The Image of You Read Online Melanie Moreland

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Drama, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
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I indicated the bench. “May I sit?”

“Oh yes, please do.”

I tried not to let her formality bother me. I tilted my head in Emma’s direction. “Business, no doubt.”

“You know Emma well?”

“Well enough.”

She crossed her legs, her pants riding up. On her ankle was my band. My determination grew. “Nice anklet.”

“Thank you.”

She hesitated. “I’m sorry, have we met before the other night? My mind is a little fuzzy these days.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering. “I hit my head, and sometimes I forget things.”

She was near enough I could smell her familiar floral scent. I gave her a gentle smile. “I’m sorry to hear that. Yes, we’ve met—several times.”

She frowned, chewing on her lip again. “I don’t remember, I’m sorry.”

I wanted to yank her into my arms and tell her exactly how close we were. But I forced myself to remain calm. “That’s all right. We can get to know each other again, like old friends, catching up.”

“Is that what we were—friends?”

“Yes, we were friends. Good friends, I think.”

Emma came back. “I’m sorry, Alex. I have something I have to take care of. Do you need me to walk with you back to the apartment?”

Before she could answer, I interrupted. “Actually, I was going to invite you for coffee. But maybe Alex and I can still go—get reacquainted. I’ll walk her home afterward.” I looked over at Ally. “If that’s okay with you?”

I breathed out a sigh of relief when she nodded. “Yes, that’s fine, Adam. Emma, call me later?”

Emma bent down and hugged Ally. “For sure.” She shot me a glance. “Nice to see you, Adam. I hope we meet again soon.”

I winked. “Count on it.”

Emma headed out of the park, and we walked to the coffee shop in silence. Ally sat at a table while I grabbed our coffees. I slid a latte to her since she always loved one when we went out. She took a sip and frowned.

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s perfect. How did you know I liked lattes?”

“I know you.”

She shut her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“Do you have a headache, Ally?” I asked, her name slipping out before I could stop it.

“No.” She shook her head. “Why do you call me that?”

I took a sip of my coffee. I wanted to hold her and tell her I called her that because she was mine. Because I gave her that name so she’d know she was special to me. Instead, I shrugged. “I always have.”

“No one else does.”

“No, I gave you that name.” I met her gaze directly. “I also called you Nightingale.”

Her eyes widened, and a small spark of something passed through them. “Because I used to be a nurse?”

“Yes.” Now it was my turn to frown. “Used to be?”

She shook her head, twisting the engagement ring around on her finger. I studied it briefly, hating it, not only because it wasn’t my ring, but because it didn’t suit her at all. Large and showy, it was far too big for her delicate finger. It was a statement, not a token of love.

“My fiancé is a doctor. I used to work here at Toronto General.”

I tamped down my anger at her use of the word fiancé. “I know. That’s where I met you.”

Her gaze flew around the shop, her nervousness evident. “Do you, ah, know Bradley? Is that how we met?”

“Not as well as I know you, and no. I had an accident, and you were my nurse. We became friends after that.”

Her voice grew upset. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember that.”

Without thinking, I clasped her hand in mine. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Maybe one day you will.”

She relaxed, leaving her hand in mine. I stroked my thumb over her skin gently.

“Can you tell me something about our friendship?”

I sucked in a fast breath, knowing I would have to tread carefully. “We were close. You liked to come for rides on my motorcycle, and we’d have picnics.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? On a motorcycle?”

“You loved it.”

“What else?” she asked eagerly.

“You helped me make my place homier. It was pretty sparse when I met you. You—” I stumbled over my words— “you helped make it a home, Ally.”

“I like it when you call me Ally,” she whispered.

I smiled and lifted her hand, dropping a kiss on the smooth surface. “Good.”

She pulled her hand away and picked up her latte.

But she had a small smile on her face.

Was there a chance my words stirred something in her?

“What else?” she asked.

“You always called me out on my swearing.” I grinned. “And you always had grape suckers in your purse for me.”

She smiled back, and I reveled in the sight of her lips turned upward for me.

I kept the conversation light and relaxed, wanting her to be comfortable with me. It seemed to work, the tension easing from her shoulders as we chatted. I dropped hints in our conversation. How she loved to burrow under the blankets. How often she stole my coffee. Her love of honey on toast. Small pieces of information to help jog her memory.


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