Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
She looks up, shooting Weaver a wide grin as he appears at my side. “And what about you, handsome? Would you like your palm read? Or do you still think you have it all figured out?”
I jerk my attention Weaver’s way, uncertain how he’ll handle Effie’s challenging words. But he doesn’t seem offended.
His lips actually tilt up as he says, “Not right now, thank you. We have dinner reservations in five minutes. But perhaps later. I certainly don’t have everything figured out. I thought I did.” He glances my way, his smile fading as he adds, “But I think those days are behind me.”
“Excellent,” Effie says, as I take Weaver’s offered hand and let him draw me to my feet beside him. “Go bravely into the unknown. You’ll be glad you did.”
“Thank you, have a good night.” I lift a hand in farewell as we move away, leaving Effie sitting peacefully in her big purple chair, waiting for her next customer.
“How was that?” Weaver asks, his hand at the small of my back as we cross the room.
“Good.” I purse my lips. “Or bad? Or sad? Maybe all three? I can’t really tell. I think I need some time to digest everything she said.”
He grunts. “I wouldn’t take any of it too seriously. People like that don’t have any more knowledge about the future than we do. They say frightening things to prey on people’s insecurities and keep them coming back for more.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not Effie, anyway. She didn’t say anything scary. She said good things, actually…assuming I don’t fuck them up.”
“As far as I can see, you’re not the type to fuck things up.” He passes my phone over. “Your pictures are incredible, by the way. You have serious talent, Ms. Sullivan.”
“Thank you.” My cheeks heat with pleasure as I tuck my cell back into my small purse. “But seriously, they’ll be way better once they’re processed. Editing is almost as important as getting the right shot in the first place.”
“Then I’d like to see them when they’re edited,” he says. “And to send a few shots of your choosing to Makai, a friend of mine in New York. He runs a photography gallery in the East Village. I think he’d be interested in your pieces. Especially the portraits of the old men down by the lobster boats.”
I look up at him, my eyes wide. “You went back that far?”
“I went back to the start of last summer,” he says. “The shots of your friends around the beach fire are stunning, too. You’ve captured the New England coast with an intimacy I haven’t seen before. It’s beautiful.”
My throat tightens as we join the line of people waiting to be seated for dinner. “Thank you.” I lean closer, brushing his hand with mine as I ask, “You really think my stuff is good enough to send to a gallery? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
“I’m not nice,” he says bluntly. “I thought you would have realized that by now.”
“But you are,” I say, my pulse picking up as I hold his piercing gaze. “You’re very nice and you make me feel…”
I trail off, my anxiety levels rising until my heart is pounding against my ribs and I’m on the verge of saying things I shouldn’t. I try to swallow, but my tongue is suddenly dry and feels too fat in my throat.
What was I thinking? Now isn’t the time to tell Weaver that I count the minutes until I get to see him again, that I think about him all the time, and that my first thought when something good happens lately, is that I can’t wait to share it with him.
He’s not stupid. He’ll know what all that means.
He’ll know that I’m falling in love with him.
I’m on the verge of faking a laugh and making a lame joke about being ready for a drink after the stress of knowing he’s scrolled through half my camera roll.
But before I can, his fingers curl around mine. “You make me feel, too.”
My throat squeezes even tighter, but I manage to force out a soft, “I do?”
“You do,” he confirms. “More than I have in a long time.”
And then we’re at the host stand, being guided down the long table to two seats at the very end, where another couple is already settled and private conversation is impossible.
But his words linger between us, charging the air every time our eyes meet.
We make small talk with the other diners and share our mutual appreciation of the lobster bisque and fantastic seafood risotto, but there’s something simmering beneath the words that wasn’t there before, an awareness that things are about to change.
If we’re brave enough to let them…
chapter 16
WEAVER
As soon as we’re done eating, I want to drag Sully out of the ballroom and up to our suite on the top floor, with the view of the harbor and a bathtub big enough for two. I’ve been fantasizing about having my way with her in that tub since I saw it on the hotel website.