<3 V-DAY EXCERPT <3 In honor of Valentine's Day, we are pleased to share with you this romantic excerpt from "The Syrian Virgin" by Zack Love...In this scene, the 18-year-old Anissa, who fled war-torn Syria for a new life of hope and love in New York City, goes on her very first date ever, and it happens to take place on Valentine's Day...Her longtime crush,
Michael (27), takes her ice skating in Central Park. Enjoy! :-)
<3 <3 <3
<3 <3 <3
At 3
p.m. on February 14, the security guard for my dorm called me with a cute
message from my visitor. “There’s a Mr. Kassab downstairs who wants to know if
you’ll be his Valentine today.” I quickly looked in the mirror one last time
before leaving, and felt butterflies in my stomach as I closed the door and made
my way to the elevator.
When I
arrived in the lobby, I saw that Michael was waiting for me by the door. He
held it open for me and we exited the building into the crisp New York air.
As we
walked towards the subway stop on 116th Street, I lightly shared a small confession: “Do you
realize that this is officially the first date of my life?”
“Wow.
Well, it’s good to know that there’s no pressure on me here!” he replied
ironically.
I
playfully elbowed him. “None at all.”
“And
that means it’s also a good thing that I brought these goodies for you,” he
said, taking a small bag of Baci chocolates out of his coat.
“But – since this is your first date – I should warn you that most dates do not
come with chocolate! You know, just to manage your expectations a little.”
“And why
shouldn’t they all come with chocolates?” I replied with a teasing smile.
“I guess
that’s a fair question. But if you got chocolates on every date, then getting
them on Valentine’s Day wouldn’t seem very special, now would it?”
“I think
I’d be OK with that,” I said, amusing us both with my understatement as we
arrived at the subway entrance.
We
passed through the turnstile, went down the stairs, and stood by the track,
waiting for the downtown train to show up. Our flirty banter resumed as the
area gradually filled up with more New Yorkers heading downtown in sweaters,
scarves, hats, and gloves.
“Well, I
think there may be a compromise arrangement we can work out,” he replied,
looking down at me with a smile.
I
glanced up into his brown eyes, curious. “What’s that?”
“You
see, Baci literally means ‘kiss’ in Italian, so I think you could fairly expect
some kind of kiss on every date.”
“Will I
ever get both chocolate and non-chocolate kisses on the same date?” I
responded, glimpsing at him coyly from the side.
“Are we
getting greedy now?” he joked. “Ten minutes into your very first date ever? I
guess you may need to make up for some lost time,” he said with a teasing
glint.
“I
might.”
“Well,
your odds of getting both kinds of kisses are probably best on Valentine’s Day,
so there may be cause for optimism.”
And just
as it seemed like the space between us was subtly starting to shrink, the train
arrived. But we soon stood even closer to each other on the crowded subway car.
As we traveled downtown with countless strangers, we were at times pressed up
against one another during the twenty-minute ride to the Columbus Circle
station. At 59th Street, we got out of the subway and walked over to
the skating rink in Central Park.
February
14, 2014 brought with it a few firsts, and ice skating was one of them.
Michael
was comfortable and experienced on the ice but went very slowly so that he
could effectively serve as my training wheels while I clung to his arm to avoid
crashing every other minute. Thanks to his support, I fell only every ten
minutes or so, and sometimes brought him down with me – usually with some silly
or self-conscious laughs along the way. He always helped me up, and a few
times, I felt his big palm cup itself around my hip when lifting me to my feet.
After
holding onto him so much while ice skating, it felt almost oddly distant for us
not to be holding hands after we left and headed back towards the subway
together. But the tension surrounding if and when our hands might clasp again (without
any external cause like ice skating) proved to be a good distraction from my
sore behind. After I jokingly complained about it, Michael replied, “Next time
we visit a rink, remember to stuff your pants with lots of toilet paper, or
some other butt cushion.”
A few minutes later, I saw the subway station in the
distance, and figured that we probably weren’t going to hold hands again. I reasoned that there wasn’t that much time
left before we’d have to stop holding hands in order to go down the stairs and
through the subway turnstile, and that might make it seem even more awkward or
silly to have held hands for so short a time before that. Of course, we could resume
holding hands on the subway platform, but then we’d have an audience and it
wouldn’t be as cold, so the reason for our hand-holding would be more obviously
a growing intimacy rather than, for example, a way to keep our palms warm.
“How are
your hands doing?” Michael suddenly asked, as if he had read my thoughts. “Are
they warm enough?” he inquired, taking my hand into his.
“They
are now,” I replied with a smile.
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Amazon(.com): http://tinyurl.com/TheSyrianVirgin
Amazon (UK): http://tinyurl.com/TheSyrianVirgin-UK
Amazon(.com): http://tinyurl.com/TheSyrianVirgin
Amazon (UK): http://tinyurl.com/TheSyrianVirgin-UK
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