Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
He narrows his eyes in assessment of my comment. “Is that right? Yeah, Blaze does seem polite.”
I nod emphatically. “His little smiling face is probably pasted in the dictionary right underneath the word. Let’s check.”
His eyebrow quirks cynically. Maybe I’m laying it on too thick. “Tell me one thing you two talked about after I left.”
Now, this proves difficult. I had quite the job of keeping our conversation rolling last night. I felt like I was working overtime trying to think of topics to discuss.
“We bonded over our love of steak,” I swoon. “We split one, actually. It was so cute. The kitchen staff split it onto two plates for us, and they must have caught wind that we were on a date because they arranged our mashed potato piles into perfect hearts. I have a picture. Here, I’ll show—”
He pushes away my phone. “So did Mr. Polite take you for dessert after?”
“He was too full.”
Disappointing, I know. I put away my entire meal and had room for ice cream, but that’s no surprise. I have a dinner column and a dessert column. They’re totally separate, only I guess not for Blaze. I understand, though. He’s very interested in keeping up his toned physique, and I can’t blame him! I’m sure it helps him get good tips at the grotto. He didn’t even touch his mashed potatoes. He scrunched his nose and made a comment about all the butter and salt. Meanwhile, my mouth was so full of the fluffy stuff I couldn’t even respond beyond a hum of agreement.
“But after dinner, he walked me home . . .”
Well, he walked me to the outside of the restaurant, at which point he broke off to go meet some of his friends, but Cole doesn’t need to know that.
“He and I, y’know . . .” I circle the pad of my finger on the desk like I’m scrawling Blaze’s name in cursive in a journal.
Cole’s throat bobs as he takes this in.
I puff out a breath like I’m still trying to recover.
“After, I couldn’t wait to call and tell my parents all about him.”
Well, I’d tried, at least.
They were out on a boat in the middle of the ocean when I called. The service was pretty spotty.
“You did what, hon?” my mom asked, shouting into the phone.
“I went on a date!”
“You ate a date?”
Yes, Mom, I’m placing an international call from halfway around the world to let you know that I just finished eating a piece of fruit from a date palm tree. I thought you ought to know.
I sighed and tried a different tactic. “I went out with a man!”
“Oh, that’s exciting. Was it Cole?”
I panicked. “No! Not Cole!”
Yes, my parents know about Cole, and it was a total accident on my part. When I first moved here, my parents were slightly worried about me adjusting to life on the island, so I fibbed and told them I’d already made a ton of friends. I mentioned Lara and Camila, who were actually my friends already, but for some reason . . . I also told them about Cole. It felt like he should be included! Back then, our plans of mutually assured destruction were already taking up a lot of my time. If I put the same energy I use thinking about Cole toward, say, learning a second language, I’d be fluent ten times over.
“What was this other man’s name, then?” my mom asked.
“Blaze.”
“Blake?”
“BLAZE.”
I shrug. “Yeah, anyway, they were really excited for me. They can’t wait to meet him.”
“Moving pretty fast, no?” Cole asks while reaching for a pen on the desk. He whirls it around casually like it’s a helicopter blade.
“I guess it’s true what they say: when you know, you know,” I say with a confident smile.
“So then, it’s settled. Blaze is the man for you.”
Now he’s squeezing the pen so hard, his knuckles are white.
“Yes.”
The word is resolute and emphatic. A nail in a coffin.
Why does that send a frisson of panic through me?
He drops the pen, and it clatters to the desk. I frown, staring down at it as Cole starts to walk away. His name spills out of me before I can help it.
“Cole—”
I lean forward, suddenly desperate. A million possibilities could spring forth out of me.
. . . maybe you aren’t so bad.
. . . maybe I owe you an apology.
. . . maybe this thing between us has gone too far.
. . . maybe I’m sick of pretending I hate you.
All the truths wage war with each other, lodging in my throat, so that all I manage is a weak “Thanks for the coffee.”
Chapter Twelve
PAIGE
It’s today! Today! It’s happening!
The Nifty after Sixty crowd has vacated the hotel. They packed up their CPAP machines, dentures, knee braces, and hearing aids. They hobbled back onto the mainland just in time to have their rooms scrubbed clean and filled by a group of people so entertaining it feels like Christmas morning.