Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
He just laughs at me. “Go away.” He shoos me with his hand. I pick up my bag and walk off the boat, leaving the bag on the dock when I walk onto her boat and see her bag there on the deck. I knock before opening the door and spot her sitting at the table on her computer.
“You ready?” she asks, closing the laptop and sliding out. She’s wearing black jeans with a white tank top.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I deadpan, and she comes to me.
“It’s going to be amazing.” She looks up at me smiling, and somehow, I believe her. “And if it’s not, then fuck it, you come back here and keep doing what you’re doing.” I rub her arms. “Let’s go,” she says, and I just nod. “What time is the flight?” she asks as she locks her boat.
“I need to give them an hour's notice,” I tell her, and she just nods. I pick up her bag, joining her on the dock when I see her look over at my boat. “Where are you going?” I ask her, and she just looks over at me.
“I didn’t say goodbye to Beatrice,” she explains, walking inside the boat. I pick up both bags and wait for her to come back. She walks out of the cabin, wiping her face off. “I gave her a cookie, and she licked me from my shoulder to my forehead.”
We walk to her SUV, taking her keys out and pressing the hatch button. I place our bags in the back and sit in the passenger seat. “It’s weird,” she says beside me when she pulls out of the parking lot. “Usually, you are the one driving.”
I laugh at her, looking out the window, my heart in my throat. She puts her hand on my leg. “Don’t worry, I’m a good driver.” I smile over at her. “I’ve only hit one cyclist my whole life, and she didn’t do her stop.” I can’t help but laugh at that. “Cyclist stop signs are a thing.” She glares when my laughter gets louder.
I bring her hand to my lips as she makes her way to her house. “This is me,” she states, pointing to the beautiful brownstone. I follow her out of the car and up the steps, looking around at all the trees that line the street. It’s a quiet neighborhood, which you would never think exists in New York. The big black door opens when she turns the key, and she steps in.
She places her keys on the marble table in the hall, stepping up one step to the foyer. “This is your house?” I ask, shocked, looking around.
“Well, technically, my grandfather bought it for my mother when she started working for him. Then my parents lived here for a bit, then my aunt Allison moved in here. Then my aunt Zara,” she explains as I take in all the detail. “But for now, I live here.” She smiles. “Do you want something to drink?” I shake my head. “Okay, I’m going to show you something, but you can’t freak out.” She grabs my hand, dragging me to the stairs, where we walk up to the second level. I look over and see a bedroom, but instead of stopping, she walks up another level of stairs. When we get to the landing, there are three doors that are all closed. “Now, you promise not to make a big deal out of this?”
“Do you have a sex room?” I ask, my eyes going big, and she rolls her eyes.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what this is,” she snorts as she places her finger on the door, and it unlocks. I don’t know what I expect is behind that door, but it’s definitely not what shows up.
“This is my office,” she announces, and I take a step in. There are frames all over the walls from The New York Times list, along with frames of all her book covers.
“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I say, walking and looking at all the little trinkets she has. “This is all Lucinda stuff.” I look around and see little things that Lucinda had mentioned in the books. “This is…” I look around, spotting sweaters on the chair, and I can’t help but walk over.
“Those are from the publisher,” she shares. I pick up one of the sweatshirts and hold it open to see what is printed in the middle of it. Her pen name is on the front with the tagline, Lucinda Cartwether Solves Them All.
“I want one,” I say, looking down at the different colors. “I want them all.”
She shakes her head. “I’m going to go and pack. You can stay here for as long as you want.”
“I might ask to live in here,” I declare to her, not even joking. My heart that was so tight in my chest before is now beating normally, well, not that normal since I’m in this room. But the anxiousness is gone and in its place is a happy beating. She walks out of the room, leaving me alone in her treasure trove. “This is better than a sex room!” I shout out loud, and all I can hear is her laughter as she walks down the stairs.