Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I nod, taking that all in, developing my plan for this guy. “Got it.”
She frowns. “What is it? You think I made a mistake picking him?”
My heart aches for her even though she’ll never meet him in real life. And yet, I want to punch Jared through the screen. “I think you picked who you liked,” I say, evenly.
“So you’ll be Jared?”
“I will definitely, absolutely be Jared.”
A sigh of relief comes from her. Then, she goes thoughtful. “But we should have a safe word.”
My eyebrows rise in excitement. Another part starts to rise too. “What kind of safe word?” I ask, laying on the gruff tone for fun.
She slugs my arm. That’s not the turn-off she thinks it is. “I mean, a safe word if I need you to be you,” she says.
“Ah, so like when you want to summon me?”
“Yes, like in a game of Jumanji,” she says, dryly.
“Then Jumanji will be our safe word.”
“Jumanji it is.”
I check the time on my phone. “I need to take off, but I’ll text you the date plan,” I say, then share a few more details on how I want to meet up with her.
“Sounds like a plan, dating coach,” she says, and she sounds excited about tonight.
That makes two of us. I leave the sitting room but stop in the doorway, turning back to look at her one more time as she lounges on the pink satin. “You should keep that chaise. It suits you.”
Then, I leave and head to a men’s store a few towns away.
Well, I need a suit. Jared would definitely wear a suit on a date. I’m going to look so much better in one than Jared ever would.
15
SLOW DATING
As I read the text from Monroe in the early evening, I’m shaking my head in admiration.
Monroe: Hey. It’s Jared. Want to meet at Prohibition Spirit at seven-thirty? I’ll be the guy in the suit at the bar. Coming straight from the office. I was nonstop all day.
Of course there’s a whiskey bar in Darling Springs. Of course that’s what Jared would pick too. Well played, Monroe.
Jared, real estate broker, would also use zero exclamation points, and he’d schedule drop, weaving in a mention of how busy he is.
But I don’t mind. One, I like suits. Two, I like men who aren’t lazy. Three, I prefer when guys take a little initiative. Monroe probably doesn’t even realize he just won points with me.
Well, Monroe’s Jared did.
As I head to my suitcase on the floor of the bedroom, I tap out a reply.
Juliet: Sounds great! I’ll be there!
I hunt through my bag for something to wear to a whiskey bar, when…fuck. I didn’t pack for a date. I only had that yellow sundress I wore last night. I brought it because I figured I’d want one cute little thing. But I don’t have two cute things.
I whip my gaze to the cat clock on the wall. The black tail twitches ominously. It’s six.
I paw through my bag, just in case I accidentally packed something pretty enough. But nope. I only have jeans, leggings, and casual tops. I don’t even have time to hop on a bike and ride into town to find something at Second Time Around. Monroe has the car. He said before he left that he’d meet me at the date location, and that I should take a Lyft there. “We want tonight to be as date-like as possible,” he said.
Then, he installed his credit card on my ride-share app, so he could pay for the ride. Which was not at all date-like, but which I loved, nonetheless.
Trouble is, now I’m staring at a suitcase of unsuitable clothes, tapping my toe, trying to figure out what will look good for a whiskey bar date with a guy in a suit.
“Oh well,” I say, grabbing a snug, white tank top. “Casual is the new black.”
But as I head to the bathroom to take a quick shower, an idea strikes me, and I let a sly smile take over.
Eleanor Longswallow would never let me down.
I thank and tip the Lyft driver, then walk up the stone path that meanders through overgrown gardens to Prohibition Spirit. It’s right on the edge of town, not far from the beach. The door is a deep, rich red and the windows are up high, near the ceiling. Too high to see through. It’s impressive, this speakeasy vibe from the outside.
I take a deep breath, drawing in warm summer air tinged with a salty sea breeze. But I still feel…jangly, with nerves hopping left and right. I hope this outfit isn’t a mistake. I hope this whole dating experiment isn’t a mistake.
I smooth a hand over the satin corset I found in Eleanor’s closet of sexy wonders. It’s black, tight, and hot. No idea how vintage it is, but I’m just grateful Eleanor and I fit in the same clothes. I also sprayed a tiny dab of my vanilla and honey perfume on the corset, and voila. It doesn’t smell like a closet. It smells like me.