Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“But what would I even do with love?” I ask, though I adore her attitude. Juliet is a breakup party planner for the best of reasons. She sees every end as a new beginning. For a while I was like her, hunting for big, swoony, head-over-heels love. Now, I just can’t imagine making it fit in my very messy life. “I can barely figure out how to send a sex toy to the right address,” I say breezily.
“We all make mistakes. Maybe yours happened for a reason,” she says as we hug goodbye, and I head off to meet Gage Archer a block away.
The sexy-as-sin bartender is waiting for me at the entrance to Alamo Square Park, next to the famous houses. His shirt is nice and snug, hugging those pecs and showing off some seriously strong arms. When I checked him out online, I learned he’s a former major league pitcher, and he sure looks like he’s still got a strong body. He strides up to me, all confident and assured, the kind of man who’d put me on my hands and knees then spank me into next year.
When he reaches me, he doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t shuffle his feet or awkwardly offer a hand to shake. A man who knows his mind, he sets a hand on my shoulder. “You look stunning, Elodie,” he says, curling that palm over me as he drops a chaste kiss to my cheek.
I can’t speak for a few floaty seconds, all thanks to a whisper of a kiss on my right cheek. A starter kiss that definitely didn’t lie. “So do you. Nice shirt,” I say. “I’d like to give thanks for how it shows off your arms.”
He laughs, dipping his face in the slightest show of…shyness. “My brother got it for me.”
“He buys you clothes?” That’s unusual.
Gage shakes his head. “He bought it for me for tonight’s date. Along with my daughter. Then they tried to pass it off like they hadn’t joined forces.”
That’s a whole lot of intel dropped in three sentences. “You have a kid.” I’m a little delighted.
“I do. She’s eleven.” He sounds so proud.
“Mine’s thirteen. She’s my sister, and I’m raising her solo,” I say, but I don’t get into the our parents died detail. Now is not the time to dive into grief or how I’m sometimes a mom and sometimes a sister. “She arrived at the shop right as you were leaving yesterday. She’s at the age where she thinks she knows everything.”
“Eliza’s at the age where she thinks my clothes are boring.” He pauses for a beat, giving me a warm look. “And I’m raising her solo too.”
Well, then. We’ve declared enough. With a smile, I say, “Do tell her I approve of the shirt.”
“I will,” he says, and we both know he probably won’t but it’s sweet anyway that he says it. “And she approves, too, of your chocolates.”
His big gesture was such a better gift than chocolate bath bombs to get me to sign a deal. “What have you got next in that bag of tricks?”
Gage didn’t tell me what was on the agenda tonight. Just that he wanted to show me an art installation he thought I’d enjoy then take me to dinner.
“Let me show you.” He sets a hand on the small of my back as we walk along the edge of the park. I shiver a little under his firm touch as he says, “But I have a theory about dates.”
“I have this theory about men who put their hands on the small of women’s backs,” I counter.
His eyes spark with interest. “This I want to hear.”
“You’ll have to earn that. Maybe I’ll tell you later,” I say with a playful lift of my eyebrow.
He shakes his head, smiling in admiration. “You are definitely making me work for it, Elodie,” he says, then clears his throat. “My theory is this—if you over-plan a date, it takes away from the fun. But I think you’ll like my plans.”
When we turn the corner a few blocks past the Painted Ladies, we arrive on a street teeming with storefronts and murals a few buildings ahead. That must be the outdoor art installation—bright, bold graffiti art I can’t quite make out yet. “I had a feeling you might like graffiti art,” he says.
“Presumptuous,” I tease.
“Only because I know a few things about you already.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll see,” he says, walking me toward the first mural.
It’s a huge mural of a proud, red rooster. My hand flies to my mouth, covering up peals of laughter. After a few seconds, I swat his chest. “You’re mocking me.”
I don’t even see it coming, but he grabs my hand and holds it tight. Then he meets my gaze with the most playfully sincere look. “I would never mock your affection for roosters.”