Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Wow. I was momentarily taken aback by Izzy’s sharing of … well, anything. “Yeah. Kids can be cruel. Let’s face it, adults can be cruel, too. I’m glad you’re friends with Yakshit.”
Her eyes dropped, and I realized she was telling me more.
“Izzy, you like this boy … as a boyfriend?”
The tiny bit she’d opened up to stick her neck out slammed shut as she recoiled into her shell. “I didn’t say that.”
“It’s okay if you do. You’re almost sixteen. I liked boys at your age.”
She chanced a glance up at me. “Dad says I can’t go out with boys until I’m twenty-one.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand to catch her attention again. “I’m never going to tell you to ignore something your father says. He’s your father, and any advice he gives you is worth consideration. However, what goes on day-to-day here in our home, so long as we’re open and honest about it with each other, is between you and me. We need to trust each other with these things. Just like I told you about my date with Brad. We’re in this together, Izzy.”
She looked away, but nodded.
It was more than she normally allowed me to have from her.
“I’m going to go finish packing for Nanna’s.”
I smiled. “Okay. We’ll leave in about a half hour, and I’ll drop you on the way to the airport.”
My planned thirty-minute departure turned into an hour. Since I was running late, I said goodbye to Izzy at the door of Garrett’s mother’s house. “Be good. I’ll only be gone a few days.”
“Whatever.”
“Oh. And I joined Snapchat. Accept my friend request or follow request—whatever you do on that thing. I figured we can text and send pictures.”
Izzy looked horrified. “Please don’t do that. I’m not adding you on Snapchat.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not a place where you connect with your mom.”
With your mom. She hadn’t even realized what she’d said. And perhaps she was just generalizing, but I chose to take it as something more meaningful. I walked back to her and engulfed her in a big hug.
“I love you, Isabella.”
Her face softened for a brief moment before her teenage shield set back into place. “I’m still not adding you.”
I walked down the stoop. Garrett’s mom smiled and nodded her approval. “I’ll text you when I land.”
“You’re going to be in L.A. Text me some pictures of celebrities, or hot guys at least.”
“I only post those on Snapchat. You’ll have to follow me to see them!” I yelled as I got back into the waiting cab.
Pulling the door closed, I waved one last time and mumbled to myself, “Plus, you’re keeping away from the good-looking ones, Nat. Remember?”
Famous last words.
Chapter 7
— Natalia —
Flying into LAX always amused me.
Drivers in suits were two layers deep behind a gated area next to baggage claim. I read their signs as I stepped off the escalator, rolling my carry-on luggage.
MR. SPELLMAN.
PIEDMONT.
LAROIX FAMILY.
MR. DAMON.
Hmm. I wonder if it’s Matt Damon. This is L.A., after all. I kept walking as I browsed. Most were handwritten on white boards with erasable markers, although some were typed and printed out. One particular sign caught my eye—not because it had my first name, but because it was written on what looked like a ripped piece of a brown paper bag. The handwriting was slanted and slashy and almost illegible. But as I got closer, I figured out the last name. The sign read:
NATALIA SBAGLIATO-NUMERO
I said it aloud in my head once before it all clicked together.
Natalia.
Sbagliato. Italian for wrong.
Numero. Meant number in Italian.
Natalia Wrong Number?
I felt it before my eyes rose to the face of the man holding the sign. An inexplicable warmth settled low in my belly, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose to attention. But when my eyes met those of the man with the cocky smile, I did the only thing I was capable of—tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my ass.
* * *
“Are you okay?”
It was impossible to play it cool sprawled out on my ass in the airport with a pink face heated from a mixture of embarrassment, excitement, and anger. Plus, Hunter was even more good-looking than I remembered—ruggedly handsome, kissed by the California sun, and packaged in a casual and confident wrapper that made my knees glad I was on the floor. But as much as I liked the full package before me, I hated that he made me feel off-kilter. I rolled with the hate part.
“What are you doing here?”
Hunter had hopped the barrier gate that separated us and was kneeling at my side almost before I came to a halt from my fall. “I came to pick you up. I didn’t know it would mean literally picking you up off the floor. Didn’t you see my sign with your name on it?”