Read Online The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks - Free Book Online
Authors: Nicholas Sparks
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Romance, Large Type Books, Widows, Romantic suspense novels, Triangles (Interpersonal relations), Swansboro (N.C.)
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they were more comfortable with each other, she realized she was enjoying this date at least as much as the first one. It was nice-not earth-shattering, but definitely nice. When they stopped at the crosswalk, Julie glanced at Richard. I like him, she thought. I'm not crazy about him yet, I'll be ready to say good-bye later, but I like him. And that's enough for me right now.
"Do you like dancing?" she asked.
"Why? Do you want to go?"
"If you're up for it."
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not all that good."
"C'mon," she said, "I know a great place."
"You sure you don't want to stay around here for a while? We could probably find a place to get a drink."
"We've been sitting for hours. I think I'm ready for some fun."
"You don't think the night's been fun so far?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. "And here I was, having a great time."
"You know what I mean. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm not a very good dancer, either, so I promise I won't say a thing if you step on my feet. I'll even try not to wince."
"Suffer and smile?"
"It's the woman's plight, you know."
"Okay," he said, "but I'll hold you to your promise."
She laughed and nodded toward his car. "Come on."
Richard warmed to the sound of her laughter, the first time he'd heard it this evening.
She's a cautious one, he observed. Kiss her once, and she seemed to question it all. But allow her to lead, and the caution seemed to fade. He knew she was trying to figure him out, trying to match his story to the man she saw sitting across from her. But there was no mistaking the sympathy on her face the moment she realized how similar they were.
Chapter Six.
The Sailing Clipper was a bar typical of small coastal towns: Dimly lit and smelling of mildew, cigarettes, and stale booze, it was popular with blue-collar workers, who crowded around the bar ordering Budweisers in volume. Along the far wall, the stage overlooked a slightly warped dance floor that seldom emptied when bands were playing. A few dozen tables, carved with the initials of most everyone who'd walked through the door, were arranged haphazardly, unmatching chairs circling them.The group on stage, Ocracoke Inlet, was something of a regular at the Clipper. The owner, a one-legged man people called Leaning Joe, liked the group because it played songs that put people in a good mood, which made them want to stay, which in turn was good for business as they ordered booze in quantity. They played nothing original, nothing daring, nothing that couldn't be found in jukeboxes around the country, which was exactly the reason why, Mike thought, everyone liked them so much. Really liked them. When they played people came in droves, which wasn't the case with the bands he played with. Never once, however, had they asked Mike to fill in, even though he was on a first-name basis with most of the group. Second-rate band or not, the thought was depressing.
But then, the whole evening had been depressing. Hell, the whole week had been depressing, for that matter. Ever since Monday, when Julie came by to pick up her keys and casually (casually!) mentioned that she'd be going out with Richard on Saturday instead of spending tonight with them, Mike had been in a funk. He'd been mumbling to himself about the unfairness of it all with such regularity that a couple of customers had even commented on it to Henry. Worse, Mike couldn't summon the courage to talk to Julie the rest of the week, knowing that if he did, she'd press him on what seemed to be bothering him. He wasn't ready to tell her the truth, but seeing her walk by the shop every day reminded him that he had no idea what to do about the whole situation.
Sure, Henry and Emma were great, and he liked spending time with them. But let's be honest here-on a night like this, Mike knew he was a third wheel in this little group. They had each other to go home to. Mike, on the other hand, had zip, unless he counted the occasional mouse that scurried through his kitchen.
"Do you like dancing?" she asked.
"Why? Do you want to go?"
"If you're up for it."
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not all that good."
"C'mon," she said, "I know a great place."
"You sure you don't want to stay around here for a while? We could probably find a place to get a drink."
"We've been sitting for hours. I think I'm ready for some fun."
"You don't think the night's been fun so far?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. "And here I was, having a great time."
"You know what I mean. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm not a very good dancer, either, so I promise I won't say a thing if you step on my feet. I'll even try not to wince."
"Suffer and smile?"
"It's the woman's plight, you know."
"Okay," he said, "but I'll hold you to your promise."
She laughed and nodded toward his car. "Come on."
Richard warmed to the sound of her laughter, the first time he'd heard it this evening.
She's a cautious one, he observed. Kiss her once, and she seemed to question it all. But allow her to lead, and the caution seemed to fade. He knew she was trying to figure him out, trying to match his story to the man she saw sitting across from her. But there was no mistaking the sympathy on her face the moment she realized how similar they were.
Chapter Six.
The Sailing Clipper was a bar typical of small coastal towns: Dimly lit and smelling of mildew, cigarettes, and stale booze, it was popular with blue-collar workers, who crowded around the bar ordering Budweisers in volume. Along the far wall, the stage overlooked a slightly warped dance floor that seldom emptied when bands were playing. A few dozen tables, carved with the initials of most everyone who'd walked through the door, were arranged haphazardly, unmatching chairs circling them.The group on stage, Ocracoke Inlet, was something of a regular at the Clipper. The owner, a one-legged man people called Leaning Joe, liked the group because it played songs that put people in a good mood, which made them want to stay, which in turn was good for business as they ordered booze in quantity. They played nothing original, nothing daring, nothing that couldn't be found in jukeboxes around the country, which was exactly the reason why, Mike thought, everyone liked them so much. Really liked them. When they played people came in droves, which wasn't the case with the bands he played with. Never once, however, had they asked Mike to fill in, even though he was on a first-name basis with most of the group. Second-rate band or not, the thought was depressing.
But then, the whole evening had been depressing. Hell, the whole week had been depressing, for that matter. Ever since Monday, when Julie came by to pick up her keys and casually (casually!) mentioned that she'd be going out with Richard on Saturday instead of spending tonight with them, Mike had been in a funk. He'd been mumbling to himself about the unfairness of it all with such regularity that a couple of customers had even commented on it to Henry. Worse, Mike couldn't summon the courage to talk to Julie the rest of the week, knowing that if he did, she'd press him on what seemed to be bothering him. He wasn't ready to tell her the truth, but seeing her walk by the shop every day reminded him that he had no idea what to do about the whole situation.
Sure, Henry and Emma were great, and he liked spending time with them. But let's be honest here-on a night like this, Mike knew he was a third wheel in this little group. They had each other to go home to. Mike, on the other hand, had zip, unless he counted the occasional mouse that scurried through his kitchen.
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