Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“No, no. I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just that I went out last weekend with a guy who gave me a fake name and got arrested on our date,” I babble, trying to explain. Why did I just say that? That’s worse. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to bring it up.
“Um, wow,” he responds, the smile slipping just a little.
“I’m not usually that bad at picking them,” I reveal, then wish I could suck it back in. Shut up, Chloe!
“So, you’re a teacher?” he asks after a moment, clearly throwing me a lifeline and trying to redirect the conversation.
“Yeah,” I say, thankful for the switch in topics and happy that he’s obviously better at this than I am. “Second grade,” I add, my voice trailing off as I catch something over Joe’s shoulder.
Boyd Gallagher.
He’s got a cup in hand and he’s striding towards the exit when he turns his head and his eyes land on mine. I see the flicker of surprise cross his face as I turn my attention back to Joe.
“Second grade,” I repeat. “I teach second grade. I love it.”
Joe nods. “My mom’s a teacher, so I know how hard you work.”
I’m focusing on Joe but I see Boyd approaching from the corner of my eye. Is he going to interrupt my date to say hi? So awkward.
But he doesn’t.
No.
Instead, he takes a seat at the table next to ours. In the seat next to Joe so he’s facing me. And then he ignores me.
He’s… pretending he doesn’t know me? Seriously? I dart another glance in his direction but he’s not looking at me. He’s set his coffee on the table and is doing something with his phone. His posture is relaxed as if he’s intending to stay a while. What the heck is he doing? I know he saw me. I know he did. A fact confirmed when he meets my gaze dead on the next time I glance in his direction, a brow raised in amusement. He’s in another fancy suit today. It’s black and the white shirt he’s wearing underneath it looks crisp and fresh, even though this must be the end of his day as well. He’s wearing a charcoal tie which he straightens, his fingers running down the midsection of the tie, smoothing the material as he takes a sip from his cup.
“Is everything okay?” Joe asks.
“Yes!” I agree quickly. “I was just checking out the light fixtures,” I say, nodding to the Starbucks decor. “They’re nice, don’t you think?” Not a total lie. I’ve always appreciated the ambiance here. “They must have them custom-made,” I muse. Brilliant conversational skills, Chloe.
“I guess.” Joe shrugs.
“I mean, it’s not like you can buy them just anywhere,” I add, because I never quit when I should.
“I imagine not,” he agrees. “They don’t want just anyone to get their hands on their exclusive light fixtures.” He says it kindly, like he’s not bothered by my inane light fixture observations.
“Right.” I nod. Joe is really so nice. And he’s really good-looking. He’s got beautiful thick dark hair. “Are you Italian?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Well, I don’t think so. I’m adopted so I’ve got no idea. My parents are of Scottish and German descent.”
Oh. “I love Italian food,” I respond. Because that’s an appropriate response to sticking your foot in your mouth.
“I hate Italian.” Joe frowns and shakes his head, then laughs. “Just kidding. Who doesn’t love Italian food?”
Why is Boyd watching? Is this some sort of payback for pretending not to know him the other day at the hospital? I’m sure I can’t be the only girl questioned by the FBI who didn’t want her friends to know about it. Sheesh. Oh, my God. Is he on a stakeout? Is he investigating this date too? No. I mentally shake my head. Not possible.
“Have you ever been to Serafina? On 18th? My friend went into labor there last week.”
“Um, wow. Okay.” He pauses. “Congratulations to your friend,” he adds slowly, because he’s probably unsure what the correct response is to that tidbit of information.
“I’m sorry,” I say, waving my hand. “I meant to say, they have great Italian food there. My friend did go into labor at lunch, but you probably didn’t need to know that part.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure that was a pretty exciting lunch.”
“Yeah.” We sit in silence for a moment and then, “Hey, do you want to hear a joke?” Say no. Stop speaking, Chloe.
“Sure.”
“Why did the banana go to the doctor?” Yup. I’m telling second-grade jokes.
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t peeling well!”
Joe nods and does a fake laugh. So I continue, like an idiot. “Wait, I’ve got a better one,” I blurt out. “Why did the jellybean go to school?”
“Why?”
“He wanted to become a Smartie!”
I wish I could say I stopped here. But I think I told at least two more before Joe finally gave up and politely checked his watch. I don’t think I’m ready for dating. The single men of Philadelphia should not be subjected to the disaster that is me. And Boyd watching did not help.