Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Wow. A pool dragon I know will be ridiculously excited.
Hell, I’m ridiculously excited just to read her note.
Would you and Zach like to go with me?
I smile, probably a little dopily.
I’ll write back later when I can indulge in a longer conversation. Not going to lie—I look forward to her gifts each night. I think they mean something. Like she’s trying to send me a message she’s not ready to say out loud. Like she wants to give me things, like I gave her perfume and lingerie and a tour of the gardens.
But I don’t want to push her. I said as much in Paris. The ball is in her court and she seems to be playing it, so I’ve been happily receiving her gifts, waiting to see what she wants.
I set the phone on the table and sit next to my brother.
“So, tomorrow is Tiramisu day,” Nick muses.
“Yup.” We’re going to the shelter to find a dog.
Nick sighs contentedly, parking his hands behind his head as he watches our sons splash around in the pool. “You’ll have a kid and a dog.”
He says it like that’s all I need.
But is it? Because I’m picturing Miami and Jules, Paris and Jules, New York and Jules.
And Zach and Jules.
And the library and Jules.
And all these gifts and Jules.
And then all the things I meant when I sent her gifts.
With the perfume…I can’t stop thinking about you.
With the gardens…I’d do anything for you.
Suddenly, I know what she’s saying.
I sit up straight. “I’m an idiot.”
“No shit,” Nick says with a snort.
I turn to my brother, intensely serious. “No, I really am.” I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out.
His droll expression burns off, and he sits up too. “Why now?”
“Because she’s been sending me gifts all week, and I’ve been waiting. I can’t keep waiting,” I say, popping up from the chair.
Nick blinks. “Whoa. Back it up. Who’s she?”
I haven’t told him. I haven’t told a soul.
Ah, fuck it. “Tate's daughter.”
Nick sputters out a “What?”
“I’m in love with her.” It’s easy to say and it’s right to say. It shouldn’t be something I have to lie about, something I have to hide. It should be something I get to enjoy every day. That we can enjoy together. I say it again because it feels so right to voice it out loud, “I’m in love with her.”
“Okay,” Nick says, standing too, trying to follow my train of thought then shrugging as if deciding to just catch up to where I am. “And does she know?”
“In Paris I told her I wanted more, but…”
I flash back to that moment in the hotel room when I said I want this.
When I said she was perfect for me.
When I said I wanted to be with her but I didn’t want to hurt any other relationship.
That wasn’t enough. At the time it felt like it, but it clearly wasn’t.
“She just sent me tickets to this library event and asked if I wanted to go with her and Zach…and…”
Suddenly, I can’t wait.
I can’t just let her take the lead. She’s been making overtures all week. And I know exactly what she’s been saying with her gifts.
“What about Tate?” Nick asks.
I saw my friend as the obstacle, but all along, my regrets were the roadblock.
Regrets over my marriage and so many regrets over time I lost with Zach. How I might have had more time if I had just given Nina my info.
I don’t want to lose any more chances. Like I told Tate the other morning, I don’t want to have any doubts about the things I’ve said. Or not said. “There’s something I have to say to the woman I love.” I glance at my kid in the pool. “And I have to do it now. Can Zach stay with you for a bit?”
“He can stay the night. Go get your girl.”
I say goodbye to my kid and I leave with no regrets.
34
FACE MASK
Jules
I’m stretched out on my couch, the sea clay mask on my face finally cracking—which is, incidentally, one of life’s great unsung pleasures—and the newest episode of The Dating Games hitting peak emotions, when my phone buzzes with a text.
It’s Friday night so I expect Camden with an update on her date. Eager for the news, I grab the phone, pause the show on my laptop, then click open the messages.
But it’s not my bestie. It’s from Hank, my doorman.
There’s a delivery for you. If you’re home, I can bring it up. Or them, really.
Huh. That sounds intriguing, so I call him. “Hi, Hank. Who’s the delivery from?”
Hank clears his throat, then sighs, like he doesn’t want to be a pawn in a game. “Um…it says it’s from…Your piano teacher.”
Electricity jolts through me, chased by fireworks. Then, a healthy dose of oh shit. I’m in sleep shorts, a tank top, and I look like mud is caked to my face.