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)
Her offer seems genuine rather than born out of pity. She’s roughly my age, I think, maybe a year or two younger. Even from what little time we’ve spent together, I get the sense that we could be friends outside of these circumstances, so I don’t overthink it. Luke’s still outside, cradling his coffee. Clearly, he has a lot on his mind, and maybe some alone time is just what he needs.
“Yeah, okay. Let me grab my sandals.”
TWENTY-FIVE
CHLOE
Tate tells me she plans to spend the week with us out in the Hamptons. She took time off work to relax, she says, though Tate’s definition of relaxing is wildly different than mine. Within the first few hours of her arrival, I come to realize she’s one of those people naturally gifted with an endless font of energy. We go into town to shop, and she quickly picks out a bathing suit, a cover-up, glasses, and a new pair of jean shorts—all within five minutes. After, she suggests we swing by a deli for lunch. Then off to a candy store, then bookstore. Once we get home, she throws on her running shoes and she’s off. An hour later, she’s back from a nine-mile run. Nine. Then, THEN, she asks if anyone’s up for a swim.
I’m fatigued just keeping track of her activities.
That night, we make pizzas in the outdoor oven and play Monopoly Junior with Harper while the sun sets. I expect Tate to crash early, and okay, sure, maybe I’m hoping she’ll crash early so Luke and I will get a tiny bit of alone time, but nope. By the time I’m about to drop dead—we’re talking one yawn feeding directly into another—she suggests we switch to Scattergories. Jesus Christ.
The next morning, I come to find out she’s also an early riser. While Luke trains and Harper sleeps on, Tate strolls into the kitchen wearing an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts. Her hair is a bit disheveled, but she’s still somehow gorgeous. The Allens are blessed that way.
She heads for the coffeepot.
“Morning,” I tell her.
“Morning!”
“Sleep well?”
“Like a baby.”
She sighs blissfully as she takes her first sip of coffee then asks if I need help with anything. Rather than shoo her out of the kitchen, I explain that I’m whipping up some items for Harper’s lemonade stand. Last night, as I put Harper to sleep (she requested my “kisses at the door” again), she asked me if we could set up Sugar Stand today. When Harper wakes up, I’ll have her help me with the cookies and lemonade, but separately, I thought it could be fun to set out some breads and see if they sell. It’s silly, probably. No one comes to a kid’s lemonade stand wanting focaccia, but I figure it can’t hurt.
Tate grins. “I’m on it. You just tell me what to do because I’m absolutely hopeless in the kitchen.”
I get her set up with the ingredients for a brioche, and we fall into easy conversation. I ask her about her life. I learn she has two roommates in the city, Daphne and Sophia; she’s a pediatric ICU nurse back in New York; and her love life is seriously lacking because every guy she meets inevitably ends up pursuing her for the sole purpose of meeting her brother. “Like does Michael Jordan have a sister because I bet she has a hell of a time in the dating pool!”
One of her roommates is dating a guy who plays on the Pinstripes. I ask her why she isn’t. She’s beautiful and athletic, charming and outgoing. Seems like a match made in heaven to me.
“Don’t even get me started.” She laughs like the idea is completely ludicrous just as Luke comes in from the back porch.
Like always, the mere sight of him post-workout takes my breath away. I’m Pavlov’s dog at this point, salivating at the thought of having him.
He looks annoyed today, maybe even frustrated. His dark brows are tugged together, and his mouth is curved downward. I’d say that’s a full-on scowl.
“Chloe, can I talk to you for a second?”
Uh-oh.
He sounds serious, so I don’t even hesitate. Who cares if my apron is covered in flour and my hands are a sticky mess? I still rush to follow after him. Worry takes over as I round the corner out of the kitchen and follow him into a side hallway. I’m wondering if this is something to do with Harper. She had a bad dream the other night, but I did not let her stay in my bed again! Instead…I carried her back to her room and stayed with her until she fell asleep in there. If I snoozed beside her for a few hours too, well, he doesn’t need to know that.
I’m barely there, barely around the corner at all, when his hands come up to capture my face and he kisses me.