Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“It’s nowhere near the Huntington ballpark.”
“And she invested her husband’s life insurance money, I know. She tells that story a lot. She always jokes about how he was useful for two things.”
“Sex and money?”
I nod. “Do you think she means that?”
“I don’t know. He died before I was born. I never saw them together. It could be her way of coping with grief. It could be her way of making light of poor treatment.”
“It’s hard to know with her.”
He nods.
“That is one thing I love about my dad,” I say. “He’s used to getting his way and everyone caring what he thinks.”
“So you take after him?”
I flip him off.
He laughs and cuts a slice of Eggs Benedict.
“I do,” I say. “You’re right. He always treated me and Lexi that way, too, like our opinions were valid, even though we were young. Even though we were women.”
“He’s a good dad.”
“Is it about your grandma?” I ask. “The money thing?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“My mom,” he says.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“That depends,” he says. “On what we’re doing here.”
“We’re eating breakfast.”
“No. This. Us.”
Oh.
“What do you want, Deanna? Is this one night of magic or is it more?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Deanna
Is this one night of magic or is it more?
My mouth goes sticky. I don’t know how to answer the question. I don’t know the plan.
This is all off script.
I threw away the script sometime yesterday. Probably when I accepted his offer to kiss me. And let him strip me naked in the living room.
That happened ten feet away from where we are now, but it feels like it happened ten thousand miles away, six years ago.
This is moving fast. Too fast.
But then—
“Aren’t you leaving next month?” I ask. “Don’t you have a job in New York?”
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “I’m not a good liar.” Usually.
He studies my expression, deciding if he trusts me. He must, because he leans in close, and he lowers his voice. “I’m not leaving until September.”
“You’re here all summer?”
He nods.
“And after that?”
“I have business in New York, but I don’t know if I’ll stay.”
“You don’t know if you’ll stay or come back here?”
He nods.
“How am I supposed to predict a future like that?” I ask. “If you might go back to New York, at some time, between, what, six months and sixty years?”
“You’re right,” he says. “It’s not a fair question. I’m not sure I can answer.”
He’s not sure if this is one night of magic or something more.
Oh.
Well.
That’s the plan. He’s proving his point about love. So, if that’s all he’s doing here, that’s fine. It shouldn’t bother me since he’s following the plan. But then I said that, didn’t I?
“It’s not you, Dee,” he says.
My cheeks flush at the sound of my nickname. It’s different on his lips. It just is.
“It’s me. No. I don’t mean it like that, the cliche.”
I want to jump in and object, but I stop myself.
“There’s something happening in my life,” he says. “Something that takes a lot of my attention. I don’t know how much I have to give.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Have you met me?”
He laughs. “Deanna Huntington, the workaholic?”
“It’s true.”
“You’ve barely talked about work all weekend.”
“I have, too.” And I started this whole thing to keep him away from Lexi. But that’s a distant memory. It’s irrelevant. “And I don’t know what this is. I’m not like you, River. I don’t run to my feelings. I have to think about them for a while, understand them, imagine a future.”
“Make a plan?”
“What’s wrong with a plan?”
“Nothing.” He takes a long sip of his tea. “Would you really be okay, seeing where this goes?”
“No.” That’s the truth. I’m not good at being in the moment. Or living without a plan. Or going off script. “But I’d rather do that than end it now.”
“It might get messy.”
“It’s already messy,” I say. “But we are friends, aren’t we? No matter what, we’re friends.”
He nods.
“I want things to stay that way. If you ever feel like something is threatening that, tell me. If you’re tired of being with someone so logical, tell me.”
His brow furrows with confusion. He doesn’t understand what I mean. Not yet.
Every other guy does, eventually. I don’t know if he will. For once, I don’t want to assume he will. “Or if you realize this isn’t what you want. If either one of us decides this is better as a fling, we say that, and we end as friends. No questions asked. No hard feelings.”
“So now you have a plan?”
“A plan to not have a plan, yeah.”
He smiles.
“I know. It’s funny. I’m so Deanna.”
“You are.”
“I would prefer steps and concrete information,” I say.
“An algo that tells you if we’re a good match?”
The thought makes my stomach twist. Why? Isn’t this what I’m doing? I’m trying to use logic to help the world find love. I think of all the matches on the app that went nowhere. They weren’t perfect, but some were good. Good enough I could expect a short relationship. So where the hell is my logic? “No.”