Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Clearly, I need to chill.
“Sure. Love the stuff.” I don’t sound overly enthused.
He leans back and crosses his arms, studying me. Tonight, his hair is so perfectly done, styled with a wave. It’s formal but not pretentious, handsome without being smarmy. I also love his white button-down. Can white be someone’s color? It looks so good on him.
“You’ve gone quiet on me…” he notes.
Right. I haven’t exactly been the best company tonight; I’ve been too in my head about everything. First, following through with Kendra’s plan. Then, desperately wanting to abandon it altogether.
If it’s impossible for me to solve the mystery of the pink flats, I might as well forget about it and move on. I’m here with Sawyer and I’m really enjoying our date. Kendra’s plan was foolish and it was silly of me to go along with it, but it’s not too late to salvage the rest of dinner. It’s that simple.
I smile and tilt my head, studying him. “Do you think it’s too soon for me to be dating again?”
His mouth hitches with the start of a smile. “Ah. Is that what you’ve been thinking about?”
I shrug to get out of having to answer, that way it’s not an outright lie.
“Is there a hard-and-fast rule? If so, I’ve never heard of one.”
“I was engaged to someone a month ago,” I point out, genuinely curious about his opinion on things.
“And he lost his chance.”
God, the way he says it, it sounds so possessive. I have to hide my reaction with a sip of my spicy paloma.
“I had plans for self-improvement and introspection. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Sweat it out on a hike through the desert?”
Sawyer cracks up. “How about we get you on the fast track instead? We’ll devour this dinner, we’ll order the chocolate mousse, and then”—he leans forward and lowers his voice—“we can find somewhere fun to park my truck.”
“For a little stargazing?” I ask, pure innocence.
“Sure,” he says, flashing his dimples.
“You’re not getting any ideas now, are you?” I tease. “It’s only the second date.”
“Second date. Right. I’ll be good.”
My stomach coils tight as our eyes lock, and for a hot second I wish he hadn’t made that promise.
It’s a little past midnight and Sawyer and I are on a secret mission fueled by nothing but giddiness and a slight buzz from our dinner cocktails.
I creep through Queenie’s back door, keeping the lights off on purpose because my mom is not a deep sleeper. Sawyer walks in behind me, keeping close.
“Step where I step,” I instruct. “The floorboards creak.”
After we left dinner, Sawyer drove us over to Mayberry Park, and we climbed into the back of his truck and spent half an hour searching for stars through the dense clouds.
“I don’t see anything,” I lamented after straining my eyes.
“Me neither.”
“I guess the only thing left to do is make out.”
Sawyer’s head snapped in my direction so fast I thought he might sprain it. I laughed and jostled him with my shoulder. “I’m kidding. Let’s go over to the ballfield.”
Sawyer’s baseball equipment was still in his truck from the game on Saturday, and it only took him a few minutes to figure out how to turn on the field lights. We took turns pitching to each other. I was terrible at it, but Sawyer still managed to knock them out of the park. When it was my turn, if I even managed to ding them a few feet, Sawyer would whoop and holler.
“You’re a natural!”
Baseball worked up our appetites, though, and once we’d exhausted our batting arms, I told him I had an idea.
“Shhh!” I chide now. “You stomp like an elephant.”
“I’m bigger than you. Of course I’m going to sound heavier.”
“Well try to channel a ballerina. Get on those tippy toes.”
He reaches out to squeeze my middle, and it tickles. I whirl around and sock his arm. “Knock it off, will you? You’re jeopardizing our mission!”
“Which is what again, exactly?”
“We’re going to steal cookies from the cookie jar. Queenie made a whole batch of her famous chocolate chunk cookies for the school bake sale tomorrow, but I know there’s gotta be a few extra.”
“I remember your house smelling good when I picked you up.”
“It smelled like that all day and Queenie wouldn’t let me have a single cookie! It was torture!”
Though I warned him to stick close, Sawyer peels off my established path through the kitchen and bangs his shin against the leg of the kitchen table.
“Oh my god, you could never be a spy!” I tell him.
Now he’s jumping around, acting like he needs his leg amputated. “Why’d she need to put the table right there anyway? Get me some ice, would you? It’s swelling.”
“Oh come on. You barely banged it.”
“I’m sure it’s a bloody mangled mess. I’ll need twenty stitches at least.”