Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
I’d heard a lot of names applied to me, both by people who knew me and people who didn’t. And it was jarring to realize that few of those names applied. Nobody knew me. I wasn’t the spoiled party girl I’d been. I wasn’t the kickass, financially independent coder I wanted to be. I didn’t know who I was. So, no one did.
Except that wasn’t true. Hawk knew me. Quinn knew me. Griffen knew me. Forrest knew me. But not all of me. Because Hawk was right—I was hiding the truth because I was scared.
I looked at the backpack at my feet, then back to Forrest, who patiently waited for an answer. I thought I loved him. I thought I’d forgiven him. But if that was all true, why didn’t I just tell him?
I ran through it in my head. I’ve been studying coding, and it turns out I’m pretty good at it. And Hawk wants me to talk to Lucas and Emmett because I’m interested in cybersecurity, and they can give me advice.
The words sounded fake, like anyone who heard me say them would bust out laughing. Sterling Sawyer? The girl with the big boobs and the blonde hair who threw great parties and could drink the guys under the table? That girl is into coding? Not likely.
I pressed my lips together and felt a stab of remorse. After everything I’d put Forrest through for lying to me, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth. It was still too new, too raw. And I couldn’t risk him laughing, even if I thought it unlikely he would.
I opened my mouth, and instead of telling Forrest why I’d hugged Hawk, I lied. “Just wedding planning stuff,” I said casually. “Hawk is really sweet, building the arbor for Quinn. It’s going to be small, but I want to make it perfect for them.”
Not entirely a lie. All of that was true, just not what we’d been talking about. Did the tiniest bit of relief cross Forrest’s face? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t feel relieved. I felt a little sick.
All my demands for honesty and I folded as soon as my pride was at risk. But I didn’t want to be laughed at. I wasn’t missing the irony. I had made so many poor choices and refused to be embarrassed by them. Now I’d made a smart choice—to finally apply my brain to something I was good at—and the idea of telling anyone paralyzed me.
It was a lot more painful to be laughed at for trying, for reaching for something I cared about, than to be laughed at for not doing anything. I couldn’t fail if I didn’t try, right? But now—now I was fucking trying. And it was terrifying.
I snuck a sideways glance at Forrest. “What?” I asked, seeing something in his eyes that said he wasn’t done.
“Do you ever think about coming back to work at the inn? Doing what you were doing before? Working in event planning?”
I shook my head, feeling even worse about my lie. “No,” I replied. “It was fun. I learned a lot, and I think I’m good at it, but it’s not what I want to do. Too many people, always having to be on. And I like being in charge of my own schedule.” All of that was true, but it wasn’t the whole truth.
I should tell him, give him the honesty I demanded of him. I half opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, pulled up my phone, and went to the board of pictures I’d been collecting for the wedding. It didn’t make me feel like less of a wuss, but at least it made what I’d said about Hawk a little more true.
Hawk was making progress on the arbor, which meant I had to get my butt in gear. Just because they didn’t want fancy didn’t mean I couldn’t pull together something special.
The miles flew by, Forrest playing DJ. We’d always shared taste in music, so I had no objection. I scrolled through idea boards, occasionally showing things to Forrest and asking his opinion. He wasn’t into fashion or decorating, but he had a good sense of style.
That was one of the first things I’d noticed about him when he’d started working at the inn—he didn’t look like he spent an hour getting dressed every morning, but he always looked good. The kind of good that told me he might worry about coordinating his socks with his ties, but he put thought into the things he chose to have around him and on his body, and he cared enough to get it right.
He agreed with almost all of my choices for the wedding. I teased him with a pic of hot pink tulle swags, but he just looked at me and shook his head with a curl to the side of his mouth. “I don’t think Hawk would go for that,” he said dryly, and I giggled, knowing he was right.