The Recipe Book Guy

Chapter Four

        "Abraham's Story of Death. Hm, sounds good." We were sitting behind a book shelf in the back of the store. We had been here for a while, talking, reading stupid books. "Wasn't he a president or something?" I laughed lightly and replied.

"Yeah." He nodded his head. "So, are you from Britain?" I hesitantly asked. I had been wanting to ask this for a while, but I wasn't sure how to quite bring it up without sounding blunt or awkward. However, the words came out more blunt and awkward than I imagined. He turned his head to look at me and smiled that gorgeous smile of his. 

"Yes. I was born in Dundee, Britain. When I was about 6 years old, my parents moved me here, to South Carolina." I nodded. He was sitting across from me, legs crossed looking through a book called, 'How to Know You're Obsessed with Cats'. I couldn't stop staring at him, he was unrealisticaly gorgeous. If every man looked like this in Britain, then I'll start packing my bags right away.

His eyes looked up and met with mine, his head still down. I blushed, and quickly looked down at my hands. I could feel his heated gaze on me, causing me to be anything but  comfortable. After what felt like hours I finally looked up to meet his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He smirked.

"I thought we were playing the staring game. You stare at me and admire my looks, and then I stare at you, and admire your looks." My cheeks heated up, good golly he causes me to blush alot. Laughing I rolled my eyes.

"Whatever." I said, jokingly. Yet, he was still staring at me. "You're still staring" I said flatly.

"I know."

"It's uncomfortable."

"I know."

"Stop."

"No."

"Yes."

"Nope."

"Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable?" He smirked. What was so funny?

"You have quite the interesting eye, you know that? It's like a shade of green but a hint of blue in it." I rolled my eyes. "Stop that. When you roll your eyes I can't see them." I looked down, back to the book I was reading about mating elephants. "Tell me about yourself." He said after a long pause. I gazed up to him.

"What do you want to know?" He shrugged, "Anything."

It had to be at least 2 am when we decided it was time to leave. I had a fun night. He read the Junie B. Jones books in that cute British accent of his which made me continuously giggle, I told him stories about my childhood, leaving out the parts about my mom. It wasn't something I just blurted out to someone I had just met. However, it was hard to keep it in. Mostly because it felt as if I did know him.

I wondered through the whole night why he never told me anything about himself. I wanted to know more about him, he was from a entire different country for gosh sakes. But whenever I asked him he ignored me and started a new subject. I took that as a que not to ask him again.

I closed the door behind us, the cold air rushing through my skin, tingling my bones. I was suddenly very tired. I hadn't got much sleep last night, and here I am once again out at 2 am.

"Where's your car?" I asked as I fumbled for my keys in my side purse.

"Down the road there." He pointed down the street to an old, black audi.

"Mine's just right-" My ringtone intervened. "It's my dad. He's probably pissed." He laughed and gestured for me to answer. "Hello?"

"Em, it's Shelby." Her voice was shaken, it sounded as if she had been crying. "Your dad-" She sniffled a light sob. "Your dad has been in a bad car wreck, you need to get to the hospital." Beep.