Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
But there could’ve been room in there for me too.
I shake my head. “But it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” Sienna takes a long breath. “It’s not okay that people you thought were friends did that to you.”
“Clearly, I didn’t need them. I did just fine in life without them.”
“It’s not about you needing them. It’s about knowing that you deserve to have good people around you and acknowledging that they didn’t deserve you.”
Her words make me smile.
“I’m going to teach you all about friends,” she says. “I’m your friend. The Douchebag and Douchebag Follower weren’t your friends. Welcome to your first friendship, Blaire.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Is this just to extract things about Holt? Because you don’t have to pretend to be my friend for that.”
“No. That’s just a benefit in this particular instance.” She laughs too. “But I would like you to know I’m available, day or night, to talk. About Holt or anything else.”
The sun shines brightly. My steps into the front of the park feel light. The smile on my face doesn’t feel too bad either.
It must be the salt in the air that gets to me because I find myself talking before I even realize it.
“Nothing has happened with Holt since the first night I got here,” I say. “We almost kissed last night, but Nana called.”
Sienna’s giddiness rolls through the phone.
“I slept in the guest room,” I say, trying to control the bubble of excitement in my belly just from talking about him. “It just felt more … practical.”
“Practical? I would go with saintly, but you’re the intellect. Not me.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want him to think I’m just a piece of ass. Not that he’s ever treated me like that,” I add. “Not even close. But I just want to maintain a little class.”
“Of course. I get it.”
I pick a piece of invisible lint off my shirt. “He’s supposed to be meeting me shortly for a little touristy adventure. I mean, it’s to a church, but that’s more adventurous than I usually get.”
“I love this,” she says, ecstatic. “I so love this. Have fun. Be excited. This is an exciting thing.”
The ball of excitement in my gut that I’ve been trying to control begins to unwind. I can feel it slip through my veins and make my heart beat faster, my palms start to sweat. It is exciting whether I like it or not.
I scrunch up my face and laugh. “I hate that I’m excited about this but …”
“But it’s Holt. I get it. And it’s new for you. It’s vacation. You’re doing what my sister Camilla and I did—well, sort of—in high school and college. It’s normal.”
“I’m just late to the party.”
“You’re just late to the party,” she repeats. “So go have fun. Take all of that man you can while you can.”
I stick my tongue in my cheek. “Pun intended?”
“In every way.” She laughs. “Call me later. Remember, we’re friends now. Okay?”
“Okay, Sienna.”
“Bye, Blaire.”
“Goodbye.”
I end the call and check the time. My spirits are still soaring as I scan the street between the park and the chapel. There is a woman pushing a stroller and a man on the phone but no Holt.
The breeze kicks up again. The moss dangles from the trees and sways in the air. I close my eyes and sway along with it.
I should do this more often. I need to make it a habit to get outside and have non-working human interaction. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.
If I limit it to ten-minute conversations.
I laugh out loud.
Scanning the area, I notice a small ice-cream parlor tucked between two buildings on the other side of the street. I try to figure out if the building closer to me is a bookstore or a museum when my phone goes off again.
I look down.
And frown.
My heartbeat picks up in my chest as I read Holt’s text.
Holt: Got stuck in meetings.
Disappointment hits me full-on. My shoulders slump as I bite my bottom lip and fire a text back.
Me: No worries. I get it.
I wait. And wait. And after four minutes of watching the screen for a reply, I kick myself for still standing on the sidewalk and waiting on a response that clearly isn’t coming.
Dammit.
I suck in a breath and slip my phone into my pocket.
“You can’t blame him,” I tell myself. “He has a lot of work to do, and it’s not like he was planning on you being here this week. His life goes on.”
I eye the ice-cream parlor again.
“And mine too.”
I lift my chin and march across the street.
Dessert over dick.
Every time.
Sixteen
Holt
No worries. I get it.
Blaire’s text sits on my phone. The words are clear. Concise. She understands that a meeting changed my plans because it happens to her all the time too.
Right?
I blow out a breath and grip the back of my neck. The muscles are taut and in need of a deep massage—something more than my also-tense palm can provide.