Your Song by Gina Elle Read Free Book Online Page A

now. 
    The sheer force of her rebellion against the old values she was raised in is a testament to her strength of character. After fighting for her right to pursue a Master degree in art and literature, instead of health sciences or business as her family would have liked, and her fight to move out of the suburban family home and into a downtown Toronto apartment, the last thing Amy needed was a boyfriend, an older boyfriend who has already seen a lot of the world and had his share of life experiences. Amy and I were never destined to be and I knew that from the start. But, she was a lot of fun to be with and still is.  A sweet and somewhat feisty friend to have. And didn’t I say a hot one as well?
    “Hey, I thought we should expand our horizons a bit and travel west. Why, don’t you like this place?” I ask her taking another quick look around in this very small restaurant. There are no more than eight tables in here and three of them at most are occupied with diners right now. The lighting is low and the music is playing even lower. I look across at Amy who is studying the short menu. She looks gorgeous wearing an emerald green bandeau-style silk blouse that ties around her long neck and cinches around her underarms and outer breast area. Her hair is blow-dried full and straight and falls below her shoulders, a change from her usually very curly locks. She is wearing a gold cuff on her right wrist and her nails are painted a dark red. With the long tablecloth covering her, I can’t see what she is wearing on the bottom but if I use my imagination, it is probably something tight and mini. No doubt she is we aring her signature heels, high and sexy.
    “Oh, it’s fine, Eri c. I was just kidding,” she says. Luckily, Amy was seated with her back to the front window when I arrived so now I get a seat with a full view of anyone walking outside along Bloor West. That anyone hopefully being Caroline.
    I’ve been combing the Bloor West Village area on almost a daily basis. In the past few days, I have driven out of my own neighborhood in Yorkville and come to Bloor West Village to get my espressos, drop off my dry cleaning, pick up groceries and even to pop in to an ATM in hopes of a sighting. Caroline jogging perhaps, Caroline walking her dog at night perhaps, Caroline buying some flowers at the flower shops on the corner of Runnymede and Bloor, perhaps. Yes, I’ve been stalking her surroundings but since I can’t seem to find her, I wonder if it’s actually considered stalking? And here I sit across from Amy on a Friday night in Bloor West Village praying to the universe that by some unbelievable stroke of amazing luck, Caroline will walk into this tiny restaurant for dinner tonight.
    “So, how is your Masters’ thesis coming along?” I ask her after we ’ve ordered our meal. We are both drinking cranberry and vodka, something we always order when we’re together.
    “Well, my thesis supervisor just emailed me today with her final suggestions before my defense. So, hopefully in two weeks’ time I will be all done,” she says enthusiastically.
    “Do you feel you’re ready for the defense then?” I ask.
    “ Dr. Durand has been very supportive preparing me for the proce ss so I have to say I’m feeling . . . apart from nervous . . . I’m feeling well-prepared,” Amy says.  There’s that confidence again.
    “Who’s Dr. Durand again?” I ask taking another sip of my drink and glancing around looking for Sweet Caroline.
    “Eric, she’s my thesis supervisor. Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve talked about over the past nine months?” Amy asks exasperated.
    “Yeah, of course I have, but I just forgot her name,” I say guiltily because the truth of the matter is I haven’t paid one bit of attention to anything academic in nature that Amy has talked about since I met her.
    Amy and I spend the next hour or so eating dinner and catching up. The last time we saw each other was about a month