Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
It’s so meta, I love it. But I love, too, that the pics make him happy.
When breakfast ends, I have some time before I meet the other photographer, so I make a quick decision—I can’t hold on to this necklace. It feels like it belongs to someone else. I take a bus to the Presidio and hike along Tennessee Hollow Trail until I find the lockbox I visited yesterday with Miles.
I try to remember the code, but he found it through an app. Dammit. I don’t even know what app he used. Crouching by the stream, I go to the app store and search for geocaching apps. There are five.
I sigh, downloading them one by one, and after ten minutes of setup with the first one, I plug in the location and find the cache. Well, lucky me on that count.
I click on the info and there it is—the code. I punch it into the lockbox as a curl of hope rises up in me. Maybe he left something for me this morning. A note? A trinket? A small token that would show yesterday mattered to him.
Stop it, Leighton. This is so ridiculous. I’m not that girl—the one who hopes for gifts from guys.
“Just move on,” I mutter.
I yank the box open…and it’s empty. The bracelet is gone. My heart sinks heavily, but really this is fine. This is so fine. The bracelet didn’t matter that much to me anyway.
But the necklace? It feels like it could have meant a lot. Like yesterday did. It’s a day I don’t want to forget. I have pictures of Miles and me in the studio, but none geocaching of course. That would have been too much to capture. I don’t want to forget it though—how I felt when we were together. Effervescent, hopeful, heady. Like everything was possible. I run a finger over the heart locket, tracing the grooves and ridges of the metal before I take my phone out and snap a picture.
Something to remember yesterday.
Then, I let it go so someone else can have it.
I take off the heart locket and set it inside the box, its weight lifting from my skin. I close the box, leaving the necklace—and Miles—behind.
10
THE ABRIDGED TALE
Miles
It’s not Birdie’s fault. Not even a little. But still, as my grandmother slides an espresso in front of me—an espresso that is not at all vile—I figure she needs to hear the story. Well, the abridged version—no way am I spilling every detail of yesterday to her or anyone.
“Best date of my life, and guess what?” I say, leaning in. I glance over my shoulder, scanning High Kick’s crowded tables. For what though? Coach McBride himself? The thought alone makes me shudder. But really, it’s for anyone who might know me through hockey. Wrong ears and all that.
I nod toward the back room, and Birdie doesn’t hesitate to follow. Once we’re away from the espresso machine buzz and the morning crowd’s chatter, I drop the bomb that still feels like it’s dropping on me. “She’s the coach’s daughter.”
Birdie freezes mid-step. “Shut your mouth.”
“I only wish I were lying.” I lift my arms in mock surrender, but my smile doesn’t reach my eyes.
“No, no, no,” she says, her brow furrowing as if she’s rewinding through every moment since she met Leighton, searching for hints she might’ve missed. “That can’t be right.”
“It is,” I confirm. “Some luck, huh? By the way, why the hell did you tell her I’m a chef?”
“Because I have to screen women for you, Miles! Make sure they’re interested in the real you.” She lifts her chin, looking a bit vindicated. But that’s my grandmother for you—she’s a lioness. Maybe because she’s the only grandmother who’s ever truly been in my life. My dad’s mother vanished right around the time he did. But Birdie’s always been there, from the days when I grew up in Seattle till our whole family moved down here. I get where she’s coming from with the dating—looking out for me and all, especially given how things ended with Joanne and the things my ex said to me when we were unraveling. Then again, I wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend at the end. I wasn’t “emotionally available,” as my ex liked to say. Well, she wasn’t wrong. My emotion during that time was singular—my priorities during that time were me. Selfish, sure. But I was a fucking mess about my knee, and I have the scar and eventual therapy bill to show for it. As well as a grandmother who likes to vet all romantic prospects to make sure they’re…compassionate.
Now, as if scolding herself, Birdie mutters, “But I guess I should’ve screened better this time. I’ll need to up my game if I’m going to gain admission into The Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society you spoke of. Just never thought I’d need to check for family ties to your boss.” She pauses, clearly still digesting this plot twist. “Really, the coach’s daughter? That’s bad.”