Love at First Like_A Novel by Hannah Orenstein

Author:Hannah Orenstein [Orenstein, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, women, Romance, contemporary, Friendship
ISBN: 9781982121464
Google: F1qBDwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2019-08-06T15:07:57+00:00

When I meet Blake at Penn Station the next afternoon, I can’t help but glance toward his pockets. They look smooth—so if he is carrying my ring, it’s not in such an obvious place. I wonder if it’s in the monogrammed L.L.Bean duffel he has slung over his shoulder. We’re boarding a 2 p.m. Amtrak to Boston, where his mom will pick us up and take us back to their house in the suburb of Needham for the weekend.

“You okay?” he asks, looking carefully at me.

“Just nervous, I guess,” I say, shrugging.

I shift the orchid I’m carrying from one hip to the other. I had been so desperate to make a good impression, I purchased his mom’s favorite flower to get on her good side. It didn’t occur to me at the time how precarious schlepping such a delicate flower across several state lines would be. Blake gently takes it from me.

“Here, I’ll hold this for now. Don’t worry, she’ll love you. Who wouldn’t love you? I mean, don’t you have, like, a million people on Instagram who adoringly watch your every move?” He laughs. “You’re good with people. I know you are.”

I’m suddenly flooded with panic. “You’ve seen my Instagram?”

He flaps his hand. “Nah, you know I don’t use it. But isn’t that true?”

I try to laugh. “Yeah. So lovable. Everyone loves me,” I say in an obviously fake, singsongy tone.

Guilt overwhelms me. The train station is grubby, grimy, and packed with New Yorkers straining to get out of town for the weekend. I have a desperate urge to jump on any one of these trains and get away from Blake: there’s the 3:15 to Washington, D.C., and the 3:21 to Albany.

Blake clutches my hand and rubs his thumb soothingly over the inside of my palm. If only he knew why I was so nervous.

Soon enough, it’s time to board the train. I consider telling him that I need to sit in the quiet car so I can get some work done ahead of the weekend, but the excuse feels wrong. I know he’s looking forward to spending time together; I can tell from the sweet way he keeps bringing up stories and jokes and snaking his hand around my hips to fit it into my back pocket. Quarantining myself in silence in the quiet car would only drive a wedge between us now, even if the idea of four hours of peace to think about my true intentions honestly sounds like heaven. So I follow him to sit wherever he’d like. After the conductor comes to scan our tickets, Blake pulls a screw-top bottle of white wine and two Styrofoam Dunkin’ Donuts cups out of his bag.

“This is the best way to do the Amtrak,” he says, handing me one. “Trust me, I’ve got years of practice.”

“Cheers,” I say, maybe a little too forcefully.

Honestly, the wine does help calm my nerves. I try to relax and enjoy the fact that I’ve miraculously landed exactly where so many girls

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