“So do you think he likes you?” Tasha asked, the nail polish
brush poised in the air.
“I don’t think he does. No, I know he doesn’t,” Ginny replied, following its arch as it alighted
on Tasha’s finger. Gently, gingerly,
perfectly.
“Of course he doesn’t. Look at you.”
Ginny sighed. She hated it when they got to this point of
the conversation, as they invariably did. Obediently she looked at her torn nails
and ragged cut-off jeans. She realized she hadn’t shaved her legs again, and her hair was escaping what
was probably the saddest excuse of a bun ever.
“You’ve got to start taking care of your looks, Gins, even
if you don’t have much to start with in the first place.”
“Thanks for the confidence builder, Tash.”
“Just speaking the truth, you know, in love.”
She knew the spiel by heart: go for regular facials (a waste
of money), put on makeup everyday (like a painted doll), dress up (though she’d
rather dress down after wearing stuffy suits every day at work), act a little
more helpless (which would only irritate herself), manicure and pedicure (just another
excuse to be helpless) and lose some weight (maybe she should, though she was
hardly fat). She nodded vaguely at
the noises that came out of Tasha’s mouth. She had stopped listening a long
time ago, after seeing the perfectly coifed Tasha running through a string of
boyfriends and never ever settling down with one. The heartbreaks were more than
she could bear, and they weren’t even her own. She should have stopped asking her
for relationship advice as well, knowing the kind of advice she’d be getting
from Tasha, but she couldn’t help it.
He was
such a nice guy.
And that was the problem.
He was such a nice guy that she was sure he acted the same
with every single girl that crossed his path. Only, she had to develop a stupid
mind-boggling crush based on a random conversation that hadn’t ever repeated
itself. Stupid Ginny, she said to
herself as she drove home. Stop
over-thinking it.
But she couldn’t. She remembered clearly where they had sat
as they sipped on their iced teas, talking about books and travels, she half
listening to a parallel conversation beside her and suddenly realizing – realizing
what exactly? She didn’t quite know. She just knew that she went home that day
feeling abnormally blissful, and waking up the next morning thinking about Paul.
She shunted the name aside, trying to think of nothing as she readied herself
for bed. Still, a smile crept onto her face as she snuggled under her blankets.
Paul.
---
“But is she single?” Paul asked, ignoring Jeff’s smirk.
“You like her, don’t you? I could tell from the way you were
cornering her the whole night.”
“I wasn’t. We were both at the same table with all of you.”
“Yes, but you weren’t exactly there, were you? You were off
somewhere in that head of yours, ignoring the rest of us stupid people.” Jeff
laughed at Paul’s grimace. “I think she is, bro. Don’t get all flustered.”
He scowled, annoyed at the way he always let Jeff ruffle
him. But he had had to ask, hadn’t he? It would have been odd to ask her, out
of the blue, for no discernable reason. He remembered smiling across the table
at the distracted young woman, admiring the curve of her neck as she listened
to the conversation about movies beside them.
“What did you think of The Hobbit?” he had asked, watching
her head swivel towards him suddenly, awkwardly.
“Oh! The movie?”
He nodded.
She shrugged. “It was okay, I suppose.”
He had carefully drawn her into a discussion about movie
adaptations, hobbits, Tolkien and fantasy books in general, amused by the way
she spoke to him directly but somewhat nervously, her attention flitting
between him and their other friends. He had lost track of the conversation
beside him a long time ago, not quite deft enough in tracking multiple strands
of discourse as she seemed to be doing, and doing rather skillfully, darting
one moment into their talk about books and then dropping comments about some movie
to the others in the next.
It was nothing ground breaking, no fanfare, no fireworks; just
a steady appreciation that grew over the course of evening. He didn’t say a
word extra, didn’t turn a hair, only left with a thought on his mind that
night. I’d like to get to know you
better, Ginny.
---
They smiled at each other, stopping as they were about to
cross paths.
“How have you been?”
“Fine, just fine. And you?”
“Yeah, good. You know, I checked out that book you talked
about the other day.”
“What book?”
“Magician, by Feist. I thought it was pretty interesting.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” he smiled, unsure what to say next.
Ginny looked at him awkwardly, then turned away. He’s obviously not interested.
Paul watched her leave. I
don’t think she likes me.
Dark Lord of Derkholm by Diana Wynne Jones
Please enjoy this excerpt from Cephrael's Hand, a spellbinding epic fantasy by Melissa McPhail. Then read on to learn how you can win huge prizes as part of this blog tour, including a Kindle Fire, $450 in Amazon gift cards, and 5 autographed copies of the book.
