Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Tallulah reached for her water glass and realized her hand was shaking, so she pushed it into her lap and took a few deep breaths.
“It could very well rain tomorrow morning, I hear. A little sun shower to keep everything green,” said the Floridian across the table, while forking some shrimp into his mouth. “But you know what they say, rain on your wedding day is good luck.”
“That’s true,” Tallulah said, trying to appear interested, but her gaze strayed to Burgess at the other table and her whole body throbbed, like a giant heartbeat. She wanted to be sitting next to him so badly, a notch formed in her throat. “They do say that. Rain and weddings.”
“It was clear as a bell on my wedding day. That should have tipped me off.”
Tallulah made herself laugh. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m the one that’s sorry. I let a good one get away.” He chuckled. “She’s remarried now with a couple of kids. Grown ones. That’s the part I can’t believe. It feels like we were married yesterday, but that can’t be true if she’s been remarried long enough to have college-aged children, you know? Time goes by fast, doesn’t it?”
The last few months blew by in a series of colors and sounds. “Yes.”
A chair scraped on the floor and the tinkle of metal hitting glass quieted the room’s conversations. Tallulah followed the source of the sound to find Josephine’s father standing up with a glass of champagne in his hand. “Sorry for the interruption folks, but this is my only chance to say something. Tomorrow at the reception will be the best man’s turn for a speech and well . . . I can’t let the opportunity pass to tell my future son-in-law that I love him. We both do, my wife and me. When you have a child, you never think anyone is going to be good enough for them. But Wells proved me wrong. He’s not just good enough for her, he’s the only one for her.” He raised his glass. “And I want to officially welcome him to the family.”
A few seats away, Wells pulled Josephine onto his lap and buried his face in her neck while everyone applauded.
“Look at that,” said the man across from Tallulah, his face softened by fondness. “I hope they treasure each other. Love doesn’t always come around twice. And even if it does, it’s going to be different. There are no two exact types of love, you know that? When two people love each other, they create a love snowflake, and it can never be re-created by anyone else.”
Tallulah picked up her napkin and dabbed at her eyes, barely able to speak due to the heart cartwheeling in her breast. “Okay, who sent you to ruin me?”
The man paused in the act of spearing a shrimp. “Come again?”
“Who do you work for?”
Blank look.
“Really? Is it just a coincidence that I’m . . . I broke up with the guy I’m still in love with . . . and he’s here and everything you say is attacking me?”
Down went his fork. “You broke up with a man you still love? Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s not.” He shook his head. “If you think about the problem, really think about it, it’s never more complicated than learning to live without someone you love. I promise.”
Eyes burning, Tallulah looked across the room at Burgess and found him staring back, yearning etched into his every feature, but he averted his gaze before she could soak it all in. The Floridian followed her line of sight and turned back to her with his mouth dropped open.
“Don’t tell me it’s the hockey player. Sir Savage?”
What was the point in pretending otherwise? “Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s him.”
“You’re the woman from the article?”
“I’m . . . who?”
The man rubbed his hands together, then turned, reached into a tote bag that had been hanging on the back of his chair, pulling out a rolled-up, glossy magazine. “I brought my copy of Sports Illustrated, hoping Sir Savage would sign it for me. I thought of asking Jim to introduce us, but he’s sort of busy giving away his only child.”
He dropped the magazine into the center of the table. A soccer player from the US Women’s National Team stared up at Tallulah until her dining companion started flipping the pages. “Hold on. I have the article marked . . .”
When the pages were once again spread, Tallulah found herself staring down at a picture of Burgess on the ice, geared up. Chewing on his mouthguard in a way that was endearingly familiar, even if she’d only witnessed him doing it once. There were smaller pictures, still frames of the moment his back injury went from bad to terrible, and she winced over those, heaviness sweeping into her midsection. She started to offer to help get the article signed, but the man turned the page one more time—and there was Burgess in rehab.