Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I wrinkle my nose as I inch past her. “I’m sorry, I really can’t. I promised my friend that we’d have time alone. She’s camera shy. But I’m all yours tomorrow, I promise. You can film me getting rubbed and scrubbed and pedicured to your heart’s content.”
Ainsley grins. “You know we will. I’m so jealous. That spa is supposed to be divine.”
“I’ll let you know,” I say, waving as I hurry out of the tent onto the sunny sidewalk outside. I glance around as I leave, looking for a sign of Leo, but he seems to have disappeared.
I shouldn’t be worried—that was the plan: for him to head out early and meet me uptown at two—but for some reason my stomach is in knots.
Maybe I’m worried about what he’ll think of my confrontation with Jenna, once he sees the footage?
Maybe I’m second-guessing the wisdom of playing hooky with my producer and lying to the rest of the cast about it?
Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m acting like a crazy person and haven’t so much as texted my best friend about it.
I take the subway uptown, but instead of walking toward the Metropolitan Museum of Art right away, I wander the quiet streets of the Upper East Side, collecting my thoughts before placing the call I’ve been avoiding.
Kayla answers on the first ring, hissing, “Tell me everything. Absolutely everything. Right now. I’m dying for an update. Dying! I couldn’t even enjoy decorating the gingerbread houses for the lobby this morning. Even the smell of icing couldn’t take my mind off the fact that my best friend is in New York, on the verge of becoming a reality television star, and she hasn’t texted me in two days. Two days, woman!”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling awful. “I’m the worst best friend ever.”
“No, you aren’t! I was just teasing.” She laughs. “I get it. I’m sure you’re crazy busy.”
“No, I’m just crazy,” I say, pulling in a breath and confessing everything.
I mean…everything.
I tell her about making out with Leo in the exhibition hall to make Chris jealous and discovering that panty-melting kisses are a real thing, after all. I tell her about our Pretty Woman-style shopping trip and our day on Governors Island and all the intimate things he’s shared with me and the intimate things I’ve shared with him. I tell her about the forehead kiss and the way just meeting his gaze across a crowded room makes me feel like I’m home and the fact that I already care more about this relative stranger than the man I dated for two years.
“Wow,” Kayla says when I stop to catch my breath.
“I know. I’m crazy. Love at first sight isn’t real! I must be having some sort of breakdown or something.”
“It’s not love at first sight,” she says. “It’s just…really fast love. Really fast love happens! Remember the Sackmans? They met in our lobby, fell in love during the Christmas cookie decorating class, and were married by the following summer. Five years later, they still book a room every December Twenty-Third to celebrate their fast love anniversary. Which reminds me, I need to find a special treat for their room. What’s the fifth anniversary? Fruit?”
“Wood. You should get them one of those hand-carved wooden bud vases from the country store,” I say, tugging open my coat as I continue to pace the sleepy streets. It’s nearly fifty degrees, another unusually warm December day I know Leo and I will enjoy to the fullest…if I can’t get Kayla to talk some sense into me. Fast.
“Yes, brilliant,” she says. “You’re always so good with gifts.”
“And bad with men,” I say. “Remind me that I have a horrible track record with men and that this one likely isn’t any different. Help me come to my senses before I’m so gone on this guy, I set off a bomb in the middle of my happy family.”
“What?” Kayla finally sounds worried. “Why would he set off a bomb in the middle of your family? Does he kick puppies or something? I mean, we already know he’s a cat dad, so he can’t be all bad.”
“About the cat,” I say, bracing myself for the really sticky part of this confession. “There’s something I didn’t tell you. About how Leo came to have the cat… He may have dated my cousin Vivian. For years.”
“Wh-what?” she stammers.
“Yes,” I continue, “and the cat was her cat, the one she said died and she buried in Central Park before leaving the city and her allegedly evil boyfriend behind.”
“What!” Kayla’s screech is loud enough to make me wince and pull my cell a few inches from my ear. “Oh my God. How did she explain the fact that he’s alive?”
“I don’t know.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I haven’t talked to her about any of this yet, but the cat is definitely Greg. There’s no doubt. I recognize the birthmark on his paw. If she lied about that, it follows she probably lied about other things, too. And Leo doesn’t seem evil. Not even a little bit. Maybe I’m being naïve, but I trust him.”