Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“Then I’ll see other guys, realize they’re not as compatible, see the light.” She tries to speak my language, but she doesn’t quite understand it. She doesn’t see relationships the way I do. Few people do.
“If you don’t?” I ask.
“Dee, you worry too much.” She pats me on the back and returns to fixing her cosmo. “Now, have you seen River? I’m sure he’s looking for me.” She pulls out her cell phone and sets it next to her cocktail shaker. “Do you want, one too?”
My stomach gnaws at me while I watch her add vodka and ice, close the lid, shake. She pulls two martini glasses from the freezer and strains.
She pushes one to me, even though I didn’t say yes. “How about a toast then?”
“To…?”
“Possibilities.”
Okay, that confirms it. She’s looking for River for one reason. And I need to stop her, before she makes a mistake.
I have to look out for her.
And the app.
This is our future. Not just mine. Ours. But how? I’m not good at solving problems on the fly. I need time to plan and strategize.
So I do the only thing I can think of.
I take my glass, I raise to toast, I tap my glass against hers, and I tilt it forward, so it sprays all over her dress, legs, and shoes. It’s not the smartest or most effective delay, but it’s something.
“Dee!” Lexi drops her glass as she jumps back. “What the fuck?”
“Sorry. Butterfingers.”
She looks at her dress, now stained a darker shade of pink in unusual splotches. “Shit. I better change. But I’m supposed to…” She looks to the house next door again.
“Meet River?”
“I know you don’t approve,” she says.
“No.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “You’re right. You should see what else is out there. So that you know for sure Jake is it.”
“I should?”
“Yeah. You change. I, uh…”
“You’ll stall him,” she finishes my sentence. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable.”
No. That’s perfect. “Where are you two going?”
“Why would we be going anywhere? I only invited him to the party.”
“Lexi.”
She swallows hard. “Okay, fine, you got me. I texted him to meet me at the park,” she says. “You’ll really stall him?”
“Of course,” I say. “I just need your keys.”
“My keys?”
“Yeah.” Why do I need her keys? That’s not a very good claim. “My car is charging. And I can’t keep him here. Not where Willa could see the two of you get together.”
She nods, somehow following my half-baked logic. Because how the hell would Willa know the difference between River and Jake? This whole situation is running on nonsense.
“I’ll take him to a bar,” I tell her, “keep him comfortable while he waits. You do need to talk to Willa, anyway. Explain why Jake isn’t here.”
“Shit.”
“Tell her he got food poisoning,” I say. “Talk up the app. I can manage an hour or two of friendliness with River.”
“Can you?”
“Hey. When we were teens, I talked to him more than you did.” That wasn’t hard to do, since she had zero conversations with him, but I keep that to myself. “This won’t even ping his radar, I promise. Just two old friends catching up.” Okay, friends might be stretching it.
Lexi smiles, but she drops it quickly. “Are you sure?”
“A favor for a favor,” I say. “You can owe me one.”
She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me, but she hands me the keys anyway.
Chapter Six
River
After an afternoon of reminiscing about family, Grandma and I spend the evening reminiscing about her favorite topic: work. The rainy spring break trip to the city, the one where we first encountered the independent bookstore without a romance section.
The manager refused to carry a romance or erotica section, even when she offered to send him a box of books. Signed books. Out of print signed books.
He was unmoved by her pictures with Fabio. Can you believe it? (As if I hadn’t been there, observing every moment.) Even when she offered to get him on Fabio’s Christmas card list. He’s really a sweet guy, you know. I taught him a thing or two back in the day. Writing skills, of course. That was before my husband passed. If I knew him now…
The snowy Christmas she spent on my couch in New York, trying to coach my hopeless roommate into finishing a single project. Thanks to her many connections, I live in the city rent free. As long as I help her rich friend’s son work on his creative projects, I can stay. The guy is never around. He’s always partying in Rome or Ibiza, but for some reason, his parents are happy just to have me there as a “good influence.”
Then it’s the summer we spent in Italy, at another famous writer’s vacation home. She refers to his genre (adventure) and skill (middling) as if I didn’t meet the guy, and his wife, and hear way too many stories about their middling adventures, sometimes with my grandma.