Liesel Schmidt - The Secret Of Us

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The Secret Of Us: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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When your other half leaves you…After her fiancé breaks up with her in ‘their restaurant’, leaving her with no explanation other than an apology scrawled on a napkin, Eira no longer feels at home in North Carolina. So she leaves for the Florida coast, hoping that rebuilding her life will be easier somewhere new. But while her new home may hold no trace of the past, life doesn’t always turn out the way you planned…and suddenly, a chance meeting turns Eira’s life upside down.…how do you know who you are?Finally faced with the opportunity to ask her questions about love, lies, and the life she thought was hers, Eira realises that hearing the answers is going to hurt. Yet if she is brave enough to listen, finding the missing piece of the past might lead her to a brighter future than she ever thought possible…The Secret of Us is the bittersweet new novel from Liesel Schmidt, perfect for fans of Cecilia Ahern, Lucy Dillon and Jojo Moyes.

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“I was just about to ask the same of you,” I replied, arching an eyebrow. “But since you asked first, I guess I’ll have to wait.” I reached for the seltzer water in front of me, rolling the skinny red stirring straw between my fingertips as I formulated my reply.

“You want the short story or the long one?”

“I’ll take the Reader’s Digest condensed version for now,” he answered, his eyes leaving my face long enough to catch the attention of our waitress. She gathered her round plastic tray from the corner of the bar where she’d been holding post and began to weave her way through the packed tables dotting the room.

I held my answer until she’d left us to retrieve Matt’s requested bottle of beer.

“Let’s just say we all met through a mutual acquaintance, and I got custody of the friends in the divorce.” I lifted a shoulder and pressed my lips together in a rueful smile.

Matt widened his eyes. “Ah.”

I realized my cryptic answer was a little too cryptic and left too much to speculation. “Not that there was an actual divorce,” I said hurriedly. “Or even a marriage,” I continued, growing more and more flustered by the second.

And redder.

Let’s not forget redder.

“I think we should keep all the paper in the place away from you, or you’re liable to start a fire.” Matt chuckled, enjoying my embarrassment entirely too much.

“Oh, shut up,” I muttered, glaring at him good-naturedly.

“Wow. Five minutes I’ve known her, and already she’s telling me to shut up,” he said in mock injury. “Feisty spirits to match the hair.” He was smiling crookedly at me, so I knew he wasn’t serious.

“Oh, stop it!” I lobbed a balled up napkin at him. “Seriously, though,” I continued, trying to regain some sort of grasp on a serious expression. “Just a bad break up.”

“And you got to keep the friends,” Matt supplied. “Must have been really bad. Anyone I would know?” he asked, his curiosity obviously piqued.

I pursed my lips. This was really not something I wanted to get into not here, not now. Not with a guy I’d only just met. Wasn’t there some sort of rule against that, anyway? Not dredging up old flames and old wounds on a first date? Not that this was actually a date, just a chance meeting of two people who seemed to be hitting it off quite well.

But still.

“How ‘bout let’s not and say we did?” I suggested, smiling mirthlessly. “Spotlight’s yours, Matt. How did you come to be part of this merry band of misfits?”

He shifted in his chair, settling against the back and bringing an ankle up to rest on his knee. He rounded out the move by draping his right arm across the back of my own chair, the picture of cool and casual.

“Nothing as interesting as your story, I’m sure. I work on base with a few of these knuckleheads,” Matt replied with a shrug.

I watched him closely, unsure of where this conversation could possibly go now.

“I wonder where that waitress is with your beer,” I said, looking around the bar with a curiosity I didn’t really feel.

Matt followed my gaze, then shrugged.

“Maybe she had to fly to Belgium to personally pick it out,” he said with a small smirk. “Either that, or she got lost on her way back to our table. She didn’t seem all that bright.”

I turned my full attention back to him, raising my eyebrows in surprise. It seemed such a rarity that intelligence trumped looks in the eyes of the male population.

