Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I was so touched when your mother included me in your welcome home party,” Irene says, taking a sip of her wine. “I still love teaching, but it’s nice to be surrounded by adults. Especially when that adult conversation doesn’t center around the supposed college aspirations of twelve-year-olds who I know for a fact are more concerned with their first kiss than they are their eventual SAT scores.”
“Please tell me my mom wasn’t one of those types of parents,” I say in a loud whisper.
Irene laughs because we both know my mom was exactly one of those.
“You’ll understand when you have one of your own,” Irene tells me.
I give an indelicate snort. “Let’s just say on my road of emotional maturity, I’m still a lot closer to my first kiss than I am to my first kid.”
“An event that I still like to tell myself I played a part in.”
I turn toward the masculine voice that’s just joined the conversation and do a double take before letting out a delighted laugh. “Drew Callahan! What are you doing here?”
I give my high school boyfriend a one-armed hug, careful not to spill the drink that Colin pressed into my hand shortly after we’d gotten to the party.
“You look so good!” I say, drawing back and giving his arm a fond pat.
I mean it. Drew’s a bit thicker now, the body of a man instead of the lithe form of a boy. And while his hairline isn’t quite what I remember, the twinkling, friendly blue eyes definitely are. We dated for nearly three years in high school, a practical lifetime in the teenage timeline. Though, the fact that we went to the same boarding school probably made it a little easier, without parents to loom over us.
Our relationship was an easy one, as I remember it, but then, so was our parting of ways when we went off to college, which was all the confirmation I needed at the time to know that he wasn’t the one. Still, I remember him fondly, and his face amidst a guest list primarily made up of my parents’ friends is very welcome.
“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” he says, giving me a familiar grin. “Do you not age?”
“Exactly what I was telling her,” Mrs. Hicks says emphatically, before drifting subtly away to join another conversation. I can practically hear her devising to give us young things some privacy.
“You know, I never did get a straight answer on if I was your first kiss,” Drew muses, as I turn to face him fully.
“Gosh, if only I can remember. It was so long ago, and all …” I say teasingly, since we both know he wasn’t my first kiss any more than I was his.
My first kiss was with the grandson of the elderly couple who lived across the street. His name had been John; his grandma had called him Johnny, much to his chagrin. He’d been visiting his grandparents for the summer from Texas, and I thought his accent was just about the best thing my thirteen-year-old self had ever heard, even if the kiss had been a sweet, awkward peck of a thing.
“I’m just going to go ahead and keep lying to myself,” Drew says.
I smile. “Solid plan. How the heck are you? Where’s—?” I look around the room for Drew’s wife. I’m blanking on her name, but I remember seeing their wedding photos on Facebook a couple of years ago.
“Andrea,” he supplies, holding up his left hand, which I belatedly realize is bereft of a ring. “We ended up on the wrong side of the divorce statistic.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.”
He shrugs. “It was relatively painless, at least as much as those things can be. We just sort of … drove each other crazy, and not in the good way.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Of course, maybe if we did marriage your way, we’d have had a shot.”
I laugh, hoping he doesn’t notice the nervous tinge to it. “My way?”
His smile is friendly. “Don’t think that theories over your marriage haven’t dominated every dinner party of our mutual friends for years now.”
“Hmm.” I sip my wine. “What’s the prevailing theory?”
“That you’re Charlotte Spencer, and you make your own rules. And speaking from personal experience, I imagine that living on different coasts is a pretty brilliant way to stay married. How’d you make it work? Weekdays doing your own thing, sexy weekend escapades?”
“Something like that,” I say noncommittally.
There’s no accusation in Drew’s tone, but the conversation makes me uncomfortable anyway. I know I promised Colin not to embarrass my mom, but I didn’t account for how wrong it would feel to be asked to lie outright, especially to someone I used to care about.
I scan the room, subconsciously seeking the one person who might possibly understand. Colin’s in the far corner of the room talking to my dad’s business partner and his wife. My husband’s not looking at me, but he apparently senses my gaze, because he meets my eyes across the room and lifts his eyebrows in silent question before resuming his usual default state when it comes to me. Glowering. And I must be starting to know the guy because I’ve got a pretty good sense of what he’s thinking: Here’s what I think of your goddamn smolder.