Haunting Jasmine by Anjali Banerjee Read Free Book Online Page A

love.”
    “You must be a mind reader.” I focus on the banana book. “It doesn’t matter, either way. I’m planning to be alone from now on.”
    “But I can tell you’re an optimist at heart.”
    “I know you mean well, Dr. Hunt—”
    “Call me Connor.”
    “Connor. I’ve been through a lot, and I need some quiet time in this store.” My voice is a wavering thread. I don’t want to date anyone. I’m not ready for that.
    “I doubt this store is going to be quiet,” he says.
    “It has been so far.”
    “You showed up in the evening—I bet evenings are slower, when people go home for dinner.”
    My heart skips a few beats. “Tony and I will handle what-ever comes.”
    “You could take a break.”
    “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
    He grins. “I don’t like to give up.”
    “It was good to see you again,” I say in a neutral voice. “But I’m really sorry, I can’t go out with anyone right now. I hope you understand.” I’m crossing the room, on my way out to the hall, when the books begin to fall.

Chapter 8
     
    The banana book tips over again, setting off a cascade of falling tomes like dusty dominoes. A hardcover tumbles at my feet, a book of poems by Emily Dickinson, open to a telling page: Heart, we will forget him! / You and I, to-night!…
    I close the book and shove it back on the shelf. “I hope my aunt has earthquake insurance.”
    Connor rubs his finger across his eyebrow, as if this will help him think. “Not an earthquake. The floor isn’t shaking.”
    “Auntie needs to do a better job of securing these shelves, then.” Another book topples onto the carpet, this one a Neruda gift book open to a bright page and the illuminated words… struggling and hoping, / we touch the sea / hoping… A shiver runs through me. I shelve and straighten the books. “Why she keeps silly titles so prominently displayed, I’ll never know. Who buys these books?”
    “People like me.”
    “You’re strange.” I stride to the door, but it slams closed in front of me. I step back, my throat dry.
    You have to live, a voice whispers close to my ear. I whip around. “Stop whispering.”
    “I didn’t say a thing.” He holds up his hands.
    “Who else could it be?” A chill ripples across my skin.
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought / Than to love and be loved by me.
    “Why are you quoting Edgar Allan Poe?” I say. How do I know the quote came from Poe? “I’m not here to love any-one.”
    “I didn’t say you were.” Connor’s eyebrows rise.
    I shake my head. “He wrote that, didn’t he? Poe?”
    “Wrote what?”
    I’m going insane. “I have to get out of here.”
    Connor is beside me. “Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” I rattle the knob, but the door won’t budge. “We’re locked in.”
    “Let me try.” He pulls and turns the doorknob, to no avail.
    “Try again.” Connor and I both try to open the door. No luck.
    “Looks like we’ll have to climb out the window,” he says.
    “I think they’re painted shut in this room.”
    “Then we’re trapped in here forever.” Connor’s grinning, as if the idea isn’t so bad.
    “This isn’t funny.”
    He glances at my pants, my shoes, the door, and laughs. “I’m sorry, but it is. Let’s have coffee and discuss it.”
    “I don’t think so.” I twist and rattle and yank the knob, but the door doesn’t budge.
    It’s only coffee, he whispers.
    “Okay, okay,” I say.
    “Okay what?”
    “Fine, coffee. But it’s not a date. I don’t date.”
    Connor breaks into a dashing smile. “Hey, that’s great. Friday night? Around eight o’clock?”
    “Okay, okay. Fine.” I turn the knob, and magically, the door swings open, setting us free.

Chapter 9
     
    I rush up the stairs and crash headlong into Auntie. She drops a pile of books. They clatter down the stairs. “Bippy, you look pale.”
    “The wind must have slammed the door in the parlor. I agreed to a date with that man, Connor