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)
River
The coffee shop is the same as it was a moment ago, but it all feels different. The windows still let in the sunlight and the beach breeze and the hum of traffic and conversation. Deanna is still sitting at the corner table, poised and powerful, sipping tea as she stares at the quiet street.
She’s still beautiful in ways I can explain as an artist.
Only she’s also appealing in a way I can’t explain. The way Lexi was. Is.
She doesn’t glow to the same extent her sister does. She’s not the sun. She’s the moon. Even in the daylight. She’s soft and shimmering and mysterious.
She breaks a square of chocolate, places it on her tongue, lets out a soft sigh. An I need this sigh. An I need you sigh.
It’s been too long.
I’m not usually a slave to my body’s demands. I don’t ignore my physical needs to the extent Deanna clearly does, but I tame them to focus on what matters.
Right now, they’re leading.
My body wants hers and that’s the only thing that matters.
I roll my shoulders as I approach the table. We’re here, for the afternoon.
I can enjoy that.
I will enjoy it.
Maybe she’s as correct as I am. Right now, I don’t feel a pull to Lexi. Right now, I want to be here. With Deanna.
She stirs as I slide into the seat across from her.
“Grandma ditched us,” I say.
She laughs. “Did she find someone to take home?”
“Something like that.”
She takes a long sip of her tea. Lets out another sigh of pure, deep pleasure.
My body whines in response. It’s out of patience. It’s ready to be inside her.
Not happening.
I need to focus on something else. Anything else. Say, my mission here. “Do you want to believe in love?”
“So we’re starting with softballs?”
My laugh is easy on my tongue, but it does nothing to erase the sexual tension in the air.
It hits a whole other nerve.
“You don’t like small talk,” I say.
She nods. “It would make my life easier. I wouldn’t have to give investors a speech about my parents’ perfect marriage and my drive to help other people find the same.”
“It isn’t true?”
“Nothing is perfect.”
“Besides the tea,” I say.
“Even that.” She takes a long sip. “But the imperfections make it more perfect.”
I get that. “It’s the same in art. The imperfections are what make something beautiful. Like this.” I brush a hair behind her ear.
She turns her head to one side, soaking up the gesture.
“The way your hair is always falling to your cheek, defying your attempt to keep it in a neat line.”
“That’s beautiful?” she asks.
Sexy as fuck. “Very.”
“I’m not sure most people would call that an imperfection.”
“Most people don’t know someone as put together as Deanna Huntington.”
She holds my gaze. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“An observation.”
“I’m not as tough as I look.” She takes another sip of tea. “It fools people. It fools Lexi and Dad. And it fooled my ex-boyfriend, too.”
“Stephan?”
She nods. “He wanted someone softer. Someone with vulnerability. It was there. It was always there. He just didn’t see it.”
“Maybe you didn’t let him.”
She doesn’t respond to the accusation. “That’s why I made the app.” She laughs. “It sounds pathetic, that way. I made the app because I got dumped.”
“Like Stevie Nicks.”
She raises a brow.
“Turning your pain into success.”
“I guess so.” Her smile is sad. “I wish I could tell Mom that. ‘Look, I’m doing a Fleetwood Mac. I’m taking my heartbreak and spinning it into gold.’ You don’t spin gold. Silk. Something. I don’t know.” She looks out the window, watching the world outside.
“You miss her?”
“Every day. People think money buys happiness. And money is great. You know that. You didn’t always have this life. Before you moved in with Ida…”
I nod. I grew up with a very different life. Even though we were only fifty miles away, we were on another planet. One with small apartments and overdue bills and store-brand mac n’ cheese for dinner.
“I know your grandma isn’t rich the way my dad is rich. She bought the house a long time ago, before it was worth millions. And it’s one lot. Not three.” She laughs. “Did Dad ever tell you that? How the city was willing to build a property over two lots, but not three?”
“When would he tell me that?”
She nods as if to say right. “He’s used to getting what he wants. And he was that way with Mom, but he was different, too. He wanted what she wanted. And she wanted what he wanted.”
“They never clashed?”
“They clashed, sure, but they never let it get to them. Or maybe I was too young to see it. Maybe they hid it well. I don’t know.” She breaks off another square of chocolate. “What the hell was I just saying?”
“Your dad didn’t hand you the keys to the kingdom.”