Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Jesus . . . I don’t want to risk chasing the man out of the building.
“Well,” I begin, lowering my voice and searching for a safe answer, “I have a secret addiction to trashy reality TV shows. The more drama, the better.”
Jack’s eyes light up with amusement. “Really? Which ones?”
“All of them,” I admit, feeling my cheeks warm. “But my absolute favorite is Love Island. It’s so ridiculous and over-the-top, but I can’t stop watching. I call it Cringe Island and yet I watch every episode.”
He leans in, a conspiratorial grin on his face. “Want to know a secret? I may have binged a season or two of that myself.”
I gasp in mock horror. “No! And here I thought you were this tough, macho firefighter.”
“Hey, even tough, macho firefighters need a guilty pleasure,” he laughs.
Our conversation flows easily after that, jumping from topic to topic. We discuss our favorite books (he loves historical fiction, I’m more into psychological thrillers), our go-to comfort foods (mac and cheese for him, ice cream for me), and our most embarrassing moments (his involves a high school talent show and a failed magic trick).
As we talk, I find myself drawn to the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and yes, crinkle is the perfect word to describe it. I’m also drawn to the passion in his voice when he talks about his job, the gentle way he listens when I speak. It’s refreshing, especially compared to the men I’ve dated in the past.
Before I know it, hours have passed. The sky outside has darkened with the next predicted snow storm coming, and the cafe is starting to empty out.
“I can’t believe how late it’s gotten,” I say, glancing at my watch. “I should probably head home.”
Jack nods, looking a bit disappointed. “Yeah, I guess we should call it. I should stop by the station anyway and see if they need any help prepping for tonight’s snow.”
We gather our things and step out into the chilly air. The street is busy with people hurrying past, bundled up against the cold.
“I can go to work later if you’d like me to escort you home instead?” Jack says, his breath visible in the afternoon air.
I hesitate for a moment, loving the idea of prolonging this day. But I don’t want to come off as needy or too clingy. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I think I’ll grab a cab.”
Okay, so this is where he needs to ask me for my number. Come on Jack. Ask me for my number.
Jack nods, his expression a mix of understanding and something else—disappointment, maybe? He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels slightly.
“Well, I had a great time today,” he says, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It was nice getting to know you better.”
My heart sinks a little. Is this it? Are we just going to part ways without any promise of seeing each other again?
Ask me for my number!
As I’m about to say goodbye, Jack clears his throat. “Listen, I was wondering . . .” he starts, then pauses, seeming to gather his courage. “Would it be okay if I got your number? Maybe we could do this again sometime?”
Relief and excitement flood through me. “Yes, absolutely,” I reply, perhaps a bit too eagerly. I fumble for my phone, nearly dropping it in my haste.
We exchange numbers, our gloved fingers brushing as we hand our phones back and forth.
We stand there for a moment, neither of us quite ready to leave. Snowflakes begin to fall softly around us, catching in Jack’s dark hair and eyelashes. The urge to reach out and brush them away is overwhelming.
Instead, I take a step back. “I should go. Thanks again for today, Jack. For everything.”
“Anytime,” he says softly. “Get home safe, Chloe.”
I turn and start walking away, my heart light despite the heavy snow beginning to fall. I’ve only gone a few steps when Jack calls out.
“Hey, Chloe?”
I turn back, eyebrows raised in question.
Jack is standing there, snowflakes swirling around him, a hesitant smile on his face. “I was thinking . . . there’s this Christmas market opening up tomorrow night in Bryant Park. They’ve got ice skating, hot cider, the works. Would you maybe want to check it out with me sometime this week, if you’re going to be back in city?”
My heart skips a beat. I can already picture us strolling through twinkling lights, sipping warm drinks, maybe even holding hands as we glide across the ice. It sounds magical, perfect even.
But a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminds me of my earlier reservations. Is Jack really my type? Am I setting myself up for disappointment by pursuing something with someone who might be too . . . safe?
I bite my lip, weighing my options. The hopeful look in Jack’s eyes makes my decision for me.