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)
Sheepishly, I nod. “Yes. It is.”
He stops in his tracks. “Shit. My bad. I should have asked you first.”
Whoa. He’s playing the sensitive brewer. Interesting. Kind of clever. “It’s okay,” I reassure. “I like trying new things.”
He hooks a thumb toward the parking lot. “You positive? We can do something else. Mini golf, roller skating. There’s a sweet roller rink a few towns over that plays retro tunes.”
Like the kind you like?
But I can’t say that since he’s not being Monroe right now. “I swear I’m good with this.”
He wipes his brow exaggeratedly. “Whew.” We reach the track. “Now, I don’t want to be a mansplainer or anything, so just kick me in the shins if I get toxic. But here are a few good guidelines,” he says, and I fight like hell to rein in a grin. He’s nailing the emotionally aware side of this guy. I’m not even sure the real Dashiell is this thoughtful. Or that there were green flags in his bio to suggest he was. But it’s endearing to see Monroe play this part, so I listen as he shares some tips.
Then I strap on my helmet and hop into the go-kart.
An hour later, I’m beaming as I rip off my helmet. “That was so fun,” I say, pulse still racing as I offer Monroe/Dashiell a high-five.
“You did great. You’re a natural,” he says, smacking back. He gives a hopeful smile. “Burger and a brew?”
“Let’s do it.”
We head to the outdoor burger shack next to the go-karts, then grab a picnic table once we have our food—a veggie burger for me, and a chicken patty for him.
We shoot the breeze for a bit as we nosh, then he sets down the remains of his sandwich and asks, “So, you’re a breakup party planner? That’s fascinating. How’d you get into that?”
I reach for a napkin, then wipe the corner of my mouth. “I’d always loved celebrations growing up. Any kind of party was my jam. But I didn’t know exactly what it would entail, so after I spent the summer working in a bookstore and sending out my resume, I landed a more typical job at a marketing firm.”
The summer I met you again.
“Then I got kind of lucky with a client,” I add.
“How so?”
“She was a party planner who wanted us to market her on social media. I worked with her closely and she took me under her wing and became a mentor of sorts when I was ready to make the jump to do it on my own. At first, I thought I would do the more typical events—award ceremonies, graduation parties, fancy birthday fiestas. But I did one divorce party, and I was hooked. All because of the guests. The women had the best time.”
We’re surrounded by other go-karters at picnic tables, but the way Monroe’s eyes are locked on mine, it’s as if we’re the only ones here. “Was that the moment you knew it was what you wanted to do?” he asks.
I can still recall that party at a wine bar, the camaraderie, the sheer friendship and support palpable in the room. “Absolutely. It felt right,” I say, enthused by the memory. “I started to plan more parties and then it just took off.”
“What kinds of breakup parties do your clients want?”
“I’ve done so many kinds. I did a party where the guest of honor wanted to redecorate her home. We started by putting paper on her walls and her guests wrote their wishes for the next phase of her life. It was kind of beautiful,” I say, emotion gripping my throat briefly as I picture that party and the women who came together to help their bestie move on to the next phase of her life. “Another was a makeover theme. We hired makeup artists and all the guests had super glam makeup done and then went out to sing karaoke in their best sparkly outfits.”
His smile is as festive as that night was. “And did that help her move on?”
Proudly, I nod. “I actually had lunch with that client a few weeks ago. She met a new man and she’s happily dating again.”
Like me.
At least, I’m happily dating now. As in…this second.
Because this is the best date I’ve been on in a long time. So good in fact, that I call a timeout. “Jumanji.”
Monroe dips his face, chuckling. When he raises it, he doesn’t look any different though. But what did I expect? A transformation? “Yes, Juliet?”
Ah, there’s that controlled, dry sense of humor I know so well. “I’m having a good time. Dashiell is so open and interested. Attentive and curious,” I say, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“And what’s the problem?”
“I don’t actually see this guy’s flags?”
Monroe nods a few times, his expression hard to decipher. With a sigh, he shrugs. “I stopped acting half an hour ago.”