Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Isn’t that what you wanted? a little devil on my shoulder nudges. To be the type of person who jumps in with both feet, eyes closed, and then is able to get back out just as easily?
Yes. Yes it is, little devil.
I feel almost desperate to connect with that part of myself, that part I think might be dying, and so I tap the Surprise Me button, then hit the only green light that’s even remotely in my neighborhood. Apparently six pm on a Thursday is not exactly a hot zone of Manhattan dating.
I hold my breath, waiting for the app to confirm that the other person’s agreed to stay where they are and meet me, and when it comes through affirmatively, I’m not sure I’m elated or dismayed.
I don’t have time to be either, because then I read the smaller font:
Your date will expect you in 10–15 minutes.
Eek! I glance at the location. It’ll take me just under ten to get there, which gives me almost no time at all to get pretty.
My work outfit today is pretty boring by my standards – black boots, jeans, and a black turtleneck – but I sort of love the way it looks with my current hairstyle hair, which is now . . .
Wait for it . . .
Rainbow!
Or rather, platinum on top, with the last few inches or so a pastel cupcake-esque rainbow. My favorite part about it is that I can pull my hair back in a low bun, and from the front, I look like a regular blonde, but then the back is a literal swirl of color.
I decide to go full unicorn mode for the date, pulling it over my shoulders and giving the rainbow parts a quick scrunch for some body. Might as well let the poor guy know what he’s dealing with upfront.
I have time to brush my teeth, add a swipe of lipgloss, and grab my purse. I speed-walk, so as not to be late. Normally, timeliness doesn’t stress me out, but I don’t want a stranger to think I’ve stood him up; after all, being stood up is how I landed myself in this whole mess in the first place.
I’m so focused on getting there on time that I don’t realize until I get to the marked intersection that this isn’t just any old bar.
This is the bar. Smoke & Baron, the place I met Thomas. Well, where I first met him.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mutter.
It takes all of my courage to open the door and go inside, and I do so only by telling myself that the only way to close a door is to open a door, or some nonsense BS pep talk like that.
My phone buzzes. TapThat, confirming my arrival with the photo of the guy I’m looking for. I tap, and then stop in my tracks when I see the man I’m meeting.
He’s not at all someone I would have tapped yes on. He’s too clean-cut, too preppy, too . . .
Thomas.
He’s Thomas.
Mine. My Thomas.
My love.
I get now why Stephanie made me watch those movies. It’s so I understood the importance of the all-important ending scene. So that I would know my moment, my scene.
And this is it.
Slowly, I lift my eyes to the familiar shoulders, the blue suit. I wait for the urge to flee, but interestingly, it never comes. It never even flickers.
My heart is in my throat as I walk to the bar, the heels of my boots clicking softly until I’m beside him. Without a word, I sit on the stool beside him, placing my phone, screen up on the bar, just close enough for him to see.
Thomas glances at my phone where his picture is still on the screen. “Hard pass on that guy, huh?”
I let out a laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s not so bad.”
His eyes lift to mine, but instead of the gladness I’m hoping for, I see wariness. So wary it makes my chest ache. I’ve hurt him. I can see that I have, and yet he’s here, and he must have tapped the green light, seen my face on the app, because he isn’t surprised it’s me.
And yet he didn’t leave. Hope flares, tiny but bright. I cling to it.
The bartender—the same woman as before—sets a napkin in front of me, and the curious way she looks between us makes me wonder if she remembers us.
“Malbec?” she asks me.
Yup. She remembers alright. I smile. “Please.”
“How have you been?” I ask Thomas quietly, after she’s placed my drink in front of me.
“Fine. Good.”
“The freelance thing? Going well?”
He nods. “Very. I already have more work than I can handle, I’m thinking about bringing on a couple of guys I used to work with. Maybe starting a small consulting firm. I like the hair, by the way.”