“Naw, the only thing I found there was an old Agatha Christie and some Regency romance,” I said, gesturing toward my books.
“Bien. It is good I run into you, I think!”
“No problem,” I called after her as she started off. “Always happy to save a fellow tourist from death by dusty spiders.”
I turned back to face my horrible task. The two men were still standing in close conversation.
“Boy, I give you guys a chance to go away and cut me a little slack, and you refuse. Fine. Be that way. I might as well get this over with, not that Denise is here to witness it.”
I clutched my books and took a deep breath, then, without any further dillydallying, marched myself toward the two men, determined to . . . I didn’t know exactly what I was determined to do. Maybe smile at them as I passed, and hope one of them smiled back? If I did that, at least I could face Denise with a clear conscience over the breakfast table.
“Well, hell,” I said out loud, stopping abruptly as the two men, evidently having finished their conversation, split up, heading in two different directions, neither of which encouraged them to so much as glance in my direction.
Denise’s crow of laughter rolled over the square. She had arrived at the perfect moment to see the two men walk away from me.
“Worst timing ever,” I ground out through my teeth as I forced a smile, waving a hand at Denise to show that I heard her and admitted defeat. “I don’t have to take anything more than that, though,” I added softly to myself, hoisting my bag, camera, and books higher.
With one last look at the nearest of the two gorgeous men as he melted into the shadows of a connecting street, I lifted my chin and took myself off to the park.
I was going to have a good time, dammit, even if it killed me.
Katie MacAlister, Up In Smoke
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