Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
“So you’re from New York?” the waitress asks.
She’s been by my table three times in the last ten minutes. At first it was just to be polite. Now I think she wishes I’d ask her when her shift ends.
“Yeah. I moved there last year.”
“That’s awesome. I’ve never been, but I’d love to visit. Especially now—I bet it’s magical around the holidays.”
I nod and glance around her shoulder, toward the door, trying to spot Maddie.
Still nothing.
“Friend still not here?” she asks with a sad smile.
“Not yet.”
I pick up another piece of focaccia and drag it through the olive oil and herb dip, trying to distract myself.
The door opens and I straighten.
Maddie’s stepping inside, shaking the snow off her hair before untying her scarf and slipping her jacket off. She passes them to the waiting host who then waves her into the dining room, right toward me.
She stills when she glances in my direction. Her gaze takes in the intimate table set for two positioned in the back corner. There’s a candle and roses and…me.
I’ve technically played a trick on her.
This was supposed to be a family dinner with James, Jolie, and Ford in tow, but as we were getting ready to leave, Ford was being fussy and Jolie opted to just stay home and order in. I told them I’d let Maddie know, but I didn’t.
She narrows her eyes as she starts toward me.
The waitress beside me is forgotten. The world is forgotten. I stand up and smile.
Maddie doesn’t return it.
She comes right up to the table, eyes narrowed, and doesn’t say a word.
“You’re late,” I say with a teasing tone.
“And you’re three short.”
“They stayed back at the house.” She makes a move to turn and head back toward the door, but I reach out my hand to stop her, gripping her arm. “You’re already here.”
Her eyes dart past me, toward the table, lingering on the bread basket.
Aha.
“And you’re hungry,” I venture. “Stay and eat with me.”
She glances at the waitress, who’s still hovering near us, watching this entire scene.
“What would you like to drink?” I ask, not giving Maddie the chance to bow out graciously.
“Something with alcohol in it, preferably,” she says, reluctantly easing her mask of annoyance and shooting the waitress a small smile.
“Our house cocktails are good,” the waitress notes. “I’ll put one in for you.”
“Make it two, please,” I say, tugging out Maddie’s chair for her.
The waitress leaves and we’re alone now, me holding the back of the chair, Maddie lingering, purposely not sitting down.
“I don’t bite,” I mock.
She flushes and brushes past me to sit down brusquely, and I push her chair toward the table, nice and tight, just to make it that much harder for her to get up if she feels like bolting.
Then, because this is just so ridiculous, I reach forward to take her folded napkin off the table and whip it open.
“Should I tuck it into your shirt collar?”
She doesn’t laugh.
She yanks it out of my hand and drops it on her lap.
“You tricked me into having dinner with you,” she points out as I round the table to take my seat again.
“So then we’re even, I suppose.”
She looks away as if embarrassed.
“Why’d you bring Brent here? Was it because of me?”
She keeps her gaze on something across the restaurant and her hands stay in her lap, fidgeting with her napkin.
“Maddie—”
“If you want me to stay, let’s talk about something else.”
“Touchy. Here, have some bread.”
I drop a slice onto a small plate and set it down in front of her. Then I nudge the olive oil dip toward her.
She assesses it for a long time.
“I didn’t poison it.”
Her eyes flit up to meet mine, and I know deep down she wants to crack a smile, something. This hard shell isn’t her usual M.O. Maddie is fun-loving. She’s a life force unlike any other. I want that back. I want the real Maddie sitting across from me in this restaurant.
The lights overhead suddenly dim, announcing the transition from early to late evening. The candle on the table flickers between us, and Maddie’s eyes reflect the spark.
I just can’t help myself. I can’t sit across from her and shoot the shit. There are questions I’m burning up about.
“Do you ever think about that night by the pool?”
Her chair screeches as she stands.
“I can’t do this,” she says quietly, scooting around her chair and hurrying toward the door.
Fuck.
I reach into my wallet and grab some cash, throwing it down so we don’t leave the waitress on the hook for our drinks. Then I’m dashing after her through the restaurant, causing a ruckus.
Maddie doesn’t wait to get her scarf and jacket back from the host, just bolts right out of the restaurant, into the snowy Colorado night.
I’m the one who has to hang back and get our stuff. She’ll freeze out there, but the host takes forever finding our things. At first, I don’t think he wants to hand me Maddie’s stuff.