Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Your neighbors?” I ask with skepticism edging my tone. “You’re going to need to expand on that.”
Shaking her head, she unzips her coat to reveal a bright blue blouse. “Four kids from NYU moved into the apartment next to mine. Let’s just say that they take advantage of weekends.”
I chuckle. “They party the entire weekend?”
“I think they do it in shifts.” She laughs. “Writing here works better for me. As long as you don’t mind.”
I glance at her desk. “I don’t mind at all. Do you need anything?”
She slips off her coat. “All I need is a couple of quiet hours to get a few hundred words in.”
I can take a hint. “I’ll head home.”
With a hand on her laptop bag, she glances at me. “Don’t rush out on my account.”
“I’m not,” I say. “As you reminded me, I can read that manuscript at home. My neighbors are retired.”
“I’m jealous.” She smiles. “I’ll see you on Monday, Berk.”
“You bet.” I turn back to my office. “I’ll grab my phone and keys and get out of your way.”
“I’m always here if you want to talk about her,” she calls after me.
I don’t touch that. I see no reason to talk to her or anyone about Astrid. For all I know, we’ll go on another date, end up in bed together, and that will be the end of our story.
I learned a long time ago that the only person who thinks he can predict the future is a fool.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Berk
I stand in Stevie’s bedroom as she finishes sorting through her large collection of stuffed animals. She used to sleep with at least a dozen on her bed, but since her ninth birthday, she’s limited that to two a night. Budley always makes the cut.
“Did you order dessert last night, Daddy?”
I smile. I’ve been waiting for her to ask about that.
When I walked over to pick her up from Keats and Maren’s house this afternoon, they asked if I wanted to stay for an early dinner.
I didn’t turn that down.
We feasted on roast chicken, baked potatoes, and steamed broccoli. Maren had ordered an array of cupcakes from a bakery in Brooklyn.
Stevie took her time choosing one and then screamed in delight when Maren packed an extra one for dessert for tomorrow.
I try to limit the sugar she consumes, but a treat a couple of times a week is just the right balance since I’m always putting fruits, vegetables, and everything I can find that’s healthy on my daughter’s plate.
“I did,” I confess. “I ordered a few.”
That spins her around to face me. “Good or not good?”
I take a second to answer, so she thinks I’m giving this some careful thought. “Good.”
Pushing her hair behind her shoulders, she tilts her chin. “It’s a fancy place, isn’t it?”
“Pretty fancy,” I admit.
“Too fancy for a girl and her dad to have dinner on a Wednesday night?”
It would seem that my daughter is making plans.
“It’s never too fancy for us.” I scratch my chin. “Do you have a particular Wednesday night in mind?”
She nods. “A Wednesday next month.”
“Not this month?”
“Next,” she states clearly. “Keats is teaching me piano every Wednesday this month, so let’s do it next month. My schedule is more open.”
“What about another night of the week?” I propose. “Say a Friday or Saturday night?”
She shakes her head. “I’m going to sleep at Auntie Maren’s again next Friday so we can watch more of the funny show we both like, and on Saturday nights, I do my homework, so I don’t have to do it on Sunday.”
I struggle to hold in a chuckle. “We’ll circle back to this discussion in a couple of weeks and see when you can fit me in for our fancy dinner.”
“Deal,” she says with a sharp nod of her chin as she plucks a stuffed penguin out of the pile. “I’ll get into bed so I can tell you a goodnight story, Daddy.”
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
It’s bright and early Monday morning, and I’m stepping off the subway at the spot where I know Astrid sometimes rests her guitar case so she can treat the morning commuters to a mini-concert to start their days.
As soon as I dropped Stevie off at school, I made my way here, hoping that I’d get a chance to see the woman who has been invading my thoughts since I saw her on Friday night.
I spot her almost immediately.
She’s standing not far from where I’ve seen her before. The song she’s singing is more upbeat than anything I’ve heard her sing.
People are gathered around her, some moving to the tune. Others have their phones out to record the perfection that they’re witnessing.
I approach her with sure steps.
I’m back in a suit today for a mid-morning meeting with the agent of the romance novelist that I discussed with Mrs. Hosek last week. I plan on having her in the meeting with me. One day I’ll publish my former teacher’s manuscript, so I want her privy to the ins and outs of negotiating a contract.