Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
“Nobody’s ever gotten me flowers before,” she says quietly, gazing out the window of my truck as we drive toward the restaurant. “I don’t count the aloe vera plant Aunt Nina gave me for my sunburn last summer.”
“I’m pleased you liked them.” I feel strangely nervous as I pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. I’m just so desperate for everything to go right tonight. Watching her post that letter as we were leaving gave me the sinking sensation that things were doomed to go awry.
No. No. I shake my head and walk around to help Tatum out of the truck.
“Thank you, sir.” She smiles, breasts bouncing as she hops down.
I hold her hand all the way into the restaurant.
Regina Cucina is old-school Italian, with burgundy leather booths, white tablecloths, and low lighting. We sit across from one another, and a tuxedo-clad waiter with a wild tuft of white hair approaches, menus in hand.
“One for the young lady,” he says, handing Tatum a leather-bound menu, “and one for her father.”
Tatum giggles, blushing at the server’s mistake. I can’t help but chuckle uneasily along with her. The waiter glances nervously between us and presses his hands together in the gesture of a prayer.
“Mi scuzi,” he says. “I have made a mistake?”
“The young lady and I are not related,” I say simply. He nods.
“May I offer the couple a complimentary appetizer this evening, then?” he asks, recovering smoothly.
“That would be fine,” I say.
He takes our drink orders and then returns with a plate of delicately sliced and fried zucchini.
“Wow,” Tatum purrs when he’s gone again. I serve her some zucchini before serving myself. “This looks delicious, Dad.”
I huff, bracing for the pang of guilt that doesn’t come. The playful way she said the word “dad” just now feels different from the way she talks about her father. There’s a playfulness to it.
“You look delicious, baby girl. Now eat your veggies.”
“Yes, sir.” She gives a mock salute, and the teasing glint in her eye almost makes me want to call the waiter back to tell him, you’re goddamn right, I’m her daddy.
six
TATUM
I feel like a princess. No, it’s better than that because this isn’t some fairy tale. It’s me and this handsome, incredible man walking through the park, laughing and eating what is, I swear, the best rocky-road ice cream cone I’ve ever had. Or maybe it just tastes so good because of the company. Lucas watches my mouth as I lick my dessert with a little more enthusiasm than is necessary.
“I feel like you can tell a lot about a person by their ice cream order,” I say.
“Is that so?” He takes a slow pull from his strawberry milkshake. “What does my order say about me?”
“Well, a milkshake says practical, classic, a little safe, perhaps.”
He laughs. “Safe?”
“Sure. I’m over here dripping chocolate all over my fingers, willing to risk staining my dress on this date for the sake of having what I really want. And you’re just drinking your ice cream.”
“Who says that this isn’t what I really want?” He pauses, and I look him over from head to toe. He doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who compromises when it really matters.
“Fair enough. I do admire that you chose strawberry, that you weren’t afraid of something pink.”
He laughs again. “And what does your order say about you?”
“Oh, indulgent and mentally unstable,” I say, grinning. He chuckles.
“Noted. It does look good though.”
“Wanna trade?” I ask, holding the cone out to him.
“Sure,” he says, and we do. He licks my ice cream, and I drink his milkshake.
We walk on until we come to a little bridge overlooking the pond. I lean against the railing. He sidles up to me, and it all feels perfect.
Too perfect.
“Why do you like me?” I ask him.
He turns to me with a look of surprise. “The hell kind of question is that?”
“A serious question. I mean, it’s not like you and I have much in common, aside from you being hot and me being adorable.”
“I think our text thread makes it clear that I find you white-hot and adorable.”
My face heats up. Yes, I suppose it does…
“Just humor me, Lucas.” I hate that I feel the need to ask him this question. I’m not insecure about most things girls my age worry about. I like my face, and I’ve made peace with my chub to the point that I enjoy wearing clothes that accentuate my curves. This isn’t about worthiness. It’s about trust. As much as I hate to give anyone else control over my feelings, I can’t deny that being abandoned by my parents didn’t leave a few scars and sore spots.
He bites into his ice cream cone and chews for a long moment.
“I like you because being with you makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time.”