Page 41 of Knowing Amelia

Finally, the cad asked, “Can I get you a drink?” When I answered yes, he called over another boy. He snapped his fingers and said, “Garrison, over here! Get my girl something to drink, will ya?”

Apparently, I didn’t hold back my glare.

“What?” Phil said with the most obnoxious smirk. “Seth Garrison works for my father. It’s his job.”

The boy may indeed work for Mr. Harlem, but there were no waiters or servers of any kind at this event. The poor boy was just there as a guest, just as we were. I’ve never been on such a horrid date in all my life.

So, when Seth came back with my drink and Phil was gabbing with someone once more, I decided to completely ignore the meathead.

That’s when I truly looked at Seth for the first time. Not a boy, like I’d thought before, but a young man. He was dressed plainly, nothing fancy like Phil. He’s tall and blond, and honestly nothing eyeballing special, but his smile seemed kind and trustworthy. So, I turned my back on Phil, who seems opposite of this Seth in every way. Phil didn’t even notice that I smiled flirtatiously at Seth. I thanked him for the drink and engaged him in conversation. He was eager to talk back. He must not have had a date. It was the best thirty minutes of my evening. Probably of my entire arrival to Ganesworth.

At last, not caring one bit for Philip Harlem or for what he thought of me, I said to Seth, “Do you care for dancing?”

To my utter horror and humiliation, he kindly answered, “I don’t know how to dance.” And with that, the only good piece of conversation I’d had all night walked off, red in the face too.

On top of it all, Philip had the nerve to make advances on Uncle Herb’s doorstep. I held my hand to his chest and said, “I’m tired. It’s been a long night.” Then I escaped through the door.

What a night! What a ridiculous, embarrassing, appalling night. If I see Philip Harlem in the next life, it’ll be all too soon.

Amelia

Seth. There he is. My pulse sped up as I read his name in her scrawl.

As surreal as that is. I still can’t get over THIS Amelia.

The thought of Amelia dancing never entered my craziest thoughts. “This cannot be my grandmother.” I fall backward onto the bed and gape at the ceiling. My eyes blur as I stare at white plaster swirls. None of this feels real. I might as well be reading fiction.

I stay up until one o’clock in the morning reading her next three entries, but Seth isn’t mentioned again. I read about her loneliness, her hopes, Philip Harlem asking her out again, and Uncle Herb blowing a gasket when she declines, but no more Seth. If I didn’t have it in print, I’d think my imagination conjured the whole entry.

The next morning, I sit up in bed and thumb through the one entry that mentioned Seth’s name.

And very much like yesterday morning, the doorbell rings. I am over feeling self-conscious about Pooh Bear pjs. I draw in a breath, then race down the stairs, wondering what Logan brought me this morning.

The soft bell clangs once more.

“Geesh. I’m coming, Logan,” I say through a laugh. “I bought my own cereal. Remember—” I fling the door open and snap my lips shut.

Benjamin’s tall frame hovers in the doorway. He smooths his already neat hair and cocks his head to the side. “Cereal?”

“Benjamin!” I choke. “What are you doing here?” Then I mentally slap myself. He’s here for me. To see Amelia’s house. To pick me up. He just never mentioned when that would be exactly.

He wraps me up in a hug, patting my back. He pulls back and says, “I told you I was coming.”

“I know. I know. Sorry. It’s just—it’s not Sunday. And it’s nine in the morning. How’d you get here so quickly?”

“I started quite early.” He raises one brow and taps his foot. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Oh!” I leap out of the way. “Yes, of course. Come in. Come in.”

He sets his overnight bag inside the door and bends to kiss me quickly on the lips. Scanning the front room without changing expressions, he glides into the dining room without me.

“Hey,” I say, chasing after him. “Um, let me give you a tour.”

His mouth crescents in a polite smile, not something that says he missed me. He did miss me, right? He said he did. And then he sighs. Is that an adoring sigh?

If only I could read minds. On second thought, maybe it’s better I can’t.

“So,” I say, ignoring that long breath, “this is the dining room. And there’s the kitchen.” I wave my hand, motioning to the small open room to our right.