Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Ugh.
I smack my hand against my face—then yelp when my forehead stings. “Ow!”
“I take it that’s a no,” Grandma says wryly.
“It didn’t come up, okay?” I rub my forehead. “I have his number but never got around to giving him mine.”
“You should correct that, hm?”
“He still won’t want to talk to me.”
“Eleanor Jacqueline Lark.” There it is. Not just my full name—which I share with her—but that grandma look over her glasses. Her mouth compresses. “Since when are you afraid to go after what you want? Regardless of the complexities or this man’s history, you like him, don’t you? You’re attracted to him?”
Annoyingly attracted. Ready to keel right over on the spot.
“I . . .” It’s mortifying to admit it out loud. But I can’t lie to Gran, especially not when she looks at me that way. “Maybe. Maybe, Gran. As much as you can like a guy when you barely know him. I mean, I get on his nerves, but it just makes me want to do it more because the way he grumps is so cute.”
With a satisfied smile, she nods. “Go on.”
“Like that one morning I spent with him. It was more fun than I’ve had in forever. And even if he is kind of a surly a-hole, he’s honestly a decent guy. He thinks about things other people don’t, and he just—he helps people like it’s the most natural thing ever, and then he calls it ‘practical.’ That tells me he’s someone worth getting to know. Never mind the weird way we met.”
“Hmm.” Grandma’s smile is pleased, almost secretive. “I do wonder if he’s able to see himself the way you do.”
I frown, tilting my head. “I don’t know? I’m not sure what that means, honestly. Like, you think he doesn’t realize he’s actually a good guy behind all the roughness?”
She nods heavily. “The good ones rarely do, dear. Those are the men who do what’s right because it’s in their nature. Not because they want a reward or a nice pat on the head.”
“Oh yeah. I get it.” And I can’t help how I smile, thinking of all the little things August did in just two days. “Yeah, I think that’s him.”
“Call him,” Grandma insists.
I wrinkle my nose at her. “I’ll text him.”
She sighs deeply. “You kids these days with your texts and tweets and Tic Tacs and toots.”
“. . . I don’t think Tic Tacs or toots are a thing, Gran.”
Laughing, I shake my head and lift up in my chair to wriggle my phone out of my jeans. I have August’s number saved in my phone under J.
Jet Daddy, of course.
I stall for a second, flipping through Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok. I want to delete my notifications in one quick swipe.
The onslaught has slowed down a bit, but it’s still more than any sane person can keep up with. I’ve given up on trying to read any of them. Half of them are pretty nasty anyway. I also haven’t posted anything in ages and have no desire, when it’ll just open me up to more criticisms from the worldwide peanut gallery.
Plus, some of the things they’ve hinted about August . . .
I know, I know.
I said I wouldn’t pry—and I mean it.
But the curiosity eats me alive, and reading those cryptic messages implying something bad is going to happen to me because of him?
I might not be able to resist forever.
Right now, though, I can’t stall any longer.
My notifications are cleared, no new emails, and just one text from Lena promising she’ll stop by after work tonight with takeout so we can watch a movie over Thai kebabs. Just like when we were kids and we had to keep it down and not scream at the scary movies so we wouldn’t wake up Gran.
Some things never change.
Weird how my life has come full circle while also turning into something insanely different.
I pull up his name and number, then tap a new text into that fresh, empty message window.
Hey. It’s Elle. It just hit me that I have your number, but you don’t have mine.
I’m expecting to get ignored.
So I set my phone down and reach for the unsorted puzzle pieces again, but I’ve barely picked one up before my phone vibrates, and my heart jumps.
Oh God, oh God.
Why are my palms sweating? Why am I snatching my phone up so quickly? Why is Gran looking at me like—
Okay, I know why she’s looking at me that way.
I scrunch my nose at her knowing little smile, then read the new text.
Jet Daddy: Useful. Thanks.
I let out a deep, dramatic groan, rolling my eyes and throwing my head back before thrusting my phone at Grandma.
“See? See?”
“He’s being polite and responding directly,” she retorts blandly. “If you want to talk about something else, say something interesting, girl.”