First Impressions: A Novel of Old Books, Unexpected Love, and Jane Austen Read Free Page A

were you going to drive me to Steventon?”
    “Good question,” said Eric. They had reached Osney Lock. He leaned against the white metal railing that separated the nineteenth-century lock, with its hand-cranked wooden gates, from the narrow width of the path. They stood watching as the water pouring into the lock slowly raised up a long, narrow canal boat. Sophie loved the locks and almost always stopped to watch the traffic whenever she passed one.
    “I would have found someone to loan me a car,” Eric said as the boatman cranked open the upstream gates and the boat began to move slowly away. “I’m very persuasive.”
    She wasn’t quite sure how he had done it, since she had thought they were both watching the canal boat, but suddenly she found him looking directly into her eyes and she felt her knees go weak. The desperation and need for approval were gone, replaced by a confidence that both frightened her and drew her in. She turned away and continued down the path toward Oxford, convinced now that he could, indeed, be very persuasive. She resolved not to look into those eyes again.
    “I don’t get along with my father, either,” he said, falling back into step with her.
    “I’m shocked,” said Sophie. “I mean, unkempt and unemployed—he should be so proud.”
    “Sarcasm!” said Eric. “Bully for you.”
    Perhaps she was being too harsh—after all, they had been having a pleasant conversation—but the way he’d gazed into her eyes had really thrown her. “I’m sorry,” she said, more gently. “Tell me about your father.”
    “I’d rather talk about yours,” he said. “I look forward to meeting him.”
    “Oh, I hardly think that’s going to happen.”
    “You never know.”
    “Actually, I do know. You don’t have a job, you don’t cut your hair, and you love books. You represent everything my father abhors.”
    “You’ve got to introduce us. I could learn to shoot things.”
    “I don’t think arming you is a very good idea,” said Sophie.
    “Well, even unarmed, I’m sure he’d find me delightful.”
    “You have an awfully high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
    “Not really,” said Eric. “I mean, not like you do. I’m just American. Maybe we’re better at joking around and having fun.”
    “What makes you think I have a high opinion of myself?”
    “Well, you think you’re better than me, right?”
    Sophie felt chastened. They had arrived at the gentle stone arches of Folly Bridge, and the Oxford traffic was now just ahead of them, at the top of a long flight of stone steps.
    “Look,” said Eric, gently laying a hand on her arm and pulling her to a stop. “I’m not very good at first impressions. But think about it—we both like Jane Austen, we both like walks in the countryside, and I’m an uncouth American who would drive your parents crazy. I’m kind of a catch.”
    She stared at the stones beneath her feet and felt her cheeks turn hot.
    “We don’t have to get married or anything,” said Eric. “I just thought we had a nice walk and it might be fun to hang out or get a coffee or something. I’m only in Oxford for a few more days anyway.”
    Sophie was dying to look at him, to give him her number, even to kiss him on the cheek and walk away with a toss of her hair, but she had never been good at this. And at the moment his insensitive impersonation of her was still pounding in her ears, doing its best to drive away that feeling she had had when he looked into her eyes.
    Still looking down, she pulled away and said, “It was nice to meet you, Eric.” She was halfway up the steep stone steps that led from the riverside to the street when she impulsively turned back and called to him, “It’s Collingwood, by the way. I’m Sophie Collingwood. You can reach me at Christ Church. Just leave a message with the porter.”
    Ten minutes later, Sophie stood in the Upper Library of Christ Church, surrounded by neoclassical bookcases of highly polished oak