Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Four hundred people checking in today alone,” the clerk said wearily. “You here for the festival, too?”
“Festival?” he asked.
“Beer, Bubbles, and Barbecue.”
Ren stepped forward. “Bubbles?”
“Champagne,” Fitz told her, and watched as the woman looked up from her monitor, her gaze doing a slow, fascinated sweep of Ren’s hair.
“It’s the biggest downtown festival of the year,” the clerk told them. “Two music stages. Vendors, food trucks, fireworks. Loads of these people are still setting up.”
“Then yes, we are absolutely here for the festival,” Ren said confidently.
Worried she was about to be disappointed, Fitz reached for her hand. “It’s probably sold out.”
“Actually, it is,” the clerk said. “But because we’re going to be in the middle of the whole thing, the hotel got an allotment for VIPs. I might have a couple left if you’re interested. Let me check.” She disappeared into a back room.
“She called us VIPs,” Ren whispered.
“In fact, I think her implication was that real VIPs didn’t want these tickets.”
“Well, we do!”
Fitz looked down at her. “You really want to go?” If this was his last day with Ren, he wanted her all to himself.
“Don’t you?”
“The title names three things, and two of them are booze,” he said. “If you want to hang out with a bunch of drunks, we can watch The Hangover in our room and order champagne.”
Ren chewed on her lip and stared up at him. “It’s just that I’ve never been to a festival before.”
“It might be crowded. You might hate it.”
“I assume it’s a lot like a fair, but with less manure. And it’s free.” Her eyes grew round and pleading.
“This is emotional manipulation,” he whispered, fighting a laugh.
Doubling down, she pushed out her full bottom lip. “Come on, Fitz. I just want to see it. Please.”
She clearly saw what that please did to him because her expression went from pleading to triumphant in a blink.
“Fine,” he said finally.
Grinning, she pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. A strange feeling was carving out a space in his gut, like a door had been blown open in his torso. He didn’t have time to examine it because the clerk was back.
“You’re in luck. The last two. Because they’re VIP, they’ll get you side-stage access to most of the shows, a discount on food”—she leaned in—“and access to air-conditioned porta potties.”
“Doesn’t get much fancier than that,” Fitz said.
The clerk slid the tickets and a flyer across the counter. “Welcome to Nashville. Have fun, and enjoy your stay.”
Fresh from a shower, Fitz buttoned up his jeans. Ren had wanted them to dress up a little for the festival and had dragged him to a thrift store a few blocks from the hotel. The jeans were a clean pair of Levi’s he’d brought with him, but the shirt currently folded on the bathroom counter was new. Well, new to him, at least, and a fancier brand even than the interview suit he’d splurged on two weeks ago in Spokane. In fact, when Ren handed him the shirt over the dressing room door, he’d recognized the designer as one he’d find in his father’s closet.
God, his father. Fitz hadn’t thought of him all day. Or Mary—who was only a twenty-minute drive from where they were staying. His twin motivations in life: revenge and restitution. In the past seven years, had he ever gone longer than an hour without thinking of one of them?
It was all because of Ren. Thinking about her was so much better than anything else.
Fitz imagined telling Mary about how things had changed with his road trip tagalong and felt the warm glow of embers behind his breastbone. But the sensation cooled as he thought about everything he still needed to tell Ren.
He’d never kept secrets from Mary, and he’d never felt bad about keeping secrets from anyone else. But Ren was different; everything was different now. And as he met his own gaze in the still-foggy mirror, he made a silent vow to talk to her as soon as she was finished dressing in the other room. No more chickening out, no more lies. No more pretending.
There was a knock on the door, and when he opened it and saw her standing on the other side, every thought melted from his brain. Her hair was braided in a delicate crown atop her head, with a few silk flowers tucked between the plaited strands; beneath it, her skin seemed to glow. Her sundress was lavender with thin straps and a soft, sloping neckline. The fabric looked delicate and breezy and fell just to the tops of her knees. She wouldn’t let him see it at the store and told him only that it was simple, and it was, but simple was a lie. The dress was made for her. For a few painful seconds, he forgot how to breathe.