Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
She shakes her head. “You were doing so good, Sinclair, then that lie popped out. You’ve thought about it. The first step is admitting it.”
I glance toward a server approaching our table. “I’m going to order a big bottle of red wine. It’ll be my treat.”
“You can’t drink away your fantasies,” she says. “I know. I tried to do that when I was working for Dominick.”
I pat her hand. “I’m not drinking away anything. I’m enjoying a night out with one of my best friends.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Promise me that you’ll think about making up with him.”
I look at the server again. “I can promise that I’m about to order a juicy steak with a loaded baked potato.”
“I’ll have the same,” she tells me. “And when you’re ready to talk about your real feelings for Jameson, I’m here.”
That will never happen because my real feelings for Jameson are anger and disappointment. Even if the crush I had on him still existed, it would be so deeply buried under pain that it would never see the light of day again.
“I had no idea that you like crème brûlée.” Arietta twirls the spoon in her hand in a tight circle before tapping it to the top of the decadent dessert our server just placed in front of us.
I glance down at it. “I used to like it.”
The truth is that it’s always been my favorite, but I haven’t ordered it since Jameson left New York. That’s because he was the only person I ever shared it with.
When we were teenagers, we’d often hit up a hot dog stand for dinner, and then afterward, we’d head to the Upper West Side to a bakery that makes the most incredible crème brûlée.
Jameson would always order one with two spoons, and we’d sit at a table by the window, watching the people of the city pass us by as we shared our dessert.
Arietta breaks through the sugary crust to scoop up a bite of the creamy custard. When it disappears between her lips, she lets out a soft moan. “This is heavenly, Sinclair. Try it.”
I lean to the left to peer over her shoulder to where Jameson is sitting. Since the dessert is courtesy of him, I toss him a nod.
He responds with a soft smile.
“You’re staring at him, aren’t you?” Arietta whispers. “You do realize that you look at him the same way I look at Dominick, right?”
Shoving my spoon into the dessert, I laugh. “Not even close, Arietta.”
“Liar,” she accuses. “The first step in accepting that Jameson is your person is being honest with yourself. You like him. You like him a lot.”
“I hate him,” I snap before I take my first bite of the crème brûlée.
It’s divine, but it can’t compare to the ones I used to share with Jameson.
“Lie number two,” she quips with two fingers wiggling in the air. “This is really good, isn’t it?”
I watch her take another bite.
My eyes catch on movement over her shoulder. I glance toward Jameson to see him pushing to his feet.
There’s a very good chance that he’s headed back to Denia’s penthouse.
I had hoped I’d beat him there so I could pull another disappearing act by hiding in my room, but I can’t keep that up forever.
“Is he leaving?” Arietta questions.
I nod in response.
She sets her spoon down on the table. “I’d get up and go thank him, but you might disown me as a friend.”
I laugh. “I might.”
“You’ll tell him how grateful I am that he sent us dessert,” she says matter-of-factly.
I stare at her. “That would involve me talking to him. I don’t want to do that.”
With a smile playing on her lips, she tilts her head to the side. “Exactly. Thank him for me when you get home, Sinclair. Promise that you will.”
I study her face. “Is this your way of trying to get us together?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “You’ll never know. You’ll do it, right? You’ll tell him how much I appreciate it?”
“All right. I’ll do it,” I reluctantly agree. “But that’s all I’ll say to him tonight.”
She grins like she just scored the winning point in a championship game. “Every great love story has to start or, in your case, restart somewhere, so that happens tonight.”
I don’t argue with her because it’s pointless. My story with Jameson ended two years ago. This next month is an epilogue that won’t have a happy ending.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jameson
I thought about racing home from the restaurant so I could be sitting in wait for Sinclair, but I opted for a walk through Central Park instead.
When I was a kid, my parents warned me not to step foot into the massive park at night. That only ever served to spur my curiosity. By the time I was twelve years old, I’d sneak out after lights out, head over to Kalon’s with a flashlight in my pocket, and convince him to wander the park with me.