Total pages in book: 225
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 218500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1093(@200wpm)___ 874(@250wpm)___ 728(@300wpm)
“Pardon?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I know your friend works in the building my nightclub Downtown is in.”
“She works for a law firm on the eighth floor. How’d you know?”
“She’s a regular. Slipped me her number once.”
I blink in surprise.
“Never considered using it,” he adds.
I stare at him and say nothing.
“Your marketing company is where?” he prompts.
“I telecommute. They don’t have a bricks and mortar location. The team is sprinkled throughout North America, the UK, Australia.”
“Ah. My father isn’t too happy the work-from-home trend is picking up steam. He has a number of commercial real estate holdings.”
“Is the current trend making him evaluate what he uses his buildings for?”
“Yes, in fact. He’s selling his largest one in Cleveland to be repurposed for low-income housing. He’s having one of the buildings here converted to condominiums as leases run out. Something I’m not thrilled with.”
“Why is that?”
“My siblings and I have suites on the top floor. Means we’ll have neighbors.”
I laugh. “Not a fan of neighbors that aren’t your family members?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Not a fan of neighbors, period, particularly my family.”
I nod. “Small family so I can’t relate. Big family?”
“Too big,” he says, spooning up more soup.
“I always imagined living in a place where you could see but not hear your next-door neighbors. Like my parents. All the homes on their street have one acre lots, they’re old homes with character, from back before developers put people on postage-stamp sized lots with all the houses exactly the same. Still close enough to say hello to people, though. To look out for one another. For kids to grow up playing together on a street. For neighbors to look in on one another if someone’s alone or elderly, you know?”
“Hm,” he murmurs, “Tell me about your digs here in Columbus. Not like your folks’ place, I take it.”
“Oh, uh, my fiancé and I just bought a townhome together. Not really my style. Kind of too modern and small, only a little patio for a yard. Front porch not big enough to put a nice swing on. No room for all the fruit trees out back like I’d wanted, but it was for practical reasons.” I shrug.
“I see,” he says, and takes another spoonful of his soup.
He doesn’t ask questions and I’m relieved. He probably thinks we just bought an entry-level home we could afford. I don’t typically blurt my business and I’m surprised I’ve said as much as I’ve already said. I’m stopping myself from explaining that my fiancé lost the use of his legs recently and that’s why we bought a one level rowhouse when I’ve always dreamed of living in a big home with all sorts of character including a wraparound porch, grand staircase, and a yard big enough to have a football game in. Like that house I’ve been watching that we can’t afford and that’s come off the market. Just as well, I guess. I’ve stopped dreaming about raising a family there.
I eat more of my soup, but I’m feeling self-conscious. He’s eating his soup, too, but he’s also studying me.
I feel a little stumped. Because if I encourage conversation, will he think the wrong thing? I can’t just sit here and say nothing.
My phone buzzes and I quickly reach for it, relieved that I’ve now got an excuse to make a quick exit.
“Excuse me a second,” I say to Derek as I read it.
Dad: What’s my Wi-Fi password, kiddo? Got a new phone.
I reply.
I taped it to the upper inside of the drawer in the table where you keep the remote controls.
I stare at my screen a moment, waiting to see if he replies. He does.
Dad: Thanks. All good with you?
I reply with a smiley face and another line saying,
We should catch up soon.
He replies with a thumbs up.
I tuck my phone away and loop my bag over my shoulder.
“I’m gonna have to go. Something’s come up.” I wave to Mr. Nguyen and move in that direction with my wallet. “Could I have a take-out container and a raised chocolate donut to go, please?”
“Of course,” he calls out and rings me up.
After I pay for my food, three people come in, so he tells me he’ll bring me the container and my donut in a moment.
I move back to a watching and waiting Derek Steele, who has his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting on his palm.
“Don’t forget your book,” he says.
“I’d like to give you the money for it,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “Book report.”
I roll my eyes. “How am I supposed to deliver a book report to you?”
“It won’t be difficult,” he states with a salacious look in his eyes.
I laugh it off, feeling uncomfortable. I’m not sure what that means, but I don’t ask. Instead, I put the book into my bag and sop up stray soup drips from the table with a napkin, studiously avoiding Derek’s eyes, even though I know he’s still watching me.