Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Chloe nods appreciatively, looking back at me. “That’s a cool idea.”
“My sister came up with it,” I lie.
Why the hell did I lie?
She pats the front of her apron. “Right, well, you two take a seat, and I’ll bring the last dish over then make myself scarce.”
Harper pouts slightly, likely because she doesn’t want to lose the opportunity to hound Chloe with a million more questions, but she ultimately does as she’s asked.
Chloe flits around the kitchen, hurrying over to place a glass of milk in front of Harper and a glass of white wine in front of me. Then she brings over the last serving dish of food before standing back to present her meal.
“Okay, so we have a roasted vegetable salad with feta and a pesto vinaigrette; roasted shrimp with garlic, lemon, and herbs; and pasta with a sauce I made from tomatoes straight from the garden. They’re so delicious. Harper, there’s a cheeseboard too with a few things you might like.”
“I’ll eat the pasta and the shrimp and cheese, but I don’t like vegetables,” Harper declares haughtily, like she’s an empress exiling vegetables from her realm.
“She’ll try a bite of everything,” I reassure Chloe. “It looks great. Thank you.”
Chloe bows forward gently then claps her hands together. “Bon appétit!”
NINE
CHLOE
Even eating with the Real Housewives on in the background doesn’t make me feel less lonely in my room. This isolation is new for me. I grew up in a tiny apartment with a family for whom the word privacy meant absolutely nothing. Up until a few weeks ago, I spent most of my waking hours in a restaurant kitchen, surrounded by dozens of opinionated coworkers at all times. Even outside of work, I had Miles.
Now, I have Kyle Richards and Lisa Rinna and it’s just not the same. Their on-screen fights don’t elicit the same feelings of togetherness as the thoughtful barbs Ernesto and Michael would sling back and forth to each other across the kitchen at Fig & Olive. Those two really knew how to go at it. I miss them.
I eat fast, both because I’m hungry as hell and because my dinner is delicious. I knocked it out of the park (baseball reference for Luke’s benefit) on my first night. Once he gets a bite of my strawberry crisp, he’ll realize he can never live without me. In a strictly culinary sense, of course.
After the episode of Real Housewives ends, I shower and indulge in the good water pressure. That’s the real luxury rich people have. Back at my parents’ apartment, showering feels like you’re standing underneath the slow trickle from a garden hose that’s almost shut off. This shower is blasting away dirt and grime that’s probably been lurking in my crevices for the better part of a decade.
It’s so good I linger longer than I should. It’s a half hour before I towel off and slip into my pajamas.
I need to take my plate back down to the kitchen, but I’m waiting to make sure Luke and Harper are done with their meal first. I don’t want to interrupt them. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize Luke wants very little to do with me, and I get it. If I were as famous as he is, I wouldn’t want some random person hanging around my family or me either.
At my window, I reach out to draw the drapes closed now that the sun has long since set, but I pause when I see Luke sitting on a lounge chair, illuminated by the warm glow of the pool lights. He’s nursing a beer and staring out at the property in the distance. It’s later than I thought, close to 9:00 PM. Harper’s probably in bed. He must be tired after a long day of single parenting.
“No, Dad, I am not trying those vegetables” was the last thing I heard Harper say before I left the kitchen earlier, and it made me laugh under my breath.
Harper seems like a seriously great kid, but parenting is parenting. I don’t envy the fact that he has to do it alone. I’d like to know where Harper’s mom is, but I don’t think I’ll be getting that information anytime soon.
Luke’s phone lights up with an incoming call on the table beside him. He checks it then lets it go to voicemail before placing his phone back on the table, screen down.
I can’t help but be curious.
Guys like him are usually living it up: traveling the world, taking full advantage of their VIP status in life. Maybe he did that in his younger days and has outgrown that life, or maybe he was never that way to begin with. Luke doesn’t strike me as the partying type, but that’s probably because I’ve only seen him around his daughter.
I could look into it. Google is merely a few taps away, but I won’t.