Falling for Your Madness by Katharine Grubb Read Free Book Online Page A

the look of half-madness. “And of course, if I’m any more than ten minutes over my allotted time, Merle has explicit instructions to run me over with the car.”
     
    Oh, how this man amused me. All I thought about was when he would kiss my hand. “I always look forward to the next time I see you.”
     
    “As do I, dear lady.” He took my hand, and that time, he kissed it longer than he ever had. “I’ll see you on Friday.”
     
     
     
     
     

     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Friday, September 28, 2012
    Bombay’s Finest Indian Cuisine
    176 Harvard Street
    Brookline, Massachusetts
    7:04 p.m.
     
    Today was the first day that I told my friends, No, I can’t go, I have a standing date with David. So, naturally, this news was posted on the Facebook page, and everybody and their dog had to comment on it. Oh, how they teased me. Their biggest question, though, was this: When are we going to get to meet David?
     
    I didn’t know. All I knew was that it made me feel good to say that David Julius Arthur Bowles, Ph.D. was my friend and that he liked spending time with me, three times a week. I decided they didn’t need to know any details—even though there certainly wasn’t anything steamy to tell. I had become very protective of him and his rules. David was special. He was just mine, no one else’s, and the jump from friends to sweethearts was coming soon.
     
    Tonight I had spent a little more time on my hair and dabbed a little more fragrance on my neck. I planned on a kiss on a specific point of the southern hemisphere of my lovely face. And if we were sweethearts—that word made me laugh every time I thought of it—then I could walk with him tomorrow, and I wanted that more than anything.
     
    “You must tell me about your family. You said your father was a struggling artist.” David had a lily-of-the-valley for me tonight.
     
    “Former struggling artist.” I said. “The last five years have been extremely good for him. He was commissioned by the governor last year and had a huge show in Chicago recently. In fact, the weekend we met was the big day. I couldn’t go, and I was so disappointed.”
     
    “So he’s worked all these years and just now found success? What did your mother think in all that time that she had to wait? I imagine it was very difficult for her to support his vision.”
     
    “If it was, she kept her frustration from us.”
     
    “She must be a queen among women.”
     
    I can’t wait for her to meet him. “We didn’t live in a big house, we didn’t have luxuries, and I know that my mom got tired of counting pennies. But she never gave up on him. And now she’s getting her reward.”
     
    “Your father is a lucky man. He wouldn’t be half the man he is without her.”
     
    David was quiet. Wistful-looking. This was the same look he had given me on Wednesday when I’d said that writing a paper about branding in the Middle Ages sounded like fun. It was all I could do not to grab him by that tweed jacket lapel and say, “Now! Dr. David Julius Arthur Bowles! I will be your sweetheart!” He caught me looking at him and smiled.
     
    “What do you see? Please draw it for me.” He took out his notebook and fountain pen. “No, Laura, I almost forgot. I bought some drawing pencils so you can draw properly when we’re together. Far more to an artist’s liking?”
     
    “Oh, David. Thank you.” This was too much. I really didn’t think I was going to be able to eat my meal. So I drew what I saw. I took my time.
     
    I drew him, my friend, David Julius Arthur Bowles, Ph.D. The longish nose. The smile, the one I liked. The curls that hung in his eyes. The touch of shade on his chin and lip. I wondered what he was going to do with this drawing, because if he didn’t take it home, I would. To frame. To hang on my wall. To practice kissing like I did when I was thirteen. David was, as he once claimed, unbelievably patient. He didn’t yank it out of my hands or try to steal a