Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“I will get up right now.”
I love getting under her skin, but I like her smile even more, which she’s granting me regardless of the threat. I chuckle. “Okay.”
“Good. As for the rest of that, it’s not happening either, and the eggs Benedict is their specialty.”
Lowering my menu, I ask, “Did you know eggs Benedict is named after a Wall Street broker who ordered the dish at the Waldorf Hotel in the late 1890s.”
“There are conflicting stories regarding that.” Her hand goes to her chest. “As a New Yorker—born and bred—I like the broker one the best.”
“What was it like to grow up here? Having a park as your backyard and walking the streets to get to school? I’ve never really understood city life when it’s more like a concrete jungle.”
“That’s because you have to spend time here to get to know it. There’s magic found around every corner. You just have to look for it.”
“Maybe you can show me.”
“Maybe. I’m pretty busy these days.” She looks away, studying every other person on this patio in avoidance of my eyes. But then she exhales heavily and meets my gaze.
I can’t successfully hide my smile when I see hers first.
The server arrives and clears her empty mimosa glass. “Anything else?”
Ordering, I reply, “Two eggs Benedict, a pitcher of mimosas, and flat water for the table.”
Her pen is still poised on the pad, but nothing was jotted down. She’s looking at me when she asks, “Oh, I thought we were clearing this table?”
“Nope, we’re staying and brunching together.” I grin right at Tatum. “Right, Tate?”
“You know that annoys me—”
“Brunch ends at two,” the server snaps at me.
Glancing at my watch, I reply, “More than an hour is plenty of time. Thank you.”
Her straight hair cuts through the air when she turns to leave.
When we’re left to our own devices, Tatum asks, “Did Natalie send you?”
“No. I volunteered for the job.”
“And what job is that exactly?” She crosses her arms over her chest, reminding me a lot of Natalie by the action. “Operation rescue Tatum from the humiliation of being stood up by her mom? Save your breath, Decker. I got this handled.”
I didn’t expect her to let her guard down for me, especially after this morning, so her defensiveness doesn’t come as a surprise. I do the only thing I hope will lower those walls for me again like they were this morning. “I owe you an apology.”
Her eyes widen. It’s nice to surprise her for once. “For?”
“For what I said this morning. You like to pretend stuff doesn’t get to you, but we’re all human. I can only assume you felt some anxiety about meeting your mom after what happened at the party, and I felt it was taken out on me. It stung, considering I thought we were having a good time together.”
Her body language has changed. Not from the champagne or because I’m laying out a ton of wisdom. It’s because I’m here. I’m listening. And, most importantly, I’m treating her kindly. She’s receptive because she’s trusting my authenticity. I care about her.
Tatum is so fucking frustrating, but there’s something about her that I just can’t let go of.
“I did take it out on you. Some habits are hard to break. It was easier to blame you than to admit I had hoped this time with my mom would be different.” When her arms lower, so do her eyes. While she toys with her napkin, her shoulders roll in on themselves, her body caving into her pain. “She’ll have a great excuse, one that will end an argument.”
“Will that reason take away the hurt she’s caused you, the pain of feeling abandoned?”
Her eyes dart to mine. “I haven’t been abandoned, Harrison.”
Reaching across the table, I hold my hand palm up for her. “You may believe you have to be strong all the time, but with me, you don’t. I like you.” I laugh to myself. “Prickly on the outside, soft on the inside. What’s not to like?”
“I haven’t been abandoned,” she repeats, but it feels more for herself than to convince me. The drinks are served, and our glasses filled. When we’re alone again, she says, “It’s not the first time I’ve been stood up by one of my parents, but it doesn’t sting any less.”
Taking a long sip, she sets her half-empty champagne glass down, and adds, “I don’t know how to make them understand how much it hurts when they don’t show up.”
“It’s not your job to make them understand. It’s their job to love you unconditionally. As for standing you up, I know I’m a poor substitute—”
“You’re not.” She finally rests her hand in mine, and our fingers wrap around each other’s. “I don’t know why you’re here after how I treated you this morning, but I’m glad you came. It takes a strong man to show up like you did. So, I want to apologize to you because you’re right. You did nothing wrong. I just let my insecurities get the best of me when you deserved better. I’m sorry.”