Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Almost. Because I know for certain Sam wants to sleep with me, and I can’t get that out of my mind.
“We still have a few weeks left,” I tell him, putting my empty glass on the table. “It’s not too late to buy a costume online and go.”
“But getting the time off work,” Sam starts, and I laugh, knowing he’s full of shit. “That might be tricky.”
“Bullshit,” I laugh. “You just told me you get several days off every month, and that always includes a weekend. You’re just scared.”
“I am not,” Sam counters.
“Then put on some tights and come to the Renaissance Faire with me.”
“What are you wearing?” Sam’s blue eyes glimmer and warmth rushes through me yet again. I take a slow breath and purposely look away from Sam, needing a quick second to recover. Things are surreal right now, and I’ve never been so confused while having this much fun before in my life, and that includes the time Charles and I accidentally ate edibles thinking they were plain gummy bears.
“Depends on the theme of the day.” The waiter comes over and refills my water glass and takes the empty bowl of artichoke dip, which was good, but nowhere near as good as the dip Mrs. Harris makes.
“There are themes of the day?” he asks with a chuckle.
“Don’t laugh!” I playfully nudge his hand, which is on the table near mine. “And yes, there are. Here, I’ll show you.” I grab my phone and scroll through photos. “Not every day is themed, but there are a few themed days a month.”
“A month? How long does this fair go?”
“From Fourth of July to Labor Day. But only on the weekends, which really isn’t that long.”
“I suppose not. And you go every year?”
I shake my head. “Only if I get back this way. The one in California runs at a different time.” I hold out my phone, showing Sam a photo of me with a few of my LA friends at the Ren Faire in California last year. We’re all dressed like belly dancers with matching outfits.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and I don’t think he intended for me to hear. “You look good here, Chloe. Really good. Do you still, uh, have that outfit?”
“I did, but I forgot to pack it this trip.”
“Darn.”
“Right?”
We both laugh, and I lean back, letting out a heavy breath. I’ve had to pee since I got here and have really had to pee for the last fifteen minutes or so. I didn’t want to say so to Sam for some dumb reason, but it’s either excuse myself to do a very human thing and use the bathroom or risk peeing my pants, which would—in the end—be much worse than just telling him I have to pee in the first place.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, pushing my phone and glass to the middle of the table. “I have to use the bathroom. Don’t dine and dash on me.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” Sam says with a wink as I walk away. My shoulder aches again, and I stretch my arms out in front of me, trying to get rid of the charley horse that’s now plaguing my back. I make a face and reach behind me with one hand, trying to massage the knot out of my muscles.
The bathroom is on the first floor, and I’m glad I’m in gym shoes and not heels as I hurry down, and am thankful for no line when I get in, going right to a stall.
“Oh, hey, Chloe,” someone says when I’m done with the toilet and go to the sink to wash my hands. It’s Tiffany, Sam’s old high school girlfriend.
“Hey, Tiffany.”
She’s at the sink next to me and just finished washing her hands. She shakes the water from her fingers and grabs a paper towel from the basket on the counter. “You are so pretty.”
“Thanks,” I say back, and take a look at my reflection. I’m in my favorite workout outfit today, and my hair, which is damp from sweating, hangs in natural waves around my face. Usually, I don’t like my reflection without makeup, but maybe the lighting in here is really good—or really bad—and it’s hiding my imperfections. “You are too.”
Tiffany lets out a snort of laughter. “You don’t have to lie. I gained a lot of weight since my last baby.” Her words slur a bit.
“I didn’t notice,” I say honestly. “You look happy, though, and that’s just as important, if not more than looking good.”
“True, and I am happy.” She gives me a goony smile. “Thomas is a good guy.” She must be talking about her husband. “And such a good dad.”
“I’m happy for you.” I bring my hands back, letting the automatic water shut off.
“And I’m happy for you.”