The Love Square Read Online Free Page A

Manhattan’s skyscrapers in the distance, silently reciting a quick prayer in hopes that Scott was calling to cancel rehearsal.
    “Pete just called. Alex wants your number. Can I give it to him?”
    Jenna hesitated. They’d had a nice time at the party, but now what was she going to do with him? She thought about his shoulders and conjured up a list of a couple of things to do with him but none were very…productive. “From what I gathered last night, he’s not the prince I’m searching for,” she told Scott, rubbing her temples. “Nationals, work, blah, blah, blah.” She was too busy for casual dating.
    “Well, whatever you want, Princess. I’ll only say this—nice ones don’t come around often. Especially nice ones with teal-colored eyes. You don’t have to marry the guy.”
    Jenna didn’t feel like a lecture, and she knew Scott would never let this go. “Fine. Give him my number. Are we still having rehearsal later?” She crossed her fingers, hoping he’d say no.
    “Yep,” he said, but added, “I have to warn you—I’m pretty useless today. Maybe we’ll just work on choreography.”
    “Sounds good to me. Maybe we should skip the whole thing and work on a nap instead.”
    “Jen…” Scott started.
    “I’m joking. Choreography. Yes. See you then.”
    She disconnected and texted Linda to return so they could continue the never-ending search for her new home…and then her phone lit up with an unknown number.
    My teal-eyed prince.
     
    ***
     
    Dylan
     
    Dylan left the movie set, joined his agent for a dinner meeting, then drove his rental car downtown to the Books, Etc. store. The insurance company needed Clare to sign off on paperwork, and although Dylan had no intention of using her insurance to pay for his car, he took advantage of the opportunity to see her again.
    He’d been thinking about Clare since she’d dropped him off after the accident, feeling sympathetic to her West Coast adjustment issues, and for some reason, responsible for her happiness. There was so much more to California than Downtown Los Angeles.
    He snagged a prime parking spot and darted into the busy store, glancing around, scanning the aisles for Clare. When he couldn’t find her, he headed for least populated part of the store, which happened to be the art section.
    Dylan peeked over the stacks toward customer service and spotted Clare dwarfed by the giant circular desk. She crushed an earphone into her left ear as she tucked her short, blonde hair behind her right. Her bright green eyes searched the computer screen, and her freckled nose looked pink from too much sun. Her name tag read, ‘Clare—Ask Me Anything!’
    Dylan walked to the customer service line and listened to Clare assist a customer. Her fingers pounded the keyboard as the man, who appeared to be about a hundred years old, stared at her.
    “Sir,” she said, “I am not pulling anything up with the title of Henry Porter . Are you sure that’s the right name?”
    The man scratched his balding head. “ Henry Porter . Yes.”
    Clare typed again. “I’m getting an author named Harvey Porter, who wrote a book called Zen as a Way of Living . Could that be it?”
    “Zen? Heck no! I was in the war! No, this is about some kid. I think there’s a witch in it. And a train.”
    “A kid?” Clare stared at the ceiling as she tapped her fingernail on the keyboard, then her face lit up. She pointed at the man. “Do you mean Harry Potter ?”
    “Yes! Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?” the old man answered in a shaky voice. “You kids today have no focus. That’s why this country is falling to the Chinese.”
    Dylan smirked into his fisted hand, and Clare finally noticed him. She smiled and held up the “one minute” hand signal.
    “Oh, I must have misheard,” she said to the customer. “Let me show you where you can find that.” With a wink at Dylan, she led the man away.
    Dylan leaned on the counter waiting for her to return when the