Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
I cringe. “Yikes. What a weirdo. This is why I don’t get massages. Massage therapists are messed up in the head. What kind of person looks at all the gross people walking around and thinks, ‘yeah, I’d like to get those people naked and rub their questionably clean skin’?” I sick out my tongue with a soft gag. “So gross.”
Derrick grunt-laughs low in his throat. “I think most of them want to help people, relieve pain, give their clients a better quality of life. That kind of thing.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Ew.”
He nudges my hip with his socked foot. “Stop it. You believe in helping people. I listen when you talk, you know. I’ve heard you tell Evie and Jess how you’re going to end financial corruption and make the world a better place with the power of your nerd brain.”
“Eavesdropping isn’t something to brag about.”
“Neither is pretending to be a jaded fashionista without a heart.”
I laugh. “Real fashionistas would be weeping with laughter at that. I’m not even close to being one of them. I don’t have the money, time, or the bone structure.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, his gaze perusing my face. “And I think your bone structure is great.”
“Are you an expert in bone structure?”
“No, but they all appear to be there. You definitely have bones and they’re arranged in a nice way. Very symmetrical and…bone-i-licious.”
I giggle, a bona fide, girly trill of laughter I would usually be ashamed of, but I decide not to stress about it. It’s nearly two in the morning and I’ve had way too much caffeine. I’m lucky I’m not doing something even more embarrassing than giggling.
I could be pouncing on Derrick like a lusty she-beast.
I’ve been tempted more than once. My accountant side is very turned on by this…accumulation of data.
“Keep going,” I say, once I’ve stopped tittering like an eighteenth-century schoolgirl. “We have to finish and get to bed before I become fully delusional, and you start saying things even sillier than that I ‘definitely have bones.’”
He grins his new relaxed, silly grin, the one I like far more than I should, and says, “Agreed. Lightning round. Favorite band?”
“The Beatles and Metric. And when Metric mentioned The Beatles in a song, you almost died with excitement.”
“Accurate. Favorite vacation spot?”
“The mountains in winter, the beach in summer. You’re very pedestrian that way.”
“You’re very pedestrian, Miss I Love the Color Brown, and cheddar cheese, and the tree lighting at Rockefeller Center.” He sits up straighter, pointing a finger at my face. “Which reminds me. What do you like to do on Christmas Eve every year? Your gram asked and I had no clue.”
“Oh, it’s not a big deal,” I say, stifling a yawn. “Gram and I exchange books after dinner and then light a fire and candles. We sit around reading our books and eating chocolate until we’re too tired to stay awake. It’s an Icelandic tradition she picked up when she was backpacking around Europe in her forties. They call it the book flood.”
His brows scoot higher on his forehead. “Her forties? I thought that was a college-kid thing.”
“It usually is, but Gram had my uncle Ted in college. Between taking care of him and then Dad and getting her teaching degree, she didn’t have time for gallivanting. So, she did it when she was older, after Ted and my dad were grown.”
“That’s cool,” he says.
“She’s cool,” I agree. “I wouldn’t be knee deep in a crazy scheme for anyone else. She’s my idol. She’s smart, but kind, dependable, but adventurous. Driven, but always ready to play hooky and find some fun. And she and my gramps had an epic love story. He adored her and always made sure she knew it, right up until his heart attack.”
Derrick hums sympathetically. “How long ago?”
“Gram was in her fifties, so…about thirty years. I never met him, but I feel like I did. Gram kept him alive in her stories and there are still pictures of him all over her house.”
“Still, that must be hard. To keep living after your soul mate is gone. And to spend so much time alone.”
“She’s not alone,” I insist. “She has the rest of our crazy family, and we visited her all the time when I was little. But…yeah, I’m sure it’s been hard.” I lose the battle against another yawn as I add, “I should add that to my ‘must have’ list. A good, steady heart. Medically and metaphorically.”
Derrick sets his coffee down on the table. “Your list? Don’t tell me you’re one of those women.”
“Those women?”
“The kind who have their ideal man set in stone. Must be over six feet tall, must make more money than me, must have all his hair and no history of male pattern baldness. Must share my love of cheesy murals and taking my picture in front of them for my social media feed, etc.”