Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
He was into it for the first five pairs of heels Elsa tried on.
He was so over it now.
This meant Hale was lounged in the chair in Bergdorf’s shoe department, surrounded by stacks of opened boxes and shoes, trying not to fall asleep by attempting to understand what got him in this predicament in the first place.
He’d just wanted Elsa to meet Blake. Therefore, he’d arranged brunch.
And somehow, after said brunch, his ass had landed here, an unwilling participant in the female bonding ritual.
Not to be mistaken, he was glad they were getting along.
But…
Jesus Christ.
“I don’t know,” Blake was saying, turning a foot this way and that while standing in front of a mirror.
“I know what you mean,” Elsa replied. “I’m not sure they’re you.”
She was standing close to Blake, wearing a pair of white pumps with a block heel and what looked like the links of a gold horse bit on the toe that he’d had to stop himself from laughing at, until Elsa put them on her feet.
Blake lifted a foot and pulled off the shoe she had on, left the other one on, which meant she limped to the chair before she plopped into it and tossed the shoe into its box. “Okay, so far, it’s the Louboutins and the Gianvito Rossis for me, and the Gucci and Prada for you.”
Elsa stood in front of the mirror and did the twisting foot thing. “I’m not sure about the Guccis. I’m not into block heels.”
“But…they’re so chic!” Blake exclaimed.
Elsa looked to him. “What do you think, honey?”
“I think I want someone to kill me,” he replied.
For a second, Elsa just stared.
Then both women burst out laughing.
The sales associate approached, juggling five more shoeboxes in his hands.
Hale groaned audibly.
Both women busted a gut laughing again.
Right, so, he wanted them to get along.
Goal attained.
He just didn’t know how much it would hurt.
But they were having the time of their lives.
So he shut up, settled in and let them get on with it.
It would take a while—after more shoes, going somewhere for what Blake called “nibbles and cocktails” and finally heading home—when Elsa redonned the red stilettos with the thin ankle strap she bought that day, before she straddled him on the couch.
And he got his reward.
“Okay, but honestly, those last few scenes were worth it,” Fliss was saying. “I left the theater bouncing on my feet, still laughing.”
“I’ll give you that,” Gemma said. “I just wish I didn’t have to sit through two hours of boring to get to it.”
“I didn’t think that scene where Brad Pitt was walking though the compound was boring,” Blake put in. “I was on the edge of my seat.”
“Totally,” Carole agreed. “And DiCaprio’s monologue, I couldn’t tell you what it was about right now. Still, while I was watching it, I was riveted.”
They were talking about Once Upon a Time…in Hollywood.
Their friends, at his dining room table, eating food he cooked.
Hale was at the head. Elsa the foot. Carole, Felicity, Blake, Gemma and Jadyn sitting down the sides.
The kitchen was spotless because Elsa might not cook, but she was a fantastic kitchen assistant. She could mince and chop, which helped, but mostly she wiped things down, rinsed stuff and put it in the dishwasher, and put ingredients away when he was done with them.
And she laid a mean table.
She’d come home that week twice with bags of stuff, and earlier, set the table with his dinnerware, but added a table runner she’d bought. Along that she’d laid slender, stemmed glass pieces that held tea lights, and she put five bigger glass vases, all in different shapes, one that sat on a small plinth, in the middle that she filled with water, and they held cream-colored floating candles. Last, she’d gone out that morning and got cream roses she’d clipped to the bud and set in little, ribbed shot glasses randomly down the center of the table, interspersed with those same shot glasses filled with more tea lights.
It was simple, but elegant and beautiful.
It was Elsa.
Now the table was covered in food. There were three empty wine bottles and cocktail glasses had been abandoned around the living room for when they sat down to dinner and wine.
Elsa had some classic jazz playing low on the sound system.
It looked like a reality TV episode of the young and gorgeous.
With the vibe, good people in his space, Elsa obviously happy and in her element, he didn’t hate it.
“Anyone seen Nope?” Jadyn asked.
“Oh my God,” Fliss exclaimed. “I wanna be Keke Palmer when I grow up.”
“Huge crush on Daniel Kaluuya. Huge,” Carole announced.
Elsa caught his eyes and smiled, her blue ones sparkling with happiness, before she shoved some of his short ribs into her mouth.
Oh yeah, he didn’t hate it.
“I vowed years ago never to watch the Oscars, but I renewed my vows after Nope was dissed. Fuck that,” Felicity declared.