Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I press on, excusing myself as I have to physically push in between people to close the distance between us.
I approach from behind, and I steel my nerves against the quaking power of how strong he looks in his suit.
I’ve just lifted a finger to tap him on the shoulder—I’m so close, I can smell the scent of his woodsy, fresh, amber-warm cologne—when a redheaded woman ten feet in front of him affectionately shouts, “Paging Dr. Philips!”
Her smile beams, and I rock to a stop as he jerks his head up from his drink. Not even a second later, his feet kick into motion, and he’s off his barstool and heading straight for her.
They embrace in a warm hug, and the visibly attractive woman presses a gentle kiss to his cheek.
My whole chest deflates. Of course he’s not here alone. I’m such an idiot.
It’s all I can do not to lose my feet, the surge of adrenaline from the moment taking over my body. Suddenly, these five-inch heels seem like an even worse idea than they did when I put them on.
My flight instincts are officially engaged.
Abort! Abort!
Slinking carefully backward, I discreetly round my way to the other side of the bar again, drop my nearly empty glass on the mahogany top, and head straight for the door. Being here…it’s just not right. I know it’s my first night alone in ages, but I’m not ready for this kind of thing. The hope. The fear. The unknown. I can’t do it.
As quickly as I can, I make my way out to the sidewalk and then pause briefly to look up at the sky and take a much-needed deep breath. It’s chilly out, so much so, it feels like I should be able to see my exhale, but I can’t.
Regardless, I cross my arms over my chest and walk.
The nip in the air starts to dissipate the farther I get into the three-block trek to the nearest subway station, but the piercing cold of reality’s knife in my chest doesn’t ease a bit.
Halfway into my journey, my phone buzzes in my hand, and desperate to distract myself from the warring feelings inside me, I lift it to look at the screen. I know the caller, and for some reason—some itchy feeling deep inside the darkest part of me—I put it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Sammy,” Gavin’s voice trills, the friendliness in it soothing something I can’t explain. “How’s your sister doing?”
“Oh…she’s good. Already home from the hospital,” I answer and lean one hip against the cement block that separates the subway stairs from the sidewalk. “Thank you for asking, and thank you for texting yesterday, too. Sorry I didn’t respond. Things have been a bit crazy.”
“No apology necessary,” he says, and his voice sounds completely genuine.
“So…uh…is that why you called?” I ask. “To check on my sister?”
“Well…that was part of the reason,” he answers through a soft chuckle.
“Okay…”
“I know it’s a long shot…but I’m in the city and I thought of you, and I’m wondering if there’s any chance you’re free for dinner tonight? I’m finishing up a quick meeting right now, but I’ll be done in about an hour.”
“Dinner? Tonight?”
“Only if you want to, Sam,” he interjects quickly. “Consider it a friendly reminder that my offer is always on the table. Of course, there’s still no deadline. Or pressure. But you know what Wayne Gretzky says…you miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“Wait…was that Wayne Gretzky or Michael Scott?”
“Both.” He laughs, and my lips curve into a smile. “What do you say, Sammy? Are you free tonight to have dinner with me?”
I’ve never been freer in my life.
The question is, should I use that freedom to meet up with Gavin Evans…or is that the kind of idea that ends in disaster?
I tuck my wrap tighter around my arms and step out of the windy bluster of the street. The lobby of Gadsden—one of the trendiest restaurants in the city—is dark and cozy and absolutely crushed with people.
My hair is fluffed and my cleavage lifted, and boy, do I feel like a fraud and a half. It’s been over a decade since I’ve thought out an outfit or mused over what style of hair and makeup would make me look sexy. My wild children are no doubt ripping Chase’s and Mo’s and Vinny’s wallets and willpower to shreds at the baseball game, and I’m out here…dating.
After accepting Gavin’s invitation, I ran straight home and re-gussied myself up like some kind of escort for hire.
It feels all wrong, and yet, I know if I don’t push past the discomfort now, I may never find my way around it. And as much as my life is in chaos and it’s easier to do it all alone, I don’t know if I’m prepared to say that in five or ten years. What if I’m left to look back on this time in my life as the turning point of it all? As the moment I gave up on me and let myself fade into oblivion?