Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure, exactly. For sure, I’d be able to work remotely sometimes. And maybe it’d require some travel?”
Henn asks a few more questions, and ultimately suggests I might consider working in the PR department of a movie studio. He explains his thinking, and I can’t deny he’s onto something there.
“That’s a fantastic idea. Thank you. I’ll definitely pursue something like that if Maddy gets into UCLA. If she moves to LA, I think that’d be my sign to finally bite the bullet and leave my hometown, too.”
“You and your sister are really close, huh?”
“We’re best friends. Always have been. But it’s more than that these days. A couple years ago, Maddy was in a horrible car accident. Her injuries were so extensive, she had to drop out of U Dub for a full year to recover. Ever since, I’ve been extra protective of her.”
“Understandably. Is she okay now?”
“Physically, yes. The injury that hasn’t completely healed is her grief. Her boyfriend, Justin, died in the crash.”
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
I sigh. “Poor Maddy adored that boy. He brought out her goofy, silly side. Made her feel safe to let it all hang out. Ever since he died, she’s not nearly as carefree and goofy. Not even with me.”
“Aw, poor Maddy. That’s so hard.” Henn is looking at me with deep sympathy in his dark eyes. “No wonder you want to live in the same city as her.” Henn grabs my hand on the table and squeezes it, and my entire body electrifies at his touch. “Tell me something, Banana. If you had a teleportation machine that could take you anywhere in the world right now, where would you set the dial?”
I don’t hesitate. “Paris. I’ve always wanted to go, ever since I took French in high school.”
“That’s a great choice. Besides all the obvious tourist spots, you could also hit the jazz bar that’s at the end of Lala Land.”
“That’s in Paris? I didn’t know that. I’ll add it to my dream board.” I put an elbow onto the table when Henn releases my hand. “I take it you’ve been to Paris?”
“Only once. As cool and iconic as it is, it’s one of the only cities that made me feel lonely being alone.” Henn smiles ruefully. “They don’t call it The City of Love for nothing. I decided I wouldn’t come back until I found my person and could take her to Paris to canoodle with me as we walked along the Seine, like I saw so many couples doing.”
My heart is stampeding. Thundering. Raging. Is this a sign from the universe? Is Henn imagining me becoming his person one day? Is he envisioning me being the woman he takes to Paris and canoodles with? I pick up my wine glass, intending to take a sip, but put it down when I realize my hand is shaking.
Our waiter appears with the check, which he hands to Josh, who in turn promptly hands over his gleaming black credit card without even looking at the total. As we await the waiter’s return, Josh says, “Reed’s club is only a couple blocks away down The Strip. An easy walk, at least for those of us not wearing heels. Are you ladies game, or would you prefer to take a cab?”
Kat says, “I was born in heels, baby. I’d prefer to walk off my dinner a bit before hitting the dance floor. What about you, Banana?”
“Easy peasy pumpkin squeezy,” I reply.
Henn laughs. “Isn’t it lemon squeezy?”
I furrow my brow. “But then the opposite wouldn’t work.”
“What’s the opposite?”
“Hard scarred pumpkin shard.”
Everyone laughs.
“Unless the opposite is stressed depressed lemon zest,” Henn offers, and everyone laughs again.
“And just like that, my entire reality has crumbled,” I tease.
The waiter arrives, the bill is settled, thanks are conveyed to Josh, and off we go outside and in the direction of the dance club, wherever that is, with Henn and me in front and Josh and Kat strolling behind.
After a few steps, Henn slides his hand in mine. And just like that, a torrent of electricity courses through me. It might seem silly for a grown woman to feel this giddy about holding hands with her new crush. But I can’t help it. This is the best first date of my life, and it’s not even close to over yet.
“Hey, let’s get your photo in front of the fake Eiffel Tower for your dream board,” Henn says. When I look to where he’s pointing, there’s a replica Eiffel Tower in the near distance that’s apparently attached to one of the hotel/casinos on The Strip. It’s smaller than the real deal in Paris, I’d assume. And its location near the neon-lit sidewalk is nothing like the elegant setting of the real thing I’ve seen in photos. But since its structure is a perfect copy of the real McCoy, and it’s as close as I’ve ever come to Paris, I quickly agree a photo is a splendid idea.