Page 12 of Reeling in Love

“Oh, my God! That was you?”

I give out an embarrassed laugh. Turns out the hot girl who gave me my first ever kiss was Sophia. I’m glad to see that she’s laughing as well.

“So that means you’re the granddaughter of my grand-dad’s friend. That’s what Mom told me when she came back from Paris—How dare you kiss the granddaughter of Dad’s friend?”

She titters. “Yes, you shouldn’t have.”

“Oh really! If I remember correctly, wasn’t it you who dragged me from the service and led me behind that pillar?”

“Well, you seemed totally bored and in danger of passing out during the service. That would’ve been rude to your granddad’s memory, isn’t it? All I did was save you.”

“That you did,” I say as I relive my first kiss.

We’d sneaked behind the pillar and before I knew it, her lips were on mine, her hands on my bottom, pulling me closer to her.

It was my first time kissing a girl, at least the French kiss way. When in France, y’know. I reacted like any young boy would. I kissed her back with a feral intensity. With one hand, I held her head in an attempt to feel some control over what was going on, but the other somehow found its way to her thighs. I was clumsy, I guess, but she seemed to enjoy herself.

That’s when we heard a booming voice.

“What the hell is going on?”

She pulled away as if struck by lightning.

“Papa?” she stuttered, adjusting her skirt and peeping out from our hiding place. “Nothing. We were just... nothing.”

She stood there with her head lowered.

“You’re in trouble, young lady.” Then the man’s gaze fell on me. “And who’s this?”

The ‘this’ had a certain repugnance to it that only rich French fathers can give to a harmless word.

I’m not proud of what I did next, but I did what any middle schooler caught in such a situation would do. I ran and hid until the end of the service.

I look at her, sitting across from me. A tiny smile is playing on her lips, but it’s restrained, a far cry from the over-enthusiastic girl I remember. Her back is straight and her demeanor is mostly formal. Every inch of her has transformed from a young, exuberant girl to the business-woman destined to inherit and run Martin Enterprises.

“I can’t tell you how bad I felt at running away when your father came and saw us. I wanted to meet you and apologize, but I didn’t even know your name. And then Dad and I left the next day and when Mom returned, she gave me so much flak for it I hated you for many days after. Not that it was your fault or not that I regret it. But I hated being grounded for days because of it.”

She’s still smiling. I tilt my head, my gaze fixed of her and raise my eyebrows, making the best puppy face I can muster. “Would you accept a delayed apology? I’m really sorry about that day. For running away, not for the kiss.”

“Yeah. The kiss was good, wasn’t it?”

I rest my hand on the table and nod. “It was my first real kiss, so it meant a lot more to me than it probably did to you,” I say, looking right into her eyes. She takes the bait and puts her palm over mine.

The conversation flows easily after that. She’s very passionate about her work and the family business. They’re into perfumes and have quite a few brands across price ranges. I try to find out what she does other than work. I mean, just like I love good food, reading, running, and even rowing with my buddies, she must have some hobbies.

“I read when I have time, which is usually on flights. For anything else, who has the time, right?”

“Great. I love reading. What genre do you like?”

“Business books, mostly. Or books on marketing and sometimes time management and productivity. It’s always good to get some ideas on how we can squeeze more into twenty-four hours. What about you? Which is your favorite book?”

“Kotler’s book on marketing,” I reply.

I meant it as a joke, but she takes it seriously and believes it, and I’m too embarrassed to correct her and tell her I like murder mysteries and crime fiction. I don’t want her to think I’m not a serious reader, and something tells me that’s the opinion she’ll form if she knows what I read.

We’re almost done with dinner, and it’s the perfect time to leave and see whether the night ends at her hotel room or my condo. Not my condo, I think as I remember the broken lamp. Plus, she will notice the shelves full of thriller and mystery books.

I pay for dinner and lead her outside to my car and begin driving toward her hotel. It’s not too far so there’s not much time to play all my cards. I give her a quick glance. She’s pretty and she’s been giving me these looks all through the dinner. If she gives a hint, should I go to her room? Would it be awkward given that her family knows Mom’s family? Maybe I should call Nora and ask.

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