Through Glass (The Glass Series Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

back seat.
    “Have you started your painting yet?”
    “You saw me just hours ago. I hadn’t started it then, and no, I still haven’t started it now,” I snap, noticeably upset that he had given me attitude for opening his notebook. I had no reason to answer in such a snotty tone; realistically, it was a valid question on his part—I had more than enough time to touch the canvas with the first couple of strokes of my brush, but I was uninspired—or just plain lazy.
    “Okay.”
    Okay? That’s it? Is this going to be the only conversation we have until we get wherever we’re headed? Where are we headed, anyway?
    “Where are we going?” I ask, quietly.
    “Vieux-Port Steakhouse. Have you been?”
    “No.”
    I don’t even like steak, but I assume they have more to eat than just that.
    Oliver seems to know all the best places in town. As a restaurant owner himself, assessing the competition is probably a good thing, although a steakhouse doesn’t exactly compete with a small hipster coffee shop.
    We make small talk until we arrive. We both seem to be in a better mood as we walk into the dimly-lit, inviting atmosphere. We are seated beside a giant picture window and a fireplace. This place is beautiful.
    Oliver orders two appetizers—one on my behalf, because the waiter has a very thick French accent, and Oliver speaks far better French than I do. A full bottle of wine is placed on our table.
    “I have a cat,” I blurt out before I take a sip of wine.
    “You do? I didn’t see a cat while I was over the other night.”
    “He’s shy. He hides under the bed when I have company over,” I explain.
    “Oh. What’s his name?”
    “NyQuil, because he’s black. Are you upset?”
    “No, of course not. Why would I be upset?” he asks, puzzled.
    “Both of my exes hated my animals,” I mumble.
    “Laur, you and I aren’t exactly together—and even if we were, I don’t hate animals.”
    I’m not sure what to make of that. I mean, I knew we weren’t together but I’m a little hurt by the way he worded that. I’m not sure how any of this works. I never really dated anyone in school, and then I only had the two serious relationships after I graduated. When I married my ex-husband, I felt a sense of relief that the whole dating thing was over—almost like no matter what happened now, at least I knew I wouldn’t die alone. Little did I know he’d hurt me, scar me for life, and prevent me from ever being sane in a relationship again.
    At least Oliver wasn’t upset about my cat.
    “So tell me something about yourself,” he says, touching my hand. I almost instinctively pull back. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me.
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Anything. I know you’re an artist and a cashier, you just moved here from a small town, and you have a cat. Tell me something else,” he says, smiling warmly.
    “My grandmother raised me in a little French town,” I explain, speaking quietly. “I went to a small school and I didn’t have many friends because I didn’t speak the language well when I was sent to live there. I focused on my school work and I got into a good college. I have a degree in marketing. I got married as soon as I finished high school and he wasn’t a very nice person. We split up a couple years later. I dated another guy for a couple years, but I felt like I was dating his mother, so that ended as well. And now I’m just me. I lead a pretty boring life.”
    I pause, assessing his body language now that I’ve mentioned my marriage, but it doesn’t seem to have fazed him.
    “I see. But what do you like to do?” he asks, pushing me to open up to him.
    “I love to paint. I write poetry. I love coffee and wine. I hate the rain and I hate being cold. I did gymnastics for fourteen years, and then played on my college’s volleyball team. I don’t want to work in marketing, because I really don’t like people. I just really want to paint.”
    “I write poetry, too.”