakes that remind me of Play-doh.  
    The waiter returns with our champagne and slips away discreetly, leaving us alone with our feast of fancy foods. Oliver lifts his glass and gazes over it at me, prompting me to blushingly raise mine as well. “To a fun filled day of London’s finest.”  
    I clink my glass to his and set it gently back on the table, not sure if I’m part of the finery. The way he said it makes me wonder, but then I rule out anything because of the friend declaration.  
    I decide the sandwiches are a safe start, and since I haven't eaten, I take several different ones even though I have no idea what they are.
    I bite excitedly into the first and discover... salmon. I can only imagine what face I made, because as soon as I take the bite Oliver starts to laugh. I manage to chew and swallow because spitting it out would be the worst manners ever, but it's so slippery and gross.
    "I take it you're not a fan of salmon?" he asks, trying to keep his laughter contained.  
    The sour face I'm making gets worse the longer I have the fish taste in my mouth, and he begins to laugh out loud with abandon. "Poor little American Girl just can't handle decent food."  
    He's teasing me, I know he is, and just to be a pain, I act like I'm angry. "Decent food? That was not decent food. Fish should stay in the ocean."  
    Anxious to remove that sexy smirk from his face, an idea comes to me. One that is probably going to get us in trouble, but I don't care. Taking a small piece of the fish off my sandwich, I act like I'm studying it, and then toss it at him. It hits him on the nose and his eyes widen in shock. Covering my mouth with a hand I try to keep my snickering quiet, but he looks royally - ha - pissed, and I just can't do it.
    When I start to laugh outright, his eyes narrow, and his head tilts to the side, contemplating his next move. I know it's going to be bad when he smiles devilishly at me, distracting me. He moves a finger around his plate, but I can't see what he's doing for the towers of teacakes.
    Suddenly, Oliver's hand moves and something slimy lands on my cheek. I saw it coming, but the cold still makes me jump. I put a hand up to my cheek and wipe