Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Quickly, she pours me a tea.
I pay and thank her, but before I can head back out onto Fillmore Street, she says, “Oh, and Leighton?”
“Yes?”
She beckons me closer and whispers, “Best not to ask about work. He’s a little shy about that.”
I smile. “That’s sweet.”
“Yes, isn’t it? He’s so talented and so humble.”
“Winning combo,” I say.
She simply smiles, looking pleased to have solved my dilemma.
Leaving the café, I text Katrina with an update. As I turn toward the studio space I rent when I can, I glimpse a familiar looking guy on the other side of the street. Except for his glasses, he does remind me of the man with the mannequin the other day. First dates can be complicated and romance even more so, but I’ve been hoping I’d run into him again.
Just not right now.
When I have no time to entertain so much as the idea of a good-looking man.
Not even the ridiculously handsome man I might have dreamed about since I met him.
I need to prep the studio. Take the pictures for my client. Do an amazing job.
And I really need Birdie’s grandson to be my hero today, whether he’s the guy from the other day or not.
3
THE UNDERGROUND GRANDMA MATCHMAKING SOCIETY
Miles
We’re going to have words, Birdie and me.
I stride into High Kick after just missing Leighton. I’d spotted her hustling up the block in the opposite direction, but I didn’t stop her or call out because, one, that’s creepy. And two, that’s really fucking creepy.
But Birdie is in big trouble with me. I march to the counter and park my hands on it.
“Why didn’t you text me that my wife was here?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in displeasure. “I planned to be here sooner, but after practice, Coach called us into the video room to review some things.”
Birdie tugs on her pink feather boa like it’s the source of her many grandmotherly superpowers. “Do you think I don’t have anything better to do than text you?” she asks breezily.
“Name a better use of your time than giving me the chance to ask her out.” I sigh and shake my head in disappointment. But really, I’m shocked. Birdie has been dying to set me up since Joanne and I split a few years ago. The world assumed our relationship petered out when I moved to San Francisco to join the Sea Dogs. In reality, she’d had enough of an injured boyfriend who’d spent the better part of a year in a low-level funk. And, I get that. I had enough of myself too.
But that’s the past, as Birdie likes to remind me. So why would my grandmother miss a golden romance opportunity?
“Well…” Birdie draws out the word with a sly smile. “Leighton and I talked about her job. That was very important.”
“So, while you discussed your headshots and whatnot, you didn’t once think, ‘My favorite grandchild in the universe would jump at this opportunity to meet her properly’?”
She straightens, chin up as if offended. “I was helping her with an emergency. She was stood up for a photo shoot.”
I bristle, my mood shifting. Lip curled, I hiss, “Who would do that to her?”
Birdie looks devilishly delighted. “I knew you’d feel that way. That’s why I told her you’d pose for her.”
I blink, speechless, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation—like Birdie wants to join some secret underground grandma matchmaking society and this is part of her initiation.
Fine by me. But I don’t want to seem too eager, so I say, “Just to clarify—you volunteered me as tribute…for a photo shoot?”
She takes off her feather boa and wraps it around my neck, holding the ends like a glittery lasso. “You heard me, Miles Falcon. If I rely on fate to put you both here at the same time, you’ll never get the chance to ask her out. So I made things happen.”
“Forgive me for ever doubting you,” I say.
“You’re forgiven,” she says haughtily, releasing her grip on the feathered noose.
“Good,” I lean in like we’re going for a pre-game briefing on the opposing team, “Give me the details. Does she know who I am?”
“I only said you’re my grandson.” Her brown eyes shift away from mine. “But take some grandmotherly advice. Don’t talk about hockey.”
I frown. “Why would I? The photo shoot isn’t on the ice, is it?”
“Nothing like that.” She puts her hands on her hips as if I’m a kid again. “My point is that women don’t want to hear a man blather on and on about his job. Talk about other things. Hobbies, pets, the city, the last great movie you saw, your favorite song.” Her face brightens with an idea. “You could take her geocaching. You love to do that, and solving all those treasure hunt clues is a fun way to get to know each other.”