Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“You’d be surprised. People go just because they’re on a date, and they want to seem cultured, and be able to tell their friends they went to an art gallery. And the people buying the art only care about it a small fraction of the time. Mostly they just want investments for their millions and millions of dollars.”
“But you cared about the paintings.”
I pulled in a long breath. “I really did, actually. There are so many talented painters. Seeing people sell their first paintings was the best part of the job. Honestly? That’s the only thing I miss.”
“Wow,” Finn said. “The truth comes out.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I looked at him and he had a wicked grin on his face. “You’re saying you really don’t miss LA all that much.”
“So?”
“So Tennessee ain’t that bad.”
I held up a finger. “That is not what I’m saying.”
“Ori Adams likes Tennessee,” Finn said, as if he were announcing it to the world. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Shut up,” I told him. “All right. Now you have to tell me a secret.”
“I don’t have any secrets.”
I hummed. “Now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”
“What?” Finn protested. “You want me to say I secretly look for celebrities when I’m driving around town to give people massages, or something?”
I laughed. “Not that kind of secret.”
It was unspoken in the air between us. Finn and I were both probably thinking about the secret he’d told me, but neither of us were going to bring up the fact that he’d gotten blown by a dude.
He groaned, lying back on the blanket. He propped his hands behind his head, looking up again, the muscles in his arms highlighted in the glow of the fire.
He looked strong. In this light, I could see the way his face had subtly changed over the years, too. He still looked young, but he didn’t look like a kid anymore. He was tired tonight and it softened his features a little, as if he wasn’t trying to put on any sort of mask right now.
He was just being himself.
It was the best I’d ever seen him look.
“Fine. I’ve got one,” he said. “Remember when I said the breakup with Christina wasn’t a big deal to me?”
“Yeah.”
He cut me a glance. “It wasn’t that easy.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Shocking, right?” he said. “For once, I was in… kind of a serious relationship, I guess. I liked her a lot. She was smart, but also knew how to laugh, you know? I had started thinking about long-term stuff. Proposing to her, maybe. I mean, not anytime soon, but one day. The breakup was pretty shitty.”
A strange feeling made its way through my chest.
Finn had been close to proposing to her?
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I had no idea.”
“Not your fault.”
“It sounds like she was special.”
There was so much I didn’t know about Finn’s life, these days. I hadn’t even known he was dating Christina, let alone that he’d even started considering proposing.
He’d always talked about it, but he was actually ready for that?
This Finn? My Finn?
“This might sound bad, but I think I just wanted to feel like I was making some fuckin’ progress in my life,” he said. “Like it was moving forward. The idea of having someone around, living with me in my house, was so tempting.”
“I’m sorry it was so hard.”
“Now I’ve got your ass, though,” he said. “I like having someone around. Even if that someone is a punk who wants to fight me every three seconds.”
“I thought you’d want to kick me out right away.”
He furrowed his brow. “What? Why?”
“Because I’ll… you know. Get in your way.”
“Ain’t exactly like I’m doing defensive lineman drills in my house or something, Ori. You’re not in the way.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Football stuff,” he said. “Trust me, you watched me do them at practice plenty of times. But the point is you’re not in my way at all.”
“Fine.”
He was silent for a moment, then looked back over at me, a small smile on his face. “Those green smoothies you make are fucking gross, though.”
I glared at him. “You told me you liked the sample I gave you the other day.”
He winced. “I guess that’s my real secret. I hated it.”
“Damn.”
“I mean, Ori, come on,” he protested. “Are you just putting pure spinach and celery in it and calling that good? It tasted like a football field. And I would know, unfortunately.”
I laughed, shoving him again. “Hey, there was a green apple in there. Or… half of one, at least.”
“Disgusting. Next time, try some normal-person stuff like strawberries or bananas, okay?”
I sat up, dusting off my hands and acting like I was going to get up and walk away. “Fine. I’ll go in and make you a smoothie right now with eight pounds of milk and sugar in it like you like it—”