Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Oh,” I said softly. “I’m sorry about that.” I glanced at Faith and then down at the diary entry, my heart feeling heavy for a man I’d never met but had obviously suffered in some manner or another. I hoped that in the years that followed, he had found the peace my mother couldn’t give him, or hadn’t had the chance to.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Gage
I saw Blakely sitting under an umbrella on the patio at the club and headed her way, greeting a few people I knew as I moved through the bistro tables filled with members enjoying lunch. Blakely had pulled out a mirror and a tube of lipstick as I’d made my way to her and when I approached the table, she quickly deposited it into the purse sitting on the ground next to her chair.
She stood. “Gage! It’s so good to see you. Thanks for meeting me.”
I leaned in and kissed her cheek and we both took a seat. “Sorry it took me a few days to get back to you. Work has been crazy.” A lie. Work had been slow, as my employees had started transferring ongoing projects to other managers in preparation for me leaving the country soon. I’d been thankful as it’d given me more time to skip out and leave early so I could help Rory.
Rory.
I’d been trying not to think too much about Rory since Saturday when we’d found two paintings with her mother’s diary entries behind them. The thing with the flashbacks had me concerned. I knew my father had trouble sleeping and carried emotional burdens from his childhood. It was probably another bullet point on the long list of reasons that I was so averse to disappointing him. He deserved the life he’d fought so hard for. God, this search with Rory was like a damn roller coaster. One day I had hope we weren’t related…and the next provided a clue that we might be. At this point, it was just a waiting game for those results.
“Are you okay?”
“What?”
“You groaned.”
“I did? Uh…” I massaged my chest. “A little bit of heartburn,” I explained with an apologetic half-smile.
“I thought you must not be feeling well. It’s not like you not to shave.” Blakely looked around, caught the eye of a server and waved him over. “Chett, could you run to the shop in the lobby and get Gage a pack of Tums?”
“Really that’s not—”
Blakely waved my protests away. “Thanks, Chett.”
The man nodded and hurried off.
“That’s what they’re here for,” she said. “Give him a big tip when he comes back. Heartburn is no fun.”
No, no it wasn’t.
Blakely smiled and turned her head as another server approached our table and asked if we were ready to order. “Yes, thank you,” Blakely said, and ordered the same thing she always ordered—the pear and pistachio salad, hold the green onion.
I had the menu memorized at this point too and didn’t require opening one to rattle off my order of a club sandwich.
Promise me you’ll name a menu item after me when you open your restaurant someday. I gave my head a shake as Chef LaCourt’s words came back to me, his Parisian heavy accent still as clear in my mind as though we’d spoken yesterday. Since I’d mentioned him to Rory, he’d been randomly popping into my mind and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I missed him…and it’d been a long time since I’d pondered on that. What would you think of how I turned out? The last time I’d seen him, I’d been a kid. I was a man now.
I sighed, running my fingers over my stubbly cheek. “Do you like me like this?” I asked Blakely.
She studied me briefly, her brow dipping. “Like what?”
I rubbed my chin. “With this scruff.”
She continued to frown at me for a moment as though I’d asked her a trick question. “I mean…you’re good-looking no matter what you do. But you’re usually more polished. I like the polished Gage.”
I like the polished Gage.
Yes, everyone seemed to like the polished Gage. I’d always liked the polished Gage.
But recently…
“So tell me what you’ve been thinking,” Blakely said after she’d taken a sip of water.
What have I been thinking? I’ve been trying not to think, honestly. Because thinking seems to lead me to all sorts of uncomfortable places. “Just…you know, about the move. There’s a lot to do.”
“Mmhmm. Anything else?” Blakely reached across the table and set her hand on mine, one elegant finger running lightly over my knuckle.
I used my other hand to lift my glass and take a long drink of water in order to stall. I knew what she was asking me. I knew her touch was meant to slowly introduce a physical comfort. And it wasn’t that I disliked it. In fact, it felt…nice. I was just so damn conflicted. “Listen, Blakely—”