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)
“And she’s available to go to London with you.”
He paused, watching me. “Yes. She’s available to go to London with me.”
“I get it, Gage.” And I did, even if it caused my throat to clog up and made me feel disappointed for him. It seemed like yet another arrangement he was going along with. And maybe it did make sense for him, but it also made more sense for everyone else, and Gage didn’t seem to be able to do anything that didn’t check that box. I also wondered if there was any chemistry between them at all and had to guess the answer was no. Because I knew very well Gage was an impassioned man when he allowed himself to be, and if he felt that way for her, I was all but certain he wouldn’t be here with me.
“But Rory, I want to make it clear to you that at this point, I’m not even seeing her. I never was. I told her I’d consider the offer and then…well, you showed up here and I—”
“Found out I might be your sister.”
He let out another weak laugh, followed by a grimace. “Right.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. You don’t owe me that. What we had…well, it was a one-night thing and we might be related. But beyond all that, my life is in Mud Gulch. My priorities are very different.” I turned and started walking even though I suddenly felt a little breathless. Gage took up beside me. “Not that, you know, you even asked about any of that.”
“We make no sense,” he murmured.
“No, we already decided that.”
“I think I need to decide it again.”
I shot him a glance. “It’s hard for me to remember too.”
He smiled, and it was sort of sad. It was somewhat heartbreaking to have such intense chemistry with someone, and to enjoy that person, and to still know that you just weren’t right for each other for a variety of reasons, some more weighty than others.
“So…what’s next?” he asked, obviously attempting to change the subject. “We could go check out a few more antique shops.”
“The gallery is closed tomorrow,” I said. “Faith is going to go with me to a couple shops.”
“Oh.”
“I figured you were working anyway.”
He nodded. “I am. Working. There’s a lot to do before…London.”
My stomach gave a twist. But he wasn’t the only one leaving soon. He was starting a new life somewhere else, and I was returning to mine. “Well, time is ticking. The fixes to my uncle’s boat are going to be complete soon and then I’ll have to go back.”
“The brood,” he murmured.
“The brood. And the bar. Real life.”
“Real life,” he murmured. He stopped, turning toward me again and I came up short. “Will you call me right away if you find anything?” He offered a smile that looked sort of wobbly and maybe a little bit bashful. This confident businessman with the world at his feet was looking at me like my answer could make or break him.
“Of course I will, Gage.” I smiled. “For now, we’re in this together.” For now.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gage
I stared out the window of my office that overlooked Calliope’s business district, watching the cars move along the street and people in business suits enter and exit buildings. I had plenty to do and yet…I was…bored. I’d never felt bored before, or rather, I’d never acknowledged my boredom, but that’s exactly what it was, wasn’t it? That antsy feeling inside of me was an unusual sort of boredom. Huh. As if I didn’t have more than enough to occupy myself. I turned, going to my desk and sitting down, picking up my cell phone, hesitating and then replacing it on my desk.
“Damn it,” I muttered, bouncing my knee. It’d been two days since I’d spoken to Rory. She hadn’t called to update me on whether she’d found any art or not and so I assumed she hadn’t. But what if she had, and that had led her to something else she was looking into, and I didn’t know about it because I hadn’t picked up the phone and called her first?
My gaze fell on the list my assistant Rebecca had put on my desk that morning regarding the personal action items I still needed to check off in preparation for my move to London. There were printouts of the layout of my flat underneath the list and I pulled them out, my eyes moving over the one-dimensional rooms for a moment. I tried and failed to picture myself there, watching television in the living room, or standing at a window, the sight of Calliope replaced by London’s skyline, or even cooking, the thing that made me feel inspired wherever I was, even in an unfamiliar bar on the docks with the equipment so old it probably dated back three Casteel generations. I pushed the pile of papers aside. “Damn it,” I repeated, taking my head in my hands.