Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
A furtive little stare.
Is she checking me out?
Regretting last night too?
Obsessing over it?
I don’t have a clue, so instead, I stare sullenly at the water, inventing character bios for all the people passing by down below. I do my best to keep my brain busy, so I won’t linger on that kiss I regret.
I definitely regret it even more after knowing she came here with a guy.
But I can’t tune her out since her voice grows louder, a closing note tone to it. “And that’s why I’m glad my mother took me on a trip to Nice years ago. When we visited here, I even told her someday I would write a kissing scene here,” she says.
It’s like a smack upside the head.
I was dead wrong. She came to Nice with her mom, not a lover. As she ushers the group out of the park, I straggle behind, delightedly corrected.
Feeling like the most relieved idiot in the world.
I grin privately as I head down the steps. I maybe even preen. Yeah, no one else kissed her.
You jackass, you didn’t kiss her here either.
You’re not sharing a sleeper car with her for real.
You’re not having a relationship with the woman who has utterly captivated you for years.
And so, I still regret last night.
Because I’m still the jackass who wants another kiss. One that doesn’t end.
As she finishes the tour, I stay quiet. I refuse to look at her. I live in my head. That’s easy for me. My imagination is rich and vivid, and I have so many stories to tell. Stories where the hero always gets the girl, no matter what.
But when the tour ends, and the readers head off with a local guide for a late afternoon snack (translation—glass of wine), Amy tells us we have a free hour before the early evening bookstore signing.
“I have some calls to make but if the two of you want to wander, we can meet up in an hour,” she suggests, checking the time on her phone.
Hazel looks at me, her eyes saying yes before her mouth does. “I’d love to,” she says, and I’m not at all surprised. She loves kicking the tires.
I just give a curt nod.
“Perfect,” Amy says.
“By the way, did you ever hear from the travel manager about the suite?” Hazel asks, sounding eager. Overeager maybe? It’s a kick in the gut, yet another reminder that a kiss can’t happen again.
She doesn’t even want to share a suite with me. And, really, do I want to share one with her? Well, not like we did last night, playing crime-scene-tape-down-the-middle-of-the-bed.
Amy waggles her phone. “Working on it. I’ll have an answer soon,” she says, then picks a spot for us to meet in an hour.
Once she heads off, Hazel looks me dead in the eyes. “Are you mad at me? Because the only thing you’ve said all day is same here.”
That’s the real smack upside the head.
I am so see-through.
Better add another regret to my digital Post-it—how I’ve handled every single irritating emotion I’ve ever felt for her, then and now.
But I can only move forward, and I won’t ice her out again. That means I need to try to act like last night didn’t devastate my heart. I’ll have to find a way through with something I didn’t do when I took off—be honest. Be…kind.
“No. I’m not mad,” I say, but that’s not quite right. “I was sort of lost in my head today,” I add, since that’s true enough to give her something, but safe enough to protect me.
She takes the answer and nods crisply. “Fair enough. I’ve been there.”
She gets it. She gets me. “But I would love to check out the alley where that maddening kiss took place,” I say, since I’m not going to turn down a free hour in Nice. Especially with her.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“No, I mean it,” I say, free of sarcasm or acid. I want her to know I truly would like to kick around town. We’ve only ever hung out in New York, exploring that city together. Never another. This is a brand-new activity for us, for me. Maybe it’ll be what I need today to clear my head and my heart.
Her right eyebrow reaches above the sky. “You do?”
I suppose she’s right to doubt me. So there’s one surefire way to let her know I’m where I want to be right now. “Brooks will definitely have to hunt for treasure here as he evades bad guys,” I say with a smile that says I’m ready to plot, and she damn well better come along for the ride. “Want to help?”
“Sure,” she says brightly. She’s game for plotting anytime, as she’s always been.
That’s promising. It’s a return to what once worked between us. And if we return, perhaps last night can truly be behind us now.