Page 19 of Chasing Amanda

She sat back, too, and unwrapped her napkin, freeing the silverware and placing it carefully on the paper placemat. She draped the napkin on her lap. Everything about her was miniature—her hands, her cute little nose, even her feet were tiny. Standing at full height, she barely reached his chest. How could someone so small have such power over him?

He wanted to know everything about her. Where she was from, her favorite subjects in school, her friends, her likes, her hobbies, her favorite TV show. Everything. He couldn’t decide what to ask her first. Then he remembered what she’d said earlier. Last night, he suggested… Last night. Carl.

“So did you and Carl have a date last night?”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “No. I had a party. It was Sherri’s birthday.”

Ridiculous, the relief that spread through him. He had to work to keep from smiling.

“I would’ve invited you,” she said, “but you disappeared on me.”

“I had plans, so I couldn’t have come.”

“Did you have a date?”

“No, no. Just friends.” Was Amanda jealous? He couldn’t let himself consider that. And he wasn’t jealous, either. Obviously. Why should he be? He tapped his fingers against the table and tried to sound casual. “Carl was there, I guess.”

Her face darkened as if a cloud had blown in front of the sun. Her lips turned down at the corners, and that little wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “Yeah, he was there.”

He waited for her to explain why that bothered her. She didn’t.

The server delivered their drinks and took their orders. When she left, Amanda folded her hands again. He remembered how she’d acted at the bar Thursday night, how she’d laughed with the customers like she was comfortable. Why didn’t she feel comfortable with him?

Oh yeah. Carl.

“Tell me about your party.”

“It was so fun.” Amanda launched into a story about the evening, about one of her friends deciding they all needed to play games, and how it was surprisingly hilarious. And there it was—her comfortable smile.

He loved watching her, the way her face brightened when she was happy. Her eyes were wide, her smile open. Her hands joined the conversation, moving, flipping, pointing. She was so innocent.

She stopped, and her hands settled on the table. “Innocent?”

Oops. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sorry. But it’s true. Your innocence is…” He grasped for a word. Sweet, refreshing, enchanting. “I like it.”

Her lips turned down in a full-fledged frown. She crossed her arms. “I’m not that innocent.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“You didn’t mean to say it. And I’m just saying, I don’t want you to think I’m something I’m not.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. I think it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

She looked away, sipping her Diet Coke.

“Sorry,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why he should be. “I like your enthusiasm, the way you don’t hide your feelings or act like everything has to be a mystery.”

She looked at him again, head tilted to the side. Her hair pooled around her shoulder. Without thinking, he reached across the table and brushed it back, tugging a strand gently, enjoying the silky feel of it.

She shivered and blushed.

He shouldn’t have done that. “So, are you from around here?”

“Are you asking me if I come here often?” She grinned, shaking her head. “Natick, Mass. You?”