Page 33 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
He lifts a brow. “Am I? Or are you arrogant for making assumptions without giving yourself a chance to get to know me?”
“I already know you. I’ve seen more than enough.” Yet I’m on a date with him. There is no excuse, so I look for a distraction instead, lifting the lid of the picnic basket. “What’s in here?”
“It’s nothing,” he mutters. It’s dim, but I think he blushes, his cheeks growing a few shades darker.
It’s nothing to him, but I immediately see the effort he’s put in. I’m expecting sandwiches, likely peanut butter, and jelly, and maybe even a blood bag. Instead, there’s a bottle of wine and charcuterie. Pink wine, thank God. I don’t need to worry about it being blood, and I desperately need a drink.
This school is turning me into a different person, ready to party during the school year. I can hardly recognize myself.
I take the items from the basket, inspecting each of them as I set them down. Expensive brie, fig jam, prosciutto… he pulled out all the stops.
“If you don’t like it, we can—” he says.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s brie. Everyone likes brie.”
I love it… but I can’t let myself enjoy it. It’s all so suspicious. How did this stranger put together a date that is perfect for me in every way?
“Really?”
“Mhm.” I laugh nervously. “I was expecting you to take me to a restaurant. I was, kind of, weighing the options; not sure if you would pick overpriced and stuffy, or underpriced and lackluster…”
“I would pick neither.” He scoffs.
“I hate restaurant dates,” I say. “At least as a first date. It feels so…”
“Lazy?”
“And unoriginal.”
“I am relieved to avoid either of those accusations.” He picks up the bottle of wine, drilling the corkscrew into the top.
“So far. There’s still plenty of time for you to mess up.” I try for a smile, my heart still hammering. He can hear it. HeknowsI’m afraid. How does he continue as if he doesn’t realize? “Is that rosé?”
“Yes…” he says, slowly, searching my face to see if it’s the right answer. “Unless you would prefer something else? I brought little water bottles, but I can fetch juice or soda…”
“No!” Rosé isn’t my first choice, but I desperately need the drink—and I don’t trust any red wine on campus. “Just curious. I enjoy wine.”
“It’s not the most expensive blend,” he says, pouring us each a glass, “but it’s light, and I enjoy it. These are my only wine glasses, so be sure not to break them.”
“I will do my best.” I take the glass from him, lifting it to my lips. “You pulled out all the stops for me. Why?”
“Because,” he says, “I found you interesting when we first met, and you become more intriguing by the day. I likeyou. I want to know you. Have I not made that clear enough?”
If it wasn’t clear before, it would be now—except it’s all lies. My body reacts to the words as if they’re true. Warmth pools in the pit of my belly.
“It’s… very clear now,” I say, laughing nervously. “This will be a nice break from the horrors.”
He sighs, swirling the wine in his glass. “The horrors are not an acceptable topic for our first date.”
“Then what is?”
“Things you like rather than things you fear,” he says. “That’s why I brought the books.”
“Your idea of an icebreaker is Dracula? Vampires are running rampant, killing students, and you brought Dracula.”
He pauses, scrutinizing me. “How do you know it’s vampires doing the killing?”
It’s the first time I’ve had to ask myself the question… and I realize I have no reason. None at all. When Poppy died, vampires were on my mind. Margaux’s secret was still fresh.
