time.
Chapter 10
Two days and two more painful meals at the hand of Emma’s poor culinary skills had passed since my date with John at The Bar. Emma tried to be a good cook, bless her heart. She just didn’t have the talent. To my relief, I had not seen any mysterious dark shadows outside my window since. I had come to the conclusion that I had indeed become overly suspicious of every crow that fluttered its wings in the dark branches of trees or small animals that darted across lawns at night. Who knows, maybe I even saw a ghost. These old Southern towns were full of macabre and spooky stories. And it seemed to fit with the old Victorian style house of Emma’s, where I rented a room on Main Street.
It had only been a couple days, but Summerville was growing on me. It was a beautiful seaside town, quaint and cozy, exactly as a beach town in South Carolina should be. I decided to stay here until it was safe to go back to New York. If someone was on my tail and saw me get on the bus to Charleston, they would never suspect that I had stopped here. They would be looking for me at my final destination in Charleston. I concluded that it would be safer to stay here, than to move on. I was also careful to leave no trace of the real me here. I hadn’t used my real first name and always paid cash. It was too risky leaving a paper trail from a credit card. Little by little, I was becoming Hanna instead of Dani and I loved it.
I hadn’t seen John since Sunday night when he followed me home like a puppy dog. A twinge of disappointment surged through me, but seriously, what had I expected? Motorcycle plus author equals- badass? Something was wrong with this equation. Maybe it was the new math, but I wouldn’t have given John the time of day back in New York. He was so good looking, much too good looking. My pulse came to life every time I thought of his charming smile, every time his eyes flashed fiery blue when he looked at me. I wanted to believe those fervent looks were meant exclusively for me but I was still guarded. Drop dead gorgeous guys don’t just hang out in seaside towns picking up on girls like me.
John reminded me of a guy I met my freshman year at college, a lot like him, heart stopping good looks and a chiseled body to go with. His name was Ernesto. He was a foreign exchange student from Italy. Every day in my Art History class, he would burst into the large, lecture hall after everyone else was seated. Then he would pause at the top of the stairs, as if he knew he was baiting all the women and before finding a seat, all the girls head’s would turn to get an eyeful of him standing there with his chest puffed out, his black leather jacket flying wide open. I would swear it always seemed like the wind was blowing his long dark hair back from his face. But that was just an illusion drummed up by my imagination. There was no wind inside McBride Lecture Hall. His presence would expand and until it seemed to fill the entire room, as if he was saying, ‘yes, I am God’s gift to women and I can have every last one of you’.
Later, I learned that he did have most of the women, myself included. Yes, I was swept up by his charm and hot body. I foolishly thought that I was so amazingly special that he would want to be with me over all the other girls who drooled over him. One night at a party, off campus, I ran into him and let myself be taken, flattered that he had picked me among all the women he could have had. The night ended with him disappearing and I had no way to get back to campus. I had to take my chances with some stranger, a guy who had a car and offered me a ride. But before I left, I got a last glimpse of Ernesto. He was back at the crowded party and through paper beer cups and raised elbows, I overheard him bragging to a group of guys how he had “plucked that ripe tomato.” I realized I was just another notch on his belt, but most importantly I realized how
Chapter 10
Two days and two more painful meals at the hand of Emma’s poor culinary skills had passed since my date with John at The Bar. Emma tried to be a good cook, bless her heart. She just didn’t have the talent. To my relief, I had not seen any mysterious dark shadows outside my window since. I had come to the conclusion that I had indeed become overly suspicious of every crow that fluttered its wings in the dark branches of trees or small animals that darted across lawns at night. Who knows, maybe I even saw a ghost. These old Southern towns were full of macabre and spooky stories. And it seemed to fit with the old Victorian style house of Emma’s, where I rented a room on Main Street.
It had only been a couple days, but Summerville was growing on me. It was a beautiful seaside town, quaint and cozy, exactly as a beach town in South Carolina should be. I decided to stay here until it was safe to go back to New York. If someone was on my tail and saw me get on the bus to Charleston, they would never suspect that I had stopped here. They would be looking for me at my final destination in Charleston. I concluded that it would be safer to stay here, than to move on. I was also careful to leave no trace of the real me here. I hadn’t used my real first name and always paid cash. It was too risky leaving a paper trail from a credit card. Little by little, I was becoming Hanna instead of Dani and I loved it.
I hadn’t seen John since Sunday night when he followed me home like a puppy dog. A twinge of disappointment surged through me, but seriously, what had I expected? Motorcycle plus author equals- badass? Something was wrong with this equation. Maybe it was the new math, but I wouldn’t have given John the time of day back in New York. He was so good looking, much too good looking. My pulse came to life every time I thought of his charming smile, every time his eyes flashed fiery blue when he looked at me. I wanted to believe those fervent looks were meant exclusively for me but I was still guarded. Drop dead gorgeous guys don’t just hang out in seaside towns picking up on girls like me.
John reminded me of a guy I met my freshman year at college, a lot like him, heart stopping good looks and a chiseled body to go with. His name was Ernesto. He was a foreign exchange student from Italy. Every day in my Art History class, he would burst into the large, lecture hall after everyone else was seated. Then he would pause at the top of the stairs, as if he knew he was baiting all the women and before finding a seat, all the girls head’s would turn to get an eyeful of him standing there with his chest puffed out, his black leather jacket flying wide open. I would swear it always seemed like the wind was blowing his long dark hair back from his face. But that was just an illusion drummed up by my imagination. There was no wind inside McBride Lecture Hall. His presence would expand and until it seemed to fill the entire room, as if he was saying, ‘yes, I am God’s gift to women and I can have every last one of you’.
Later, I learned that he did have most of the women, myself included. Yes, I was swept up by his charm and hot body. I foolishly thought that I was so amazingly special that he would want to be with me over all the other girls who drooled over him. One night at a party, off campus, I ran into him and let myself be taken, flattered that he had picked me among all the women he could have had. The night ended with him disappearing and I had no way to get back to campus. I had to take my chances with some stranger, a guy who had a car and offered me a ride. But before I left, I got a last glimpse of Ernesto. He was back at the crowded party and through paper beer cups and raised elbows, I overheard him bragging to a group of guys how he had “plucked that ripe tomato.” I realized I was just another notch on his belt, but most importantly I realized how
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