Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
If I could go back and change things, I would, but that’s not the way space-time works. At least not yet. Maybe someday time travel will be a thing, but until then I’ll have to hope two weeks is enough to prove to Jess that I deserve a second chance at her heart and that “one and done” isn’t going to work for us.
We’re meant to be so much more than that, and I’m starting to think she feels it, too. At least, she lets me take her hand again when we’re settled in the backseat and hold it all the way to Manhattan.
And for now, that’s enough to keep the hope burning in my chest.
More than enough…
CHAPTER NINE
Jess
By the time Sam and I make our way up the stairs to the apartment—with me forcing him to stop on every landing to make sure he really is still feeling okay—Evie and Harlow are waiting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee in their going-out clothes.
“Are you sure you guys don’t want to go?” Evie asks. “If Sam’s feeling better, we don’t mind at all.”
“For real,” Harlow said. “I mean, I love jazz, but I also love catching up on sleep.”
“Thanks, but no, thanks,” Sam says, settling into the overstuffed chair in the living area with a sigh. “I’ve had enough adventure for today. I’m just glad the tickets aren’t going to go to waste. You guys look great, by the way.”
“Thanks,” Harlow says, fluffing her perfectly curled hair. “I went for 1930s businesswoman sneaking out to meet her gangster lover in the Village after a long day at the office.”
Evie snorts. “And I went for ‘not covered in paint’ and wearing a little lip gloss.” She turns to me. “There’s leftover stir-fry in the fridge if you guys are hungry.”
I stick out my tongue, making a silent gagging sound.
Evie smiles as she stands, pushing in her chair. “Fine, but my stir-fry skills are improving. They really are.”
Behind her, a wide-eyed Harlow shakes her head and mouths, “No, they’re not. Save yourself.”
“I saw that, Harlow Renee,” Evie says, whipping her head over her shoulder to shoot Harlow a glare.
“What, you have eyes in the back of your head now?” Harlow asks.
“No, I saw your reflection in the mirror by the coat stand,” Evie says. “And my skills are too getting better. Even Cam said so and he doesn’t lie about food.”
“Better doesn’t necessarily mean delicious, darling,” Harlow says gently. “But that’s okay. I’ll gladly eat day-old cat shit as long as I don’t have to cook it. I just thought Sam and Jess might want something a little fancier for dinner after their adventures with feral cats and emergency rooms.”
Evie harumphs. “Fine. But even I have a breaking point, woman. Keep insulting my cooking and one of these days you’re going to come home to nothing but a fridge full of raw food hippie juice and oat milk. I can live on juice and oat milk with my cereal. I don’t require meat and solid vegetables like some people.”
Harlow shudders. “Please, no. I’m sorry. I’ll never complain about soggy snow peas drowned in soy sauce again. Just keep feeding me real food. Raw food gives me hives, and when you drink too much hippie juice, you smell like ginger and garlic all the time.”
“Ginger and garlic actually sound pretty good,” I say, opening my list of favorite takeout places on my phone. “What do you think, Sam? There’s a Thai place nearby that delivers and has fantastic curry.”
“I already ordered French food from Chez Pierre to be delivered at seven,” he says. “But it might not be too late to cancel if you’d rather have Thai.”
“No!” Harlow shouts, her hand whipping out to lock on to my forearm. “Don’t you dare cancel gourmet French food. And if there are any leftovers, don’t throw them away. I’ll gladly feast upon your scraps when we get home from the concert.”
Sam laughs. “Sounds good. And we could always order Thai, too, if you want. In my opinion, there’s no such thing as too much food.”
“A man after your own heart, Jess,” Evie says, a sly note in her voice that makes me arch a warning brow in her direction.
Making a mental note to remind my roommates that Sam and I are just friends, I make shooing motions toward the door. “Okay, scoot, you two. Or you’re going to be too late to order a drink before the show starts and jazz without some sort of swanky whiskey drink isn’t nearly as much fun.”
Evie groans. “Ew, whiskey. You know I’ve sworn off whiskey for life.”
“We’ll get you a dirty martini or something instead,” Harlow says, setting her coffee cup on the counter before starting for the door. “If we’re lucky, they’ll have dirty martinis with blue-cheese-stuffed olives.” She hums seductively. “I love stinky cheese in my martini.”