Definitely, Maybe in Love by Ophelia London Page B

possibly guess something like that?”
    “Elementary.” I took a swig of Diet Coke. “Put ten men in a room and play ten different pieces of classical music, six will say Clair de Lune is their favorite. There was an actual study.” I gave Henry a look. “At Duke , maybe.”
    He folded his arms. “Rudimentary research,” he accused, but I could tell he was trying not to smile.
    “I don’t disagree.” I pulled up my feet to sit cross-legged. “It’s the same theory if you were to ask those same ten men what their favorite flower is. Seven will say iris, but only if you show them a picture.”
    Dart seemed confused at first, but nodded in agreement after thinking it through, probably picturing an iris. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s right about that one, too” He pulled Julia close. “I love irises, sweetie.” He kissed her temple. “How do you know that, Spring? Another research project?”
    “Sort of,” I said. “Men can’t help it, they’re naturally attracted to the iris flower because it looks exactly like the inside of a woman’s—”
    “Spring,” Julia cut me off. A moment later, however, she pressed her lips together and laughed under her breath. Dart was watching her, looking confused but amused. The subtle subconscious connection evidently hadn’t occurred to him yet. Henry, though, was chuckling heartily into both hands.
    “Three guilty pleasures?” Julia asked, then she and Dart gave their answers and cuddled. Lilah sneered out something about Amsterdam.
    While pondering on the subject, I ran my index finger along the top of my can. Three guilty pleasures? If I was going to be honest, this would take some thought.
    “Sports/Talk radio,” I began, counting off the answers on my fingers. “Strawberry frosted Pop Tarts, and novels.”
    “French novels?” Henry asked.
    “Gross—no.” I cringed at the insinuation.
    “Not those kinds. I meant like the one you were reading when we ate breakfast together at the café.”
    This caught Lilah’s attention. She dropped her cell, sat up and glared at me. Her acrylic fingernails were like claws as they dug into the knees of her designer jeans.
    “British,” I explained. “Nineteenth century.”
    “What’s your favorite?” Henry asked.
    “Why?”
    “I’d like to know.”
    “More of your polite conversation?” I asked, tilting my head. “Nothing else to do because it’s raining?”
    Henry laughed and leaned forward. “You remember me saying that?”
    “Kind of hard to forget.”
    Lilah had risen onto her knees, glancing from Henry to me then back at Henry like she was watching a tennis match.
    “So?” Henry prompted. “What’s your favorite book?”
    “ The Scarlet Pimpernel ,” I answered, trying to ignore Lilah’s icy glares, which was difficult, as I could actually feel them. “What’s yours?”
    “ To Kill a Mockingbird . Why The Scarlet Pimpernel ?”
    We needed to move on before Lilah really did stab me, but I didn’t think Henry would let us until I gave an answer. “Well, for one reason, I like how it mocks the evil of the bourgeoisie.”
    “You have a problem with the wealthy social class?” he asked. “Maybe it was the French revolutionists who needed to be mocked.”
    “Ha! Talk about oversimplification.” I folded my arms. “It was the aristocrats who caused the war. Those people were excessively concerned with respectability and success and money.” I looked directly at Henry. “Sound familiar?”
    He shrugged. “That’s no crime. It was how ten generations were taught to live.”
    “And that’s an excuse? Wait, let me guess, that was how you were taught to live.”
    He took a beat. “I learned a lot from my father.”
    Even from across the room, I could see he was trying not to smile. Deliberately pushing my buttons, and enjoying it. “Ya know what, never mind.” I threw my hands in the air.
    “Are you declaring defeat?” Henry asked. “Again?”
    I felt a flush creep across my cheeks.