Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Standing on the landing, I ask, “Harrison?”
He stops at the top and looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
It’s not a grandiose reaction, but it doesn’t need to be. A gaze is exchanged, but he doesn’t ask what I’m thanking him for or to explain. He just accepts the offer with mutual understanding.
I straighten my skirt in the downstairs bathroom and then reapply my lipstick. Grabbing a vodka soda from the bar on my way outside, I catch my mom’s eyes on me first, a sinking feeling dragging the high I was riding down with it. Then I see everyone else looking. Great . . .
Typically, I’m the one on top of the bar getting attention, but this isn’t the limelight I desire. My mom gets up and meets me as I make my way back to my seat. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, darling.”
We step off to the side for any bit of privacy we can get. Though my stomach isn’t thrilled we missed the main course, I’m relieved when the other guests are served dessert. The chocolate cake is just the distraction I need to deter their attention away from me. “I don’t know why you’d humiliate me like that, but this is not a conversation we can have right now.”
“I was taken by surprise.”
“Imagine how I felt,” I snap. I’m never rude to my mother. Even through my rebellious high school days, I still managed to give my parents the perfect grades they expected. Now I know where I really stand in her eyes.
“We can meet for brunch tomorrow to have this discussion. Just not here,” I say under my breath.
She narrows her eyes a little but then agrees. “Brunch at Bistro 55. Eleven thirty.” At that, she leaves and walks back to the table, but I don’t miss the roll of her eyes toward my dad. What was that for?
I return to my seat just as Harrison sits down across from me. So much for timing. Who really cares? No one, most likely.
When I look up, I’m met with Harrison’s strength and a smile filled with confidence—not the arrogant kind, but the one he’s willing to share with me. He’s right. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. I turn to Natalie, who gives me the same grin. She trusts me with her child’s life. She sees something in me that I can’t. Maybe it’s time I tried.
“Try the cake. It’s divine,” Natalie’s mom, Martine, says sweetly.
“Excellent idea.” Chocolate’s always been a weakness of mine. Taking a bite of the decadence, I close my eyes as the sugar coats my tongue and softly moan in delight. I open my eyes to find Harrison’s glued to me, his lips parted, and if I’m not mistaken, the little chocolate on the side of his lips I wouldn’t mind licking off for him.
Leaning forward, he whispers, “We can skip dessert . . .” He signals toward the exit just in case I didn’t get his intention by “we can skip dessert.”
I start laughing but am quick to cover my mouth with the back of my hand. “What kind of maniac skips dessert?”
It only takes one bite before I sink into the seat to let the sweetness take over. “This cake. It’s orgasmic.”
“Orgasmic?” Cookie asks. “Well then, I might need another piece to go,” she says, digging her fork in for a second bite. “For later.”
Nick sighs heavily as he sets his fork back on the table. “No, Mom. I can’t. I know you want to treat Andrew and me as the adults we are, but I just don’t think I can listen to sex talk around you.”
Natalie starts laughing, then Martine, with many others joining in, almost like the earlier incident never happened. That’s how I like it best.
When guests begin to leave, and others enjoy an after-dinner digestif, Natalie takes me by the hand and pulls me to a corner of the dining room. “Marcelles opened spots for their next cooking class. I was thinking it could be something we do together,” she says.
“You don’t want to take it with Nick?”
“I figured Nick wouldn’t be upset since he’ll benefit from the outcome. But more so, I thought it would be something fun for us to do together that’s not work-related. It will give us a guaranteed weekly date. I miss just spending time with you.”
She’s right. We haven’t been going out much, and now I know why—the baby. But also, work has picked up year over year. That’s why I need to get to work on this new plan. As for downtime, I may see Natalie almost every day, but I still miss my friend. “I’m really great at ordering food, but maybe I could learn a new skill and cook instead.” I wink.
“We can cook together, too. Maybe have a regular dinner—”