“You mean you noticed that, what with those boobs staring you in the face and all?” I asked, smiling sweetly.

“Oh, I see,” Matt laughed, his eyes twinkling.

“See what?” I narrowed my eyes.

Matt looked left, then right in mock furtiveness and leaned forward. He motioned me in closer so that I would be able to hear him.

“Boob envy,” he whispered soberly.

I frowned at him and punched his forearm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re violent,” he teased. “Has anyone ever suggested anger management classes?”

“Only once or twice,” I laughed. “Right before I introduced them to my mean left hook.” I held up my balled up fist and broke out into a devilish grin.

“Brains and brawn, huh? Aren’t you the full package.” Matt studied me for a moment, and I felt myself start to flush again.

“Well, when your cup size sounds like a battery size,” I said, glancing down at the nearly imperceptible bumps that occupied the region of my body required to classify them as breasts. My eyes widened, and I looked back up at Matt in horror.

“Did I just say that out loud?”

Fortunately, he was laughing.

“Wow,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You know, not every guy out there is concerned with that. At least, not the ones who actually have their priorities straight.”

Our overly-endowed waitress magically appeared with Matt’s bottle of beer and set it down in front of him with a flourish.

“There you go,” she declared breathily. She twinkled vacantly at him, ignoring my attempts to get her attention until I tapped her on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I can see that you’re extremely busy and all, but could I get some more seltzer?”

While my sarcasm wasn’t lost on Matt, it seemed to fly right over the waitress’s head. The smile plastered on her spackled face slipped for a second, then slid back into place. She’d turned off the sparkle, though, since I wasn’t a muscle-bound member of the male species.

“Sure thing, sweetie,” she said, heading off to get my drink, her hips swaying pendulously in her skin-tight jeans as she moved.

We watched her progress towards the bar, a steady succession of male heads swiveling to note her passage as she walked by them. I shook my head silently and smiled humorlessly.

“No one watches me that way when I walk across the room.”

Matt’s eyes held mine steadily, not a trace of mockery in his reply. “How do you know?”

Chapter Four

I never considered myself particularly adventurous – I didn’t itch for adrenaline, I didn’t have a need to trek up the side of a mountain or plummet thousands of feet towards Earth after jumping from the belly of a plane. Some people make lists of things like this, determined to complete every item on their list before they kick the proverbial bucket.

I, on the other hand, tended towards lists of the more attainable kind – the less adventurous kind. The kind usually classified under the heading of “To Do.” It was safe, it was controllable (at least, to some extent), and it was satisfying enough to stave off any niggling need I had for something more. It kept me distracted, kind of like chewing gum to keep your mind off the cigarette you really want.

What I really wanted wasn’t adventurous.

At least, not in most people’s minds.

What I really wanted was to get married, to wake up every morning and know that someone loved me and wanted to share their life with me. To know that my toothbrush wasn’t the only one in the holder.

Not exactly a harrowing, exhilarating existence; but it was what I’d been dreaming of, what was on my list.

It was what seemed so impossibly unattainable, what I tried so hard not to think about.

Sometimes I stood in line at the checkout of a store, my eyes roving aimlessly over the magazines that flanked either side like paper sentrymen. The bridal magazines mixed in with the tabloids and fashion glossies seemed as irrelevant to me as an issue of Men’s Health or Forbes , touting inapplicable advice. I may have been young for such a jaded perspective, but I’d had enough frustrations with dating, with laying my heart on the line, for the sentiment to seem reasonable. After all, in every situation I’d encountered so far, the guys had all presented themselves in such a way that made them seem far more interested in settling down to start a family than they actually were – especially after a few weeks with me, a girl who left no doubt that my own personal convictions would allow nothing more than a bit of making out. The sentiment of, “Wow, that’s so great, that must take a lot of self-control,” were replaced by attempts to get me to cross my own line, to give in to their particular brand of magic and my own human tendencies. And when I didn’t… the boredom crept in, and they let me see just how immature they could be.

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