Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“Do you want to get out of here? I mean, maybe we could just go for a walk. I know neither of us has a car since mine’s still back home, but it would only take twenty minutes to get there, and it’s a nice night. We could talk or not talk once we are at the house. I don’t know.”
“You mean, stay silent?” Gabriel’s lips twitch. Good. I’m glad to see that I’m amusing.
“I think you know what I mean.”
“For the record, is this escape because you need some fresh air or because you’d like to change your status?”
Dear god, could it sound any worse? This is exactly why I don’t do things like this.
“I don’t want to change my status.” I’m no longer so sure about that, but I do know nothing good would come of it. I’ve already decided that if this is going to happen, whatever and however far this is, it is definitely no strings.
“I can’t change mine,” Gabriel says, then looks like he regrets it. “I’m single, but that’s not what I meant. I just meant I’d like to keep it that way. For similar reasons.”
“I don’t do this kind of thing.” It just pops out, and since I can’t take it back, I make it worse by tacking on, “but then again, I don’t usually pay people to be my boyfriend for the weekend either.”
“You’re sure you want to ditch?”
“We could just walk and talk, or if things happen, they happen, if it’s what we both want. I’m still driving you home tomorrow. I promise I can be an adult and not ask for your number or anything.”
“You already have it.”
“Right. Well, I promise not to blow up your phone. Or contact you. Ever.”
Something that looks strangely close to disappointment or regret flashes in Gabriel’s dark eyes, but maybe it’s just a trick of the lights overhead. Said lights are actually making me sweat. That has to be it. I’ll blame them because they’re kind of hot on the dance floor.
“Alright. Let’s walk then.”
“Do you want a drink first? Maybe a couple of shots?”
“Do you need liquid courage to walk?”
“No. No, I don’t.” Not with you. “But I am pretty thirsty. It’s been a really long day.”
“I could get us a couple of waters.”
“Okay, sure. Waters. Then a walk.”
“Waters and a walk. Deal.”
I don’t ask to shake on it. I don’t say that a walk is not exactly what I want from our deal. I definitely don’t allow myself to think that no strings could hurt far worse than strings. That it all could. That once feelings take root, it doesn’t matter if it’s been a few hours or a few years. They’re there. The start of something that you can’t just pluck out and pretend was never there without pulling up little bits of your heart.
I just want to stop thinking. Thinking is bad. I’m twenty-eight, and I’ve spent my whole life overthinking everything. For once, I’d like to just turn my brain off and just be.
So, I let Gabriel guide me over to the bar. I let him get us two bottles of water, and since I left all my stuff back at Mom and Dad’s house—even my phone and wallet and everything as I got a ride to the hall with the rest of the wedding party—I let him guide me straight out the front door of the hall and into the black night pierced only by the few street lights illuminating the main street of the town where I grew up.
CHAPTER 15
Gabriel
If the weather during the day was perfect for the wedding, it’s still just right at night too. The sky might be inky black overhead with a few twinkling stars out to pierce it, but the temperature is still summery and warm. Unfortunately, it’s not just us enjoying it. We keep busy, walking side by side, swatting wildly at the mosquitoes buzzing around our heads and biting our arms every now and then.
“I’m sorry about my grandmas,” Pearl says after we round the bend to the street that intersects with the tiny main street. Sisston truly is a small town. One of the smallest I’ve ever seen, but then again, I was born and raised in a big city.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I’m sorry for anything else that might have been said out of my hearing. They think it’s fun. It’s probably the most fun they’ve had since their quilting club.”
“What’s wrong with quilting?”
“Nothing! I love quilting.”
“You quilt?”
“Well, I try. I sew—a little bit. But I’m not good at it, and I probably end up cursing more than I do actual sewing. It’s frustrating.”
“You’re kind of artsy, aren’t you?”
Pearl laughs awkwardly. She unscrews the cap of her water bottle and drains half of it. She wasn’t kidding about being thirsty. “I don’t know about that. But my family is. Susan makes amazing pottery. She started that back in high school. Dad’s a mechanic, so I guess that counts. His artistry is with motor parts and whatnot. And Mom’s a gardener. She always had the ability to make just about anything grow. She has trouble with begonias, though. They defeat her every time, no matter how hard she tries. And my grandmas both sew. Grandma Pearl paints too. I do interior design, as you know, but I’m not sure that makes me artsy. Just good at picking out things that go together and furniture placement, maybe. It’s actually a skill. You can learn it.”