Read Online Swept Away by Michelle Dalton - Free Book Online Page B

doesn’t take much time.
    I feel Oliver looking at me. I turn to face him as if I’m capable of conversation. “Why are you eating here ?” I blurt.
    Celeste looks at me in surprise. My mom would be so pissed if she heard me bad-mouthing the café to a potential customer. “I mean, it’s kind of far for you,” I add lamely.
    Celeste has a new kind of surprise on her face. This isn’t an “I can’t believe you just said that” expression. This is a “you already know his deets?” face.
    I busy myself trying to figure out the best way to eat the soggy burrito. It may be free for me to eat here, but I am so going to start bringing my own lunch.
    â€œI was checking out the grounds,” Oliver explains. “When Cel­este opened up, I realized it had been a long time since breakfast.”
    Of course. He took one look at Celeste and followed her inside like a baby duckling after its mama.
    A woman with steel-gray hair cut in a short bob pops her head into the café. “Do you know when the lighthouse opens up again?” she asks.
    I turn around, still chewing the big bite I took of the burrito, and say, “I can open up if you want.”
    â€œOh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your lunch,” she says, but her tone broadcasts she really wishes I’d hurry up already and let her in.
    I take a swig of the lemonade and stand. I hastily wipe my mouth with a napkin, wad it up, and toss it onto the plate.
    â€œThanks,” I say to Celeste. I pick up the lemonade. “I’ll bring the glass back later.”
    â€œSure. You want me to wrap up the burrito?”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    I start walking toward the woman, who stands half in, half out of the café doorway.
    â€œHang on, Mandy,” Oliver says behind me. “I’ll come too.”
    I spin around in disbelief to see Oliver picking up a sketchpad that he had stashed under the counter. He’s going to leave Celeste and come hang out with me?
    But once I struggle with the door and take the woman’s admission fee, it becomes apparent he’s not there to hang out. He’s back to visit the lighthouse again. “I thought I’d do some sketching, if that’s okay,” he says.
    â€œSure. Just . . . if a group wants to go up to the tower, give them room.”
    I refuse his five dollars; it seems like a lot to pay since he wasjust here yesterday, and I’m hoping maybe it will encourage him to keep coming back.
    I don’t see Oliver—or anyone else—the rest of the afternoon. That’s not strictly true. Oliver came down from the tower and then walked around outside, sketching Candy Cane from different angles. What’s so fascinating?
    When I lock up for the day, he’s still outside, sitting at one of the picnic tables behind the Keeper’s Café. My heart sinks. Is he waiting for Celeste? He doesn’t look up when I cross to the shed to get my bike. Our great romance is over before it begins.
    I slam the shed shut and yank the padlock closed. I walk my bike along the gravel path, the tires spitting up little pebbles. In case Oliver looks up, I don’t want him to see me awkwardly mounting the bike. I’ve never quite mastered accomplishing this gracefully. I force myself not to look his way.
    â€œHey,” I hear him call. “You done for the day?”
    I glance over. He’s standing now, and heading toward me.
    â€œYup,” I say.
    â€œOkay if I walk with you?” he asks.
    There go those hormones again: from doldrums to delight. “Sure,” I say.
    We fall into step, me pushing the bike, him carrying his sketchpad. I’m glad he doesn’t have a bike too. I don’t want him watching me huff and puff up Weatherby. I’m living proof you can be slim and not exactly be fit.
    â€œI’m meeting my mom at the library,” he says. “You know where that is?”
    I laugh. “I