Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Places like New York are fun to visit, nice to leave.
“That’s good. I would really miss having you next door.”
I glance over at her. “Are you talking to me, or are you talking to Kevin?”
She’s playing with him on the ground now, rolling in the grass in ways I have never done before.
“Dammit, Lydia, stop being a better dog mom than I am! He’s not going to want to come back into the house with me.”
Lydia laughs, giggling when the dog pounces on her stomach and stays there, both of them content to lie in the yard with their faces looking up at the sky.
They’re cute.
“Well.” I remove the plate of chicken from the grill stand and head toward the back door. “I have to get this back inside and in the oven before it gets gross.”
Lydia nods, and Kevin ignores my existence.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take him for a walk?”
“Sure,” I concede. “If you want to take him for a walk, I’ll grab his leash for you.”
As soon as I return with Kevin’s thin blue leash, they happily bound down the sidewalk toward the park conveniently located at the end of the street.
I watch until they disappear from sight before going back into my kitchen and starting lunch all over again.
The house is quiet with no one else in it—it always surprises me how much noise a small dog makes, tossing around toys, tearing toys apart, making them squeak. Shredding things that shouldn’t be shredded, jumping on and off furniture he’s not supposed to be on.
And barking.
All the barking.
I putter around the kitchen in bare feet, my black leggings and cropped sweatshirt a cute and cozy stay-at-home-to-work outfit. I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection and frown. My hair is a mess, piled on top of my head—I haven’t bothered making it cute in days.
Picking my phone up off the counter, I check for messages, disappointed when there are no new ones.
Nothing from Andy.
My heart sinks, and I set my phone back on the counter with the screen facing down—I don’t need to be constantly tempted to look at it. Just as I let out a long, morose sigh, I hear a knock on my front door.
Strange.
I’m not expecting anyone—Dad wouldn’t bother knocking, and the meetings I have with Ava, Portia, and Danny are typically via Zoom, not in person. Lydia obviously has Kevin down the block, and when she returns, she’ll go to the back door. And the delivery dude doesn’t ring the doorbell; he tosses my packages onto the porch, gone before I even know he was here.
There is no sense of urgency as I shuffle barefoot through the living room. I unlock the dead bolt and turn the doorknob.
For a split second, I almost slam the door shut.
To say that I’m stunned to see Andy is an understatement. I don’t know how to react!
He lifts a hand and waves feebly. “Hi.”
Hi?
That’s all he has to say?!
I push the screen open, but my feet stay rooted in the doorway, mind reeling. Positively spinning a million miles a second.
This is so . . .
Unexpected.
Strange.
Exciting?
Oh my God. Scary. Who just shows up on some girl’s doorstep?
“Andy.” My brain cannot compute or reconcile him being outside, on my front steps. “What are you doing here?”
It’s the only logical thing to say, clearly, considering he hadn’t mentioned he was going to be in town, let alone stopping in to visit.
Or wait.
Is he some kind of creep with no boundaries?
“I’m in town.” He looks as bashful as I feel.
“Obviously.”
He frowns, palms going up apologetically. “Look. I’m sorry for showing up like this, but I thought part of you might be happy to see me?” He grins at me, white teeth twinkling, causing my heart to skip a beat at the sight of him standing here.
But what is he in town to do, exactly?
See me? Another job interview? Watch one of the preseason practices at the stadium, perhaps? I know those are popular, and he did say he loves football.
Maybe he’s a huge fan of Green Bay and didn’t mention it?
“This is not what it looks like,” he begins.
“What do you think it looks like?” ’Cause here he is, standing on my porch, wearing a sweatshirt with the hood up, a ball cap, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking like he’s some kind of serial killer.
“I honestly did not think this through at all.” He glances left and right, as if looking down the road to see if anyone has noticed he’s here. “Can I come in so we can talk?”
Can he come in?
He’s not even supposed to be here!
“Maybe.” I’m still not convinced he isn’t here to murder me.
Even on my doorstep, Andy’s large presence consumes all the space. Tall, broad—he seems more massive than he did at the hotel. I give him another once-over, eyes scanning him from head to toe.