Read Online She Loves Me Not by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page B

ago, when her big brother teasingly called her “Maria Andretti.”
    But since Sam’s death, she finds herself skittish in icy weather. Especially on the highway. Especially now that her ancient blue Toyota has more than a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. She’s been saving for a new car for almost a year now.
    After parking beside Peter’s pickup, Leslie raises the hood on her down parka and grabs the Sears shopping bag from the seat beside her.
    After rushing through the mall with the puppy in tow, on a futile search for the perfect Valentine’s gift for her fiancé, she settled for a Craftsman tool belt to replace his worn one. Not exactly romantic, but Peter is more the practical type, anyway.
    Wet snow pelts her as she makes a dash for the door. Then, safely inside the brightly lit, locked entryway, she checks her mailbox. Junk mail, junk mail, junk mail . . . and a red rectangular envelope that bears a familiar Florida return address.
    Leslie smiles. Mom and Dad never forget her on Valentine’s Day—or any other minor holiday, for that matter. Over at Rose’s, she watched her niece, nephew, and sister-in-law open cards from her parents and discover letters, photographs, and cash tucked inside of each one.
    Leslie slits open the envelope as she heads for the stairs. Her mother has sent her twenty-five dollars and instructions to “treat yourself to something fun,” along with several pictures, most of them indistinct shots of a dark speck in a milky southern sky. Mom’s handwriting on the back states that they’re photographs of the most recent shuttle launch, taken from her parents’ backyard a stone’s throw from Cape Canaveral.
    Dad bought her a good-quality camera when she retired from teaching, and she frequently sends pictures—mostly incomprehensible scenic snapshots, sometimes with a thumb blocking the lens, or out of focus. But as Sam used to say, at least Mom has a hobby to keep her out of Dad’s hair—what’s left of it, that is.
    Stopping in front of her door at the far end of the second-floor hall, Leslie smells coffee brewing. She smiles as she turns her key in the lock. It’s a homey scent, and one she has come to associate with Peter. He drinks caffeine just about every waking moment.
    The knob turns just as she reaches for it The door opens, the doorway filled with Peter’s broad-shouldered frame. He has on jeans and a moss-colored plaid work shirt that transforms his hazel eyes to a pale green. His dark curly hair is more unruly than usual, as though he just slept on it.
    â€œHey, babe.” Peter pulls her against his soft flannel shirt. “I was worried about you. I just called Rose and she said you left awhile ago.”
    â€œThe roads were icy.”
    â€œWe’ve got to get you a better car, Les. I worry about you driving around in—”
    â€œHow about if we go to a few dealerships to look next Monday? It’s a three-day weekend.”
    â€œThat sounds good.”
    They smile at each other. She tilts her face up. He pushes back her parka hood, then kisses her. His five o’clock shadow scratches her cheeks and he tastes of coffee and cigarettes.
    He doesn’t smoke in her apartment, but the scent lingers on his breath and in his clothes. He says he has no intention of quitting—not even for her.
    â€œHey, I brought you something.” Leslie holds up the shopping bag.
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œIt’s a Valentine’s Day present.”
    His smile fades. “I didn’t know we were getting each other—”
    â€œIt’s no big deal.” She beams brightly to hide her disappointment. “It’s just something I thought you needed.”
    â€œI feel like a clod.”
    â€œDon’t. It’s okay.”
    Not really.
    She was hoping . . .
    No, she was certain he would have an engagement ring for her tonight.
    She puts the