How to Get Ainsley Bishop to Fall in Love With You Read Online Free Page A

dozen more suave and sophisticated things I could have said, ways I could have been more witty or charming. Of course, simply being coherent would have been an improvement.
    But I did it. I actually had a semi-conversation with Ainsley that had nothing to do with What was our homework assignment? or What did you get for number eight? and even managed to work in a compliment. So, though it could have gone better, it definitely could have gone worse. And I couldn’t help thinking that it might have gotten even better if Ian hadn’t shown up.
    Ian.
    Yeah, he was a problem.
    But I refused to let him factor into my plans, refused to even put him on my list, because I didn’t want this to become a battle between Ian and me. Not only because, well, let’s face it, he had a significant advantage if it were to come to that, but because I wanted Ainsley to choose me on my own merits. Not because I was the lesser of two evils, or what was left over once she realized what I already knew—that Ian Buckley wasn’t right for her.
    Now, there were those—Viney—who might have said that I was looking at the situation with rose-colored glasses, glossing over Ian’s obvious merits out of fear of examining them too closely. I didn’t think that was true. I knew what Ian was, all the things he had that I didn’t. I’d made a list at one point but threw it away because it was too depressing to focus on. Sure, on paper he seemed like the perfect match for Ainsley, but there was something I’d discovered. Something I wasn’t a hundred percent certain of yet, but that the evidence seemed to indicate. Something that, if it were true, would be the only reason I could see that he wouldn’t deserve her.
    Ian loved himself more than he loved Ainsley. And Ainsley let him.
    So my mission was not to prove that Ian wasn’t worthy of her, but that she was worthy of more .
    I pulled into my driveway feeling a bit more optimistic and bounded up the front steps with a smile on my face, humming a little Celine under my breath. The house was quiet when I walked in, save for the muffled clatter of dishes in the kitchen. I followed the sound to find my mom stirring something on the stove, the scent of garlic and onions in the air. She stared into the pan, but it looked like her thoughts were elsewhere. She jumped when I set my backpack on the kitchen table, then turned, blinking slowly before she smiled at me.
    “Hi, honey. How was your day?”
    “Good,” I said, sliding past her to look in the fridge. Pudding cups. Awesome. “You’re home early.” My mom was a nurse at Madison Falls General Hospital and tended to work long, and odd, hours.
    “Yeah, well, I thought I’d make spaghetti. So get out of there.” She snatched the butterscotch deliciousness out of my hand and shut the refrigerator door. “We’ll eat in an hour.”
    I put on a pathetic face. “I could starve to death by then.”
    “Doubtful.”
    “It could happen.” I opted for sneaking a couple of chunks of cheese off the cutting board. “I’m a growing boy. I need my calcium,” I said through a mouthful of provolone.
    She laughed but slapped my hand when I went in for more cheese. I hopped up on the counter as she opened a jar of sauce and poured it into the pot.
    “I like it when you make it from scratch,” I said without thinking.
    My mom’s eyes narrowed. “Well, the next time I have a day off I’ll take your request under consideration,” she said. “Today, I’ve worked ten hours, so you get Ragu. And you’ll like it.” She pointed at me with the wooden spoon, and I held up my hands in surrender.
    “I love Ragu. Ragu is perfect. I don’t know what I was saying. I think I was delusional from hunger.”
    My mom reached out to ruffle my hair, and I ducked to avoid it unsuccessfully. For a middle-aged woman, she was fast. She turned back to stir the spaghetti, and I decided a little research was in order.
    “Mom, can I ask you something?”
    “You